Star Gazing in the desert

After the chilly heights of Bogota we swapped to the Tatacoa desert with temps of 40* plus. The main draw for this place is the star gazing if the sky is clear so somewhat dumbstruck by our accommodation (and ours was comparatively nice) we sat in the middle of nowhere, watching nothing, and waited for nightfall. 

At 7 pm we walked up the dusty track to the Observatory and waited for Señor Astronomer (really) to arrive.  He did soon after but apologised for being unprepared. He then disappeared for 30 seconds only to reappear 'ready' for which we could only read replete with badge-filled Gillet to house his pens, notes and gadgets - the best of which has to be the high powered laser pointer that seems to reach space, it could probably burn someone's eyes out, but my view is you can definitely trust a small studious man in a Gillet not to attack you with a laser.  

He had several telescopes set up for the likes of Jupiter and the cluster that inspired the Subaru symbol... But by far the best was a hugely detailed look at the moon, which he kindly captured on the stream of cameras we all passed to him. 

After 2 hours of neck hurt we returned very happy to our tin hut in the middle of nothing. Gayle slept like a baby while I was woken up by the sensation of something crawling over my legs.  I'll never know if it was the sizeable crickets, spiders or lizards that I saw in there, probably best I reckon. 

Our daytime sights were a few odd landscape shapes left from when the area was a river bed and a 'natural pool'. The water was natural - but the pool was a concrete bath 3x5m, no idea what the point was there - we kind of sat in it watching the guys 'managing' the pool stare at us while we stared at them.  Odd.  Definitely time to find some more cramped bus seats to carry us to San Augustine....

San Augustine.  Home of very old tombs and monuments of people with their animal spirits. Potentially interesting but we were a tad bored.  Perhaps we've reached our limit of old stones now so bypassing our hosts offer of a 'secret trip' to a real live coke farm (a snip at $250!?) we packed for the final small-seat-defeaning-music journey across Columbia. 

The only dodgy bits of Columbia these days are around the borders so with a land crossing ahead of us we set out early to ensure we were off the mountain passes (still known guerrilla territory) by nightfall. 20 hours later we'd twisted and turned through some terrifying dust tracks  on very high drops,  got through border control (we were told to expect 2hours and thorough searches - we got there one hour before they shut and with a cursory sniff from an old dog, were waved through in 15 mins), and had got a final bus to Quito, Ecuador.   When we got to our dorm beds at 2.30 am the thought struck that it was Valentines day.  Romantic to a fault. 

Bogota: Botero, bikes & betting

Our Bogota bus was roomy enough so we were well prepared for a Fri evening 90min taxi queue (because it was raining).  After a slice of pizza (only visible veggie option) and a good night's sleep we were ready to take in the sites of a city close to the population of London but at 2500m+ 

We started the day with an invigorating walk up hundreds of lung-busting stairs - climbing 500m to the top of Mt Monserrat which affords a great view over a not so great looking city - but it is one hefty sprawl of 8.5million people none the less.

Back on lower levels, we saw a town square with Blackpool beach style Llama (instead of donkey) rides, randoms dressed as smurfs and angry people protesting about something (no plaza worth it's salt is without a daily demo about something).

The modern art museum had Gayle delighted over the quality of the free culture on show: Botero, Picasso, Bacon, Freud... due to past training I recognised a Chegal to my credit (but no idea what it signified as usual).  

We moved onto the renowned Gold museum - the whole point of which was to show that the Mayan cultures made stuff - sometimes with gold.  We made short work of that as we had already realised this groundbreaking point.

We topped off the visit with a really good, balanced and informative bike tour which took in:

- a bull ring - no fighting that morning thankfully

- the impressive city park - complete with public Zumba/Aerobics class for 500 people

- huge and impressive graffiti murals

- a coffee factory (best coffee destined for export of course) where a small coffee made Gayle a bit jittery and mental

- a depressing view of the legal red light area

- a trip to the market where we tried exotic fruits - some looked really weird

- a game of Tejo

- a look at the truly inspired street gambling game of - guess which tub a guinea pig will run into....

I think they did a very, very good job.  Although not a pretty city we have a good impression of the place and definitely enjoyed the bits we managed to see. And despite it's reputation of being very dangerous, we saw nothing more frightening than crimes of fashion. 

San Gil - home of extreme sports.......

                               and yet we managed to do 2 of the most serene activities ever! 

