Sunday, February 28, 2016

Let the bicycles have a turn

This morning was bicycle magic. Every Sunday in the city of Medellin (likewise Bogotá), a subset of highways are closed to car traffic on Sundays. Open instead for cyclists, runners, walkers, boys popping wheelies. Ciclovia it is called.

It's like having a Streets Alive in Ithaca every Sunday, and 20 times bigger. Or maybe like the AIDS ride around Cayuga or the STP in Seattle. Over a hundred kilometers of road are closed for this.

The support infrastructure was astounding. There were good-humored crossing guards at every intersection wearing green uniforms, orange cones and barricades set up along the whole route, police officers overlooking all of it. Vendors sold orange juice and sugar cane water along route, and there were piles of bike parts for sale. 

I rode for 40 kilometers, grinning nearly the whole time, loving being able to cruise in what would be a 2-lane highway, admiring all the people out for exersize, loving that a city would put so much care into a weekly bike event for its people. There is so much joy to be had in a community of humanity all enjoying movement together.

Men in lycra racing uniforms folded over their handlebars, teen boys riding trick bicycles their knees in their armpits, a young girl rattling along on training wheels, women in bright workout gear roller-blading, an old man and his wife elegantly rolling by on very upright frames. Such a diverse mix, again the theme of Diversity comes out here.

For the first time in this country I rode my bicycle without being whistled at. (Well, except for one of the be-lycra'd gentlemen who did so quietly as he passed me) Granted, I did some passing of the Lycra Gentlemen myself, especially up the little city hills. (Thank you, Andes Mountains, for the excellent training)


Engine-free zone; this highway is for people power!
I pedalled gleefully all over the city, from the tree-lined shaded neighborhoods to the downtown area like this, tall buildings looming.
Views of the city available from the middle of the highway, without worry of being hammered by a truck.


One of the routes led me to the neighborhood of Envigado, where I found an energetic group of women and men dancing to music in a park. Speakers blasted salsa, reggaeton, jovial workout music. A guy with a microphone standing on a platform was calling out moves. I left my bicycle to rest and jumped in with them.

What could be more joyful than dancing along with all these colorfully dressed people! In sandals and sweaty bike shorts, but somehow I still managed to feel sassy and coordinated and dorky-without-caring. A bouncy fit man with a microphone called out moves in Spanish and I could get the gist: one, two, three, four! Four more! To the left! Hands up! Looking great!


Dancing translates into all languages


After the bicycling, I refueled with a very gourmet chocolate-cappucino in the elegant district of El Poblado (relishing the elegance while I can, for cheap, and I have been through enough dusty Hay Nada Pueblos that gourmet is completely exciting for me), and then set off by foot up the edge of the valley.

I walked curvy roads through what would be Rochester's East Ave or Ithaca's Cayuga Heights. A very different picture of Colombia. At one point I dead-ended at a fancy impassable gated community, disappointed that I would have to backtrack down the slope again. However, the security guards must have realized from my idiot Spanish that I was likely no more threatening than an infant and buzzed open the white gate to let me pass through.


Stacking my pleasures: coffee and writing.
Passing through the impassable rich gated world


Near the top of the valley, with an exquisite view of the city, I found the truly enormous El Tesoro Shopping Park. I wandered around, blinking from all the input, country mouse in the gleaming commercialized buzz. Everything from American Eagle (what is that doing here?!) to fried-chicken-with-honey places. Families strolled arm in arm among the bright shops, lovers sat on the provided leather couches in a world of their own, children screeched on rides in the attached amusement park.


El Tesoro Shopping Park, with--get this--a "Snow Magic World" exhibit, complete with a ticket counter.


Saturday, February 27, 2016

An enormous rock

Today I did not ride my bicycle.

Instead I walked, then rode the metro, and then took a bus to the town of Guatape, to climb 649 stairs up a giant rock.

