Coconut Diaries: Gringa’s Adventures In South America

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San Cipriano and Salento

[spacer] We had been told about a little village near the pacific coast called San Cipriano that promised beautiful waterfalls. Although this was all we knew about this destination, we decided to head there because it was North-ish and I was slowly making my way to Bogota. After a four hour bus ride, we were informed by the very unfriendly bus driver that we had reached our destination. We obediently gathered our gear and got off the bus, only to realize that he was leaving us on the side of the highway, in a very sketchy part of Colombia (women have been turning up dismembered in Buenaventura, just 30 minutes down the same highway.) Before my panic was able to set in, a couple of teenage boys ran over to us and asked us if we were going to San Cipriano. A little reluctantly, we affirmed that indeed we were, and were then instructed to follow them. For fifteen minutes we walked with them as they led us to “La Brujita”.  “La Brujita” is a mode of transportation made up of a slab of wood attached to a motorcycle and mounted onto a pre-existing railway. It is the only way to get into the little village which is on the other side of a large forest. We loaded all our luggage and squeezed onto this magic carpet, crossing ourselves and reciting the Lord’s Prayer.[spacer]

Eight near-death experiences later, we were safely motionless and thanking any god who would listen. Another teenage boy offered to find us a place to stay (I later found out that all these boys are related). He led us to what appeared to be his home – a structure made entirely of plywood and a roof of scrap metal. Lonely Planet wasn’t joking when they described the accommodations as “extremely basic”. Our guide’s mother took us to a bare, roofless room with two cots and mosquito nets. The shower consisted of a hose hanging between two cinder blocks, covered with a black tarp. Not wanting to be rude, but secretly wondering if all the accommodations in the village were like this one, we accepted to stay the night. A tour of the town (which can be walked in ten minutes) revealed that really was the standard of living.[spacer] [spacer] We passed homes and businesses made completely out of plywood and scrap metal, all of them without doors and open to the elements. The roads were dusty and unpaved, and the kids ran around shoeless and shirtless. We also noticed that everyone (and I mean everyone) was of African decent. Our neglect to research the destination had inadvertently landed us in Choco, one of Colombia’s poorest regions. I wasn’t unhappy with the turn of events, I just really wasn’t prepared for it. Then it dawned on me that this was exactly the kind of thing Harry had encouraged me to do – to get out of my comfort zone and see how many Colombians actually live. We met a group of French teachers, the only other foreigners around, and spent the evening doing what everyone seemed to be doing, hanging out and going to bed early. The next day we asked to be led to the famous waterfalls. Our host’s teenage son offered to take us, and our two hour jungle treck began.[spacer] Sweaty and covered in red mud from the narrow pathways and the steep climbs, we arrived just in time to swim in the most beautiful waterfall,  the first of many during my trip. I chatted with our guide on the way back, curious about his quiet life and about his plans for the future. He explained to me that the only industry in San Cipriano is tourism (how, I’m not sure,  because we were almost the only ones there) and that although he had been to Cali a couple of times before, he loves living where he lives and his family business and has no interest in education or moving to the city. At first my Western self could not wrap my mind around this – why wouldn’t you want to move to the big city and have a shot at success, and all the nice material things the people in his village only see on TV? The answer came to me as I sat on a bench that evening and watched the neighbourhood boys happily play a soccer match on a dirt field, shoeless, and with an ancient and deflated soccer ball. This is his home, and these are his family and friends. While the conditions are less than favorable, the impression I got was that not one of these teenagers wished to be living elsewhere, they just wished to improve where they were. It was humbling to see people living with so little, and it really gave my impression and understanding of Colombia more depth. The disparity between the social classes here is a large one, as it is in many parts of the world. Being forced to spend a couple of days with no internet and with virtually no entertainment was also an eye opener. I became hyper aware of how much stimulation I need to be content. I found myself getting frustrated with what I was perceiving as a waste of time when we were forced to hang around doing nothing like the locals did all day and evening. Our lives are so go-go-go in urban cities, we often forget that this way of life is a choice, and not a necessity.

Grateful for our experience, but ready to move on, we boarded the bus to Salento the next day. Oh, Salento, Salento, Salento. You know when you arrive somewhere that immediately feels like home? That’s what Salento was for me. Right in the heart of the Zona Cafetera, Salento is a picturesque little city with lush green mountains, coffee fincas and a very laid back feel. In short, it is a hippie’s paradise! We checked into La Serrana, a beautiful hostel set within a dairy finca (with magic mushrooms that grow in the backyard for all to enjoy!). The next day, we visited a small family-run coffee finca, and learned how to process coffee by hand. It was a little bit of a shock to learn that over %70 or Colombia’s coffee is exported, and that most of Colombians drink cheap instant coffee (or more like sugar with a little instant coffee). We also took a hike up the Valle de Cocora, an area with some of the world’s largest palm trees. The spectacular views of the hundreds of tall, gangly palm trees and grazing cattle made for a really great hike.[spacer][spacer][spacer][spacer]
At night, we went to play “tejo”, a traditional game with heavy metal pucks and exploding gun powder. On my last night there, I was convinced by someone at the hostel to go to an ayahuasca ceremony which proved to be culturally educational, but not life-altering as it had been advertised to me (more on this later). I would have stayed in Salento longer (maybe forever?) if a bus driver strike wasn’t due to start the next day. I said my goodbyes, and promised myself to visit this wonderful place again, and then boarded the overnight bus to Bogota[spacer]

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