Paragliding: despite the inelegant take off cause by high winds & a 25kg weight hung from my lap, the flight was smooth, tranquil and not remotely adrenaline fuelled. Figure of 8s made me feel weightless and did that strange stomach thing (like going over big drops on a roller coaster), and did slightly ruin the ambiance by making me cackle like a loon. All in all a really relaxed way of seeing some stunning scenery and I wished I could've stayed airborne for hours

White water rafting: grade 3 rapids we were told. Grade 1 or 2 at best I think. 2 hours of rafting down a gently meandering river with the odd bit of rapid action was boring.  Our guide tried his best to make it feel edgy by doing back flips off the raft, threatening to capsize us and making us bash oars together (a bit like a really lame group high-5) for the bank side photographer but it was really tame. 

I (Chris) took on some difficult downhill mountain biking - which was more tailored to real mountain bikers than my amateurish efforts but still a really fun challenging day which left me exhausted (due to some unexpected up-hills!) and more than a little dusty.  It was another activity that was somewhat made by the spectacular views that Colombia has on tap.

The town itself was at a quiet point in the season so we had a sedate time outside of our (in)extreme activities, Gayle is finding it hard to locate decent veggy fair, so is begrudgingly alternating between the local trout and a cheese sandwich if she can find someone to make one.

Next stop Villa de Leyva....

....to see what the countryside looks like, and it is quiet.  The local square (the biggest of all town squares) was the central attraction at night for gangs of well-off teenagers and less well-off local dogs.  We had a good people/dog watch over a few choice beers outside an off license, their off licenses have a couple of tables and seem to take up the role of the great British pub or Le grande cafe Francaise - but it's hard to ignore that you are sat next to a sweet stand as you drink.  We quite like it.

During the day we visited a site of great archeological significance, it was a site with stones in phallic shapes aligned to the summer solstice in order to grant great harvests a millennia or so past.  Yes, it's a field full of dicks - and we sniggered appropriately like we were 6.

Next, back on an array of buses once more to rejoin civilisation in the capital: Bogota.

A note on the buses: most of them are not made for the likes of me.  The big coaches are better, but all buses assume the passengers are 5'6" or less (knee caps are often sore from enthusiastic reclining from the traveller infront).  The smaller buses are also made for people a lot narrower than me too, this tends to mean I arrive at places lacking sleep and walking in a less than symmetrical fashion, a bit like Egor.

Salento. Clean air, Tejo & verbs

We arrived in Salento on a Sunday evening, the biggest night of the week it transpired, and it felt like 50% of the 7k population were in the bars and plaza.  A mountain town in the middle of the coffee growing region Salento is full of brightly painted buildings, residents in cowboy hats & ponchos, billiard bars and brightly coloured jeeps (called Willys). It felt somewhere between the set of a Western and rural Latam. 

It also felt cold which was a nice novelty. Hoodies and trainers on we set off to find the local Tejo bar.  Tejo is a game where you throw a metal puck (a Tejo) at 4 targets placed on a metal ring set in clay. The targets are paper triangles filled with gunpowder so with enough force and a good aim the Tejo bashes into the target and the metal ring and an explosion goes off.  More fire = more points. 

The Tejo hall was like an old skittles ally: full of old boys (with obligatory hats and ponchos) playing very seriously from 8 metre throw-lines while we novices stood 3 mts away and whooped every time any points were scored.  The game is free to play - the only condition is that you drink beer while you do so. No great hardship. 

Food next so we found a stall in the plaza selling the local delicacies: bandeja paise (mixed random meats thrown together in a dish with an egg), and patacones (plaintain, mashed and rolled to plate size, deep fried and served with cheese/chilli etc). 

Arteries clogged we retired for the night a bit giddy to need covers on our bed instead of a noisy and largely ineffective fan (unless the objective of them is to look precarious and pull clumps of plaster out the ceiling, in which case they're excellent). 

Next day we hiked a famous loop that takes you through woods, over many highly questionable rickety bridges (some of which are 2 felled trees laid next to each other- this is not a bridge in my opinion), through a Hummingbird sanctuary, up a bloody steep hill to the money-shot view: lush green mountains surrounded by clouds and wax palm trees. The tallest palms in the world they grow up to 60m high and look quite surreal in these surroundings.  