Our bus slowed down slightly for a toll booth, and a Mr Roadside Snacks broke into a run, grabbed the handle of the door, and hoisted himself aboard. "Papas! Papas!" he called up the bus aisle. He had only a little time. Just a bit past the toll-booth, and Mr Driver slows down just enough for Mr Snacks to jump out and hit the pavement running. Talk about a day-job for quick reflexes.

Medellin is a city the size of Chicago, this enormous pile of humanity poured into a valley along the Andes. It is the second largest city in Colombia, and an incredible success story of crime reduction. It is the only city with a metro system, which is pristine: no graffiti, security guards on every platform. I could relax out a metro window and marvel at this huge city.

It was a really good Saturday. Good in the ways of simple pleasures, enjoying life without too much work. I ate a guava-cheese pastry, climbed the hundreds of stairs past heaving and panting people, revelled in a gorgeous breath-taker of a view, acquired a becoming hat, and watched the world go past out a bus window like a contented dog. We wandered around the town of Guatape, the houses painted playful colors and decorated with with paintings of sheep, flowers, horses....  The place was so cute it felt like we were in a doll house; that people actually live in a place so decorated says something about this culture and this country. I love it.


The enormous rock, bizarrely yet perfectly placed among a beautiful cut and curving set of lakes
The view from the top of the rock, El Piñol. It was amazing in a way words cannot express; I spent a long time up there, in the breeze, just feasting my eyes on the expansive and intricate land and water.
When climbing the many stairs up the rock, please don't eat ice creams or mangos. I love that this sign probably exists only in this one place on the planet, such a unique problem. Tropical food slipperiness.
And many stairs there were. I love heights, but even I found it a little dizzying.


The impossibly adorable town of Guatapè, near El Piñol rock. I felt like I was a doll in a dollhouse, being in this town.
All of the houses were decorated in this manner.


Still Life with Bananas, and other scenes

Paintings of still life you might see in a museum: a goblet and a pear glowing, oysters and a lemon cut in the light just so, a pale girl posing on a chair with a feather.

Here, amongst our very specific life style of living off our bikes in a strange and tropical place, I captured still life scenes that arose organically. I share them now, the bicycle portion of this trip finished. I really enjoy that, in the simplicity of certain items at rest together, or others observed in their place, a story and explanation of an experience can exist.

I've been capturing them over our journey, and share them in this post.


Tree flower resting on walking path (Minca)


Pear nectar in roadside heat (El Copey)
Still life with bananas and sun gear
Regiment of water bottles awaiting the nightly filling
Self portrait with chair (local home selling use of baño, Barranquilla)
Still life outside internet cafe (Santa Veronica)
Sizeable bolsa de agua with dragon fruit in repose


Exposition on the superior use for televisions


Friday, February 26, 2016

Journey's End

The bathroom had not only toilet paper, but also running water and soap, and in the ultimate display of luxury: paper towels. I washed my face and shed a few tears. Of gratitude and relief: we had made it. Our final destination, the city of Medellin, all the way from the city of Cartagena. I fly out of here Tuesday. 1164 kilometers of riding. Just two flat tires and zero crashes, zero kidnappings, zero car bombs. (I was not living in fear of those, you must know, but I know some of you were)

In continuation of the theme of Contrasts, mind-blowing contrasts, I feel like I am not in Colombia right now, but the hip and trendy neighborhood of Ballard, Seattle. We are at probably the best coffee shop in Medellin, Pergamino Cafe. To navigate us through the bombastic slew which is the giant city of Medellin, I needed a focal destination point, and I chose this cafe to aim for. 

With paper towels. And, of all things, American blues music playing. How strangely out of place, but comforting, and also a reminder that this trip must transition back to my stationary dysentery- and sun-free Ithaca life.

And real coffee, not Nescafe with too much sugar. Blessed real coffee.