Hundreds of them line the rest of the walk and were distracting enough to get us through the fields of bulls, under the barbed wire and back to catch a Willy home. Minimum 10 people in the 4-seat Willies before they'll leave so 4 people have to hang off the back for the 25 min ride, while the other six forget the concept of personal space. 

At the hummingbird sanctuary we had another local delicacy : hot chocolate and cheese. The cheese is a bit like halloumi and is broken up into the chocolate where it gets stringy rather than melty.  Enjoyable but not sure I'm desperate for a second bowlful just yet. 

Declaring chocolate/cheese combo as dirty (from the man who'd eaten unidentifiable bits of unknown animals the night before) Chris had yet another rubbish cup of coffee.   Despite growing the best beans in the world, Columbians drink instant coffee with a lot of sugar, or the crap beans they can't sell elsewhere. Sad, but when they grade the beans 1-5, grades 1-4 get exported and the cheap rubbish stays at home. 

We stayed another 5 days after that and got ourselves a Spanish teacher for 3hours a day for an incredibly good $120 dollars for us both.  Marcia is a teacher at Bogota Uni but teaches gringos in the holidays so unlike some student teachers who're just starting out, she really knew how to teach. A 5ft 0 powerhouse of energy, bling and irregular verbs she was excellent for us and by the end of the week we'd watched a couple of films in Spanish, and chatted with a Chilean woman for 2 hours without too much frustration. 

There is still so much to learn and without the discipline of a bossy Latino woman checking our homework each morning we won't continue at the same rate but it's getting easier all the time. Off on the night bus(es) to San Gil. A mere 15 hrs away. 

Medillin: So much more than gangstas

Throughout the 80s & 90s Medellin was a no-go city for everyone who wasn't on Pablo Escobar's payroll.  The most notorious cartel head in Columbia, he was reported to have offered to clear the national debt with his spare change, kept a private zoo with rhinos, and gave $1000 to anyone who'd kill a policeman.  Some locals we've talked to treat him with same warped reverence some cockneys show to the Krays, a Latino Robin Hood who, if you overlook the years of kidnap, extortion and murder, put a lot back into the community.  

As there are back-packer targeted tours of 'Escobar's Medellin' to celebrate the Goodfellas side of the area we were a little apprehensive of how much we'd get out of visiting the city but were proved very wrong. 

The 14 hour night bus was expectedly freezing cold but unexpectedly the entertainment took the form of the singing driver. Super freak, Saturday Night (Wigfield), We are the Champions all played loud and on loop. Not speaking English or knowing the words was not a barrier to our man joining in. I accept he needed to stay awake on a long night drive but we're in Columbia; There are other means. 

Medellin is huge, sprawling and surrounded by mountains. At a higher altitude than we'd experienced so far it's also a lot cooler. After the heat of the coast and jungle it was really nice to walk around without risk of melting. 

On day 1 we joined a walking tour run by a local man (realcitytours), Pablo, who took us on a 4 hour history & cultural guide around the bits of the city most gringo maps have red crosses through.  Pablo had grown up during the Cartel years and made no bones about how unglamorous life had been. He showed us places where people 'disappeared', where politicians were gunned down in broad daylight (3 out of 4 candidates in one election), and where corrupt officials used to detain people indefinitely.  From this though he explained how Medellin had rebuilt itself through political and social reform, and learnt to celebrate at any opportunity. The outcome is an impressively developed city with extremes of society sharing space and pride in their city.

Example: Medellin has a metro system entirely free of vandalism, litter or rudeness. An announcement played every 20 minutes or so reminds you to observe 'the Metro way' which translates into keeping it clean, giving your seat up to people who need it etc. and everyone does. 

The poorest few million people live in barrios (neighbourhoods- really not slums as we were told to expect) sprawling up the steep hills around the city base. To bridge the gap of opportunities the city built a cable car (free to all) to transport people up and down - a journey that you might otherwise consider only doing once a week and would take an age, & a lot of brake pads.  

We used both forms of transport and on both locals were keen to tell us about them. On the cable car a woman pointed out the massive library built in 2006 - the biggest library in the city bang in the middle of the poorest area.  We went in and it had art exhibitions, rooms full of computers etc.  Hard to relay that in the UK we're closing all ours down. 

Downtown the plazas are filled with Botero sculptures, people watchers, alcoholics, prostitutes, children, shoppers and traders all rubbing along together outside the many churches. Local musicians play for free (not at all interested in tourists because it's too new a phenomenon still) and people form big crowds to play Chase the Lady.  Downtown is also where you can buy cheap, large meals ($3 for half a chicken if you don't mind sharing your bench with a shoe-shine and a rent boy). 

Uptown is very different: gated houses, swanky apartments with armed guards on the door, and a square packed full of USA style eateries (including Hooters. I'd rather starve.). The women are pneumatic (boob jobs are around $700 here), the men are pumped up mahagony creatures dripping in gold and very happy to flash their cash. Uptown has US prices to match it's aspirations so we hung out with the scruffs. 

The relatively recent inclusion of Medellin on the gringo trail made it very good for being stared at.  If we stood still for more than 2 minutes a group of locals would join us to see what was happening and thanks to co-travellers Jess & Peter, they had 2 ginger fellas to gawp at (clearly referring to Peter there. Jess does not sport a ginger beard). 

Very enlightening to see a bit of real Columbian life but like all big cities schlepping around it was exhausting so after 3 days we packed up and hopped on the bus to Salento. 

Teyuna, the Lost City

Our guidebook gave the impression that if you're not Bear Grylls you shouldn't attempt the 6 day trek to the Lost City. The tour guide with dollar signs in his eyes said it'd be easy.  The truth lies somewhere between the two, with the slidometer moving to a different point on that scale every 5 minutes. 

We opted to do it in 5 days so with 5-days worth of kit in our backpacks we took a 3 hour chivas (open sided jeep with metal bench seats. Very prone to breaking down) away from the coast and into the hills where we met our fellow Trekkers & ate lunch.  Timed perfectly to ensure the first days walking began in mid-day heat (around 34 degrees), and on a full stomach. 

12 of us plus our guide Rodriguez set off at an alarming pace through a village called Machete and straight onto a trail so gnarled with tree roots we river-danced our way to the first (of 20+) river crossings.  With it being dry season the rivers were low so with the exception of 2 crossings that we had to wade through (checking legs for leeches on exit) they were all deemed suitable for leaping across rocks.  My mountain-goat like balance was exceptional as I gracefully skipped across without a single swear passing my lips*. 

Away from the river we climbed an incredibly steep chalk hill (the path formed from rain cutting through the limestone creating a high sided track that no whisper of a breeze could get to) for 90 minutes. The beauty of climbing up chalk is that it moves under your feet so for every 50cm you step up you slide back 25.  By the end of this natures-travelator I considered dying as the most likely way of finishing the trek. 

Thankfully an unknown force (later understood to be Flor our cook for the duration) had skipped on ahead and at the final turn we found a tray of melon waiting.  This was a reoccurring theme of the walk- every time it got incredibly hot/steep/difficult terrain we were rewarded with fresh fruit. As we were carrying limited water (too heavy) and sweating unbelievable amounts this was a very welcome touch. 

After that climb we were assured it was easy from there (all things being relative -it was) until we reached camp: hammocks and a river to swim/wash in. 

Once the sun had set (around 6.30- close to the equator here so even day/night hours) it got cold quickly. Changed into long trousers & sleeves, socks over trousers (scouse-style) in an attempt to defy the millions of bird-sized biting bugs, we ate rice & eggs by candlelight & then climbed into hammocks hoping a) the mozzie nets didn't have too many holes in them b) the animals around us kept a polite distance away.  That night we saw nothing more than spiders but the frog, monkey & bird chorus was relentless, and like everything in Columbia, really bloody loud. 

5.30 Day 2 we waved goodbye to 6 people who'd opted to complete the trek in 4 days and 6 of us enjoyed a lie in (in reality extra time to uncurl limbs and stretch back into human form after a fairly uncomfortable night with not much sleep). 

As Rodriguez had gone on with the fast group Flor became our new guide.  Rodriguez's 30 or so words of English suddenly seemed quite useful as we realised the fluent bilingual Trekkers were all in the other group and Flor spoke only very fast, loud and feisty Spanish. At 5ft 1, toting a machete, with leg muscles like Jeff Capes, Flor was not a woman to be messed with. 

She marched us up and down hills, crossing rivers, pointing out indigenous dwellings and talking non-stop the entire day.  Between myself & Goetz (a fellow trekker) we translated and relayed questions back (How high is this climb? Are we nearly there yet?) until we reached camp 2. Flor walked us so quickly we caught the fast group up by lunch time. 