The return to full fat air

Biking through the Wisconsin of Colombia...the upper elevations of the mountains were dotted with happy grazing cows. The milk here is delicious.
Unlike Chapter One, by the coast in the very dry areas, this chapter is full of flowering trees and peoples' blossoming gardens.
Wednesday morning we reached our point of highest elevation, 2,600 meters, and stopped at the peak for a jubilant commemorate photo.
And thus began the descent this morning. It took us hours of crossing through the top shelf south of Santa Rosa, cold enough to need coats, periods of endless coasting mixed with bouts of little climbs.
And what a breath-taking glorious descent it was, my hands sore now from the breaking, rather than my quads from the climbing. We stopped by this visage half way down.
Even though encased in cloud, to see this view, by Don Matìas, below and to know we would be soon down in there ourselves, was a phenomenal way to appreciate distance and landform.
And now we stay in the city of Bello, just outside Medellin, our final destination. We both feel like autistic children in a city now, noise and inputs and people!, after so much spacious cloud-tops and expansive wind.
After riding down the mountains, into the city valley, I could feel a difference in the temperament of the air. We are back to air that is at full percent fat again, down to 1400 meters. Just last night we were in thin diet air, a cold night indeed, many blankets needed, in Santa Rosa.  


Thursday, February 25, 2016

So much affection and other cultural observations



Here are a few more cultural observations, upon request. These are in addition to those from a post at the beginning of the trip.

Please be aware that these are by no means representative of what the culture may actually be; these are simply my observations. I am also making generalizations as well, when more specific qualifiers may be appropriate, but I do my best as a biking anthropologist.

Our top favorite about the culture:
--How affectionate people are with each other here, the couples, the families, friends. In Barranquilla, for instance, I was watching a big brother and his little brother, the bigger holding and bouncing the little one, happily watching the carnival parade. Young girls walking arm in arm with their grandma. School girls holding hands and crossing the street. Boys draped over each other playing a phone game. Elise and I will happily sit and watch people for hours, just because it's so endearing and nurturing, just to observe. This sort of unmediated touching and affection is something you rarely see in the States, but is everpresent here.

--The vendors take one "no" for an answer if we don't want to buy anything; we really appreciate this. "Coco fria, chicas?" And one "no, gracias" and they leave us alone. This was not the case in Southeast Asia, where vendors would ask us at least four or five times, sometimes following us down the street. If I didn't want a lottery ticket the first time, I'm not about to be convinced by you waving it in my path.

--Salt is solo on the dining tables, there is no accompanying pepper. I bought a small bag of pepper in a grocery store to have with our meals. The few times I did see pepper on a table it did not come alone, but mixed with salt.

--The things we don't see can be as indicative as the things we do. I have noticed very little smoking. Although there are lots of signs in restaurants and hotels asking people not to smoke there.

--Also, compared with Costa Rica and Puerto Rico (my only other Latino culture comparisons) there is less a feeling of machismo here. This is represented by the lack of loud-mufflered, tricked-out machismo cars.  There have been a few cars modified so that the rear wheels are markedly taller than the front, making the thing appear as if its about to do a nose dive, and this must be the machismo style here. But they have quiet mufflers and there are few of them.

--As women travelers, we have been treated with the utmost care and kindness. I can rarely get away with carrying my own bags. Last night a dude knocked on our hotel door to bring me my helmet I'd left on my bicycle; he was concerned it would be stolen. The men here somehow manage to be Latin, flirtatious, but not annoying.

--The truck drivers in this country are the most considerate I have ever encountered on a bike, which likely relates to the point above. They mostly refrain from honking at us (unlike Thailand where we had to wear earplugs) and they give us as much room as they possibly can. When they do honk at us, it is from quite a ways back, to give us time to move over, and the honks are so bip-like and gentle, as if they are apologizing, "sorry I'm so big, ladies, but I need to get through", rather than, "I'm bigger than you are outta my way!" In other places the trucks would honk when right beside us, which is just loud and cruel.

--Everything is drunk with a straw. A cup with a straw. A glass bottle with a straw. Gas drinks with a straw.

--Not wine or a beer served before your dinner arrives, as we are accustomed in the States. Here, the food is served alone, and then part way through people will get a sweet colored gas drink to go with it. I've watched how people eat here, and they'll take a big bite of food, then a big straw-full of sugary drink, so that basically all the bite is going to taste like sugar inside.