Camp 2 was a row of beds under nets, under a tin roof. We washed ourselves and our stinky clothes in the river, explored a bit and were in our stylish night attire by sunset.  With no electricity and no other company we bought some beer off the camp owner and settled down for some mindless chat before 8.30 bedtime. 

Flor had other ideas however.  Sanuel, the camp owner, was the first indigenous person we'd met up close so Flor summoned him to do a 'show and tell' for us. 6 knackered gringos, language barriers in every direction and a naturally shy tribesman would not be anyone's perfect dinner party mix but it was great fun. 

Flor : Sanuel, show them what you carry in your bag. 

Sanuel (looking slightly baffled) reaches past the leaf-woven traditional bag all Kogi men carry, past the hollow gourd strapped to the waist of his all-white tribal suit and from a nylon bag produces a 1980's CB radio. 

After a brilliant 30 seconds of him proffering some old tech at us like he'd just launched a new iPhone, and us all not knowing quite what to say Flor took charge. Sanuel got told off for being dim and was made to put the radio away and show us the contents of the more traditional bags.  

As he emptied a fair amount of marching powder on the table you could see the penny drop - Oh, you meant show the gringos the drugs I'm continuously rubbing into my gums. Got it! 

Kogi folk prefer their class A traditional style so a mix of ground shells & coca leaves are used to give a little pick me up. It was only polite to try it, and Sanuel told us we'd walk much faster the next day: apparently Kogi men go off hunting for 3 days at a time with no need for food or water, just a gourd full of the good stuff. 

With no discernible effects (leaves taste like generic green plant, shells of nothing much) we thanked our host, bought more beer from him and bid him goodnight. 

Not sure whether it was our reduction in numbers, the more exposed environment, the big cats & snakes we'd been told about, or exhaustion kicking in but night 2 in the jungle felt different. Eerily silent and very cold (I went minesweeping empty beds and got 3 blankets but was still freezing)  it was a long night. 

Day 3 was very similar to day 2 - we did indeed walk fast but that was down to Flor rather than coca leaves. She explained on day 2 that as non-indigenous types we weren't allowed into the villages we were walking past but on day 3 she clocked an empty dwelling shared by the local tribe and as no-one was about, took us all in for a look.  

In Kogi communities men live in the big huts on the higher ground, women and children in the smaller ones.  Marriage occurs within tribe only and the happy couple are sent off to one of the fincas (tribe owned shared hut) away from the village to consummate the event. On their return he joins the men, she returns to the women/children. 

This continues for ever! Sex has to be booked in and the whole village knows about it. Privacy is not a privilege of village life. 

The exception is the Shaman who lives in his own house (his wife lives in a neighbouring one. Smaller, obvs) and works between villages. We visited a Shamans house and were shown round the herb garden where he grows cures for typhoid, malaria and cancer.  This last claim was met with a long silence from our group. 

Despite not living as a family unit the wives cook for the family so once a quarter will visit the shared mill and grind enough maize and sugar for their own.  The mill is assembled & strapped to a mule who then circles the hut until it's done. 

Kogi children go to school until the age of 6 when they start work. In 5 days of walking we passed one school building and when we asked Sanuel he told us it's too far away for his kids to bother going. The average brood incidentally is 10 children per couple. 

The Kogi people dress all in white apart from their gum boots, machete harnesses and bags (men only) and are visibly facially different to non-indigenous Columbians. Closer to Mayan features we'd seen in Central America. 

Beliefs wise, they're all about the moon and sun- we trekked at full moon and can understand why they revere it: it makes a big difference to your hunting chances when every animal comes out to play, and you can vaguely see them.

Anyway, day 3 got us to base camp where we slept in a tent and got up at 5.30 to climb the steps to the Lost City. 

Cuidad Perdida : the Lost City.

From around 900 AD it's believed that several thousand Kogis lived in one settlement (Teyuna) in the Sierra Nevada mountain range. They had an established town with 1000ish dwellings, dance floors, ceremonial buildings, sacrificial stones, maps (carved into large rocks), work shops etc but the Spanish invasion bought disease their way and sometime around 1560 they had to abandon the area and move higher into the mountains.  The place then reforested and become lost beneath masses of trees. 

It wasn't until 1975 that explorers rediscovered the 1200 stone steps up to city and began clearing vast amounts of jungle to reveal the stone remains. From the 80s it's been open to tourists although a bout of kidnapping took it off the 'must do' list until 2003 when the Columbian government put a permanent military presence in place at the site.  