--Men admiring a woman is expressed as a whistle. At first we were annoyed by the frequent whistles at us, but then upon watching how a local woman behaved (smiling slightly, acknowledging the gesture) we realized this is a compliment indeed.

--People hiss to get your attention.

--Children here are mainly unattended, riding bikes at all hours in the city squares, wandering in happy packs in the villages, running errands in little flip flops carrying large bolsas. This is so different from America, where we keep our kids protected and busy and indoors. The children here seem happy and at peace; rarely have I seen a whining child pestering a beleaguered mother. P.S. Futball is an activity found in almost all towns, for the boys.   

--Although this is not a culture thing, I should mention that almost all the products we buy are Hecho en Colombia. Many clothes, chocolate bars, yogurt, peanut snacks, bottled drinks...all Made in Colombia. I like that almost all we buy has been made here and not shipped in from elsewhere.

--Colombians live outdoors, just about. Houses are not a binary "indoors" and "outdoors" but more of a continuum: people sitting on steps, doors open, half open courtyards with sitting room furniture. And not only the houses, but it seems like the entire town is out in parks and cafeterias anyway. In the rural areas people were even hanging out right on the edge of the road, girls dressed cutely and brushing their hair.

--Anyone, at any time, is liable to start singing along with the music, no matter who is around.

--This country is hugely family oriented.

--Easy-going, care-free, non-judgemental people. Elise, a world-renowned world-traveler, says Colombians are the chillest people she has ever encountered. Hotel owners lend us bowls and don't care if we make salad in the room, restaurant owners care not if we bring in our own food, no one seems rushed or harried or annoyed, by anything, ever.

--This chillness can be best represented by the following anecdote. Scene: grocery store parking lot. Time: morning.  Mr Taxi drops off two ladies at the store and continues driving slowly through the lot. Simultaneously, Mr Bolsa comes out of the store, carrying a bolsa, and walks into the parking lot. He must have been in Colombia Cloud World, because he's slowly meandering, drifting by, totally unaware of the world around him. He walks in the path of Mr Taxi. And the following is the amazing part, which would only rarely happen in the states: Mr Taxi gently bips his horn at Mr Bolsa, and then they look at each other in this sheepishly knowing way, and burst into laughter together. It's like Mr Taxi could recognize Mr Bolsa was happily day dreaming, or had had a beer already, or was in love with someone, and they shared that moment.

None of this impatient honking, "get outta my way!", or rushing here and there.

--Public transport. If Southeast Asia was bicycles for the kids to get to school and motorbikes for everyone else, then Colombia is predominantly buses. School buses, city buses, buses between towns, giant buses to traverse the country. The municipal buses will stop anywhere along their routes to pick up and drop off riders. A bloke hangs out the open door, yelling out the name of the destination, and helping people on and off. Again, huge respect for elders and women.


A Tale of Two Chairs

(This post is in honor of the Yosts. :) written  Wednesday)

These two chairs encapsulate the diversity we experience daily in this country. The little wooden one was at a rural cafeteria on the mountain plateau (between Yarumal and Santa Rosa) the only place for kilometers, sitting perched up there in the wind with the cows.

We biked through the Wisconsin of Colombia today, the milk production region. A very windy and cloudy and cold Wisconsin: the diversity of eco-zones in this country continues to astound me.

The second chair is in the town of Santa Rosa, at an epically schmancy pizza restaurant. The decorations and classy furniture always seem so striking to me after so many meals in dusty little thatched-roof places.

And at either type of place, we are treated with such welcome and leave rotund and happy.

Maybe that's one reason I love travel so much, its a way of seeing, really seeing, participating in these contrasts. 


Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Accompanying photos to The Hardest Ride

It was so quiet this morning I could just about hear the clouds. It felt like Easter Morning today, something reverent and arisen about the day.
And then fog: deep in the clouds. Check out the nest in that tree though.
The Legs of Power are rewarded with a stretch.
This view captivated us, for the road threading upwards ahead, the waterfall, all those leaves.
Yoga with a view.
Cows grazing on rich grass gave me the aura of the Alps, even though I've never been. The air felt whispier, and it was goose-bump cool, and the views....
We arrive tonight in the town of Yarumal, at 2,400 meters. The place bustles with commerce, these colorful buses, trendy colored hair, and fashionably dressed people. We felt duly overwhelmed and underdressed.
This was the hyperbolic ride today, elevation gain of about 4,700 feet over 36 kilometers.