Today it's considered very safe and the 20 or so visible soldiers are tourist friendly. We were told there's another 60 or so patrolling the wider area too but we didn't spot them.   As a result of the military camp there is wifi in Teyuna. 

We'd been warned that the city itself is not that impressive and that the trek is the best bit. The trek was fun (in a sometimes miserable, sweaty, exhausting way) but the Lost City was stunning. 

Rodriguez joined us again and gave us lots of information about the way of living and explained things that otherwise would've just looked like small walls.  3 hours of gawping, learning and swatting away huge Mosquitos, we descended the steps and began the full journey in reverse. 

Stopping off for another night at Sanuels place we did the return leg a day quicker as there's 

more downhill (not that much mind. Still the climbs came in long sections and the descents were pretty brutal too). Our final day we set out at 5.30 and added pitch black river crossings to the list of achievements. 

On reflection one of the hardest treks I've done. The distance is only 49km but the terrain, heat, humidity and bugs all made it feel a lot harder but other than flying over in a helicopter it's the only way to see Teyuna and it was definitely worth it. 

After several showers, a trip to the launderette and a day lounging back on the coast we'd almost forgotten the misery of the climbs.  Pain is fleeting, the thrill of seeing sunrise over Sierra Nevada from a throne in the Lost City will last a lot lot longer. 

*in my dreams. At one point Rodriguez ended up in the river trying to help me stay dry. 

Columbia: heat, noise & mud baths

Despite having been on the Pacific or Caribbean coast for weeks now the heat of Cartagena still seemed more oppressive than anything we'd come across. Averaging 35 degree it made sight seeing slow and sticky.  

Our 3 hour castle visit was really interesting but even though we set out at 8am we had to spend the afternoon rehydrating in the shade. Don't know why the heat is so much fiercer than the same temperature in other locations but it definitely is.  Castle/siege fact: Europe had multiple failed attempts to take the City, often foiled by the heat & mosquitos which turned an army of men into sun stroked, malarial loons. Wasn't hard to imagine that. 

Partly due to heat, partly because he was starting to scare children, Chris decided it was haircut time. First one in 3 months so we headed to Columbia's Nicky Clarke for a top notch salon experience.  The barber took an absolute age but was very pleased with his work. And Chris looks like a normal man again, instead of a ginger Tom Hanks in Castaway. 

Today the walled city is the big tourist draw and while it's pretty enough for a sunset walk the buildings within it are now pricey bars, shops & restaurants for the cruise ship day visitors.

Getsemani (used to be slums, now the red light/cheap hostel area) is much more fun- it's where locals live and each evening everyone pulls their chairs into the street, drinks beer/rum and shuffle around to the loudest music ever heard. I've no idea where the average Cartagenan gets a nightclub sound system from but at least one house per street seems to own one. It gets dragged to the front room, turned up to 11 and stays that way til the early hours. 

The teenagers demonstrate their level of apathy/cool by sitting against the speaker and glaring at everyone (unless that's the only facial option with 150Db vibrating through your skull), the men bet on Ludo (an unbelievably noisy and exciting street sport), the woman dance and the old folks rock in their chairs and suck their teeth/coca leaves.  Everyone's happy! 

About 45k outside of the city there's a mud volcano (Volcan Totuma) - like a regular volcano but throws boiling mud instead of lava. Inactive for c30 yrs it's currently used as a bizarre spa.  You climb the volcano (only little), descend a ladder into a mud pool which despite being 23m deep you can't get into beyond shoulder height.  It's so viscous that you're buoyant (very similar feel to the Dead Sea) and so bob around in its healing properties.  

There is the option to be massaged (touched up) for $1.50 by a local with absolutely no massage qualifications which we passed on and chose to manoeuvre our way around by ourselves for 20 minutes. 

Once you've climbed the very slippy ladder out again the weirdness continues as you waddle down to the lake to get clean.  Here a child takes your flipflops, cleans them & has them waiting to step into, while a bossy woman leads you by the hand into the lake, pushes you into sitting position, whips your swimmies off then proceeds to tip buckets of water over your head until you're clean.  By the time the muddy water is out your eyes, and you've recovered from the public nakedness thing your swimmies are returned mud free and you're free to swim or leave as you please. 

An unusual but very enjoyable trip out to end our city stay. Next stop Santa Marta- where Columbians go on holiday, and gringos go to start jungle treks...