Tuesday, February 23, 2016

Could be the hardest ride of my life

Thankfully we had bought snacks upon heading back up the mountains this morning.

I was eating guava paste and chocolate and cake and peanuts AND was still astonished to find that I might as well have been emptying the packets straight onto the road, as all these calories didn't seem to be working. It was a fascinating situation and a tribute to the amount of energy needed to bike up mountains. Astonishing. But I love to eat. And I love to pedal. So I just keep endlessly repeating both activities.

As a cyclist, I've had many a good hard ride in my time (which, upon reflection, has been no small amount of time). The 100-milers, the bitterly cold and windy between Washington and Idaho, the Thailand island with fierce fall-over grades. All these rides were tough for their own unique reasons, meriting each their hyperboles in my history.

Today's goes in the history. It gets the award for longest unceasing climbing push. I might even call it the hardest ride I ever did. I can't remember the last time I was shaking slightly upon dismounting my bike--maybe years ago when I was just starting out--and I think it's a gift in this way to find my edge again. It's not like climbing to Cornell, which is steep, and where I can stand in my pedals and roar forward because I know it's only 20 minutes of it. Here, it will not end. At least not reasonably. Endless climbing.

Two hours in--as I write this over eggs and rice--we've gone all of 15 kilometers, with an average speed of 7.9 kph.

Elise has climbed all over Australia and Romania, but for me this ride feels  momentous.

The road is smooth, the traffic is light, the temperatures are cool, and we are in the clouds. Like being in an airplane, where you look out the window hoping to see a landmark, but all you see is grey fog. At some points we cannot even see the upcoming rise in front of us.

My biggest thrill came from parasiting myself a free ride. I was going up a rise, grappling away, and a fourteen wheeler is roaring slowly up right next to me, grinding into gear. This is all in the careful timing and balance: I reach out and grab a metal handle piece at the rear of the truck. Whoosh!--a bit like water skiing one-handed--and voila I'm being towed. Once I got my balance (staying close enough to the truck but not too close) I was grinning like an idiot, how amazing to be gaining some elevation without work, save my left arm. I let go after a little time though, as Elise didn't have a truck and I didn't want to get too far ahead. 

What a hoot. That is always a dream of mine, to ski behind a truck like that up hills.

Later:
The end of the ride had a long descent, careening us into the town of Yarumal where we spend the night. Contrast again (Contrast as a theme of this journey): this descent in comparison to the hours of crawling speeds was that much more glorious, I indeed got a little choked up, whizzing past the green hills in my own breeze and into civilization.


Photos: the stairway to heaven

Heaven offered many photo opportunities, but wouldn't let me post them right away.


The town of Valdivia seems to be built in a stack, all on the vertical
View from about 900 meters up.
The street drops to a doozy while school children eat matching bright snacks
The cathedral surveys the nest
From our cozy treehouse hotel room looking into the square


Monday, February 22, 2016

The stairway to heaven

If Hell is dysentery in Plato in 105 degree heat with toilets that don't flush, then Heaven is the small town of Valdivia balanced on a mountain top in the cool clouds with a beautiful church and free wifi in the park and temperatures in the comfortable 70s.

Also, it is full of butterflies.

We climbed 900 meters today to get up here, which is like stacking the Cornell Hill atop itself 5 times and then inserting it into an oven. We climbed enough elevation so that when I opened my bottle of aloe up here it went "psst!" from the change in pressure.

Climbing up the mountain, using the lowest gear I had, in full sun with no breeze and little shade: I don't know that I have ever sweat that much (and this is coming from a sweaty epoch indeed). We created no breeze, as we were crawling barely faster than parked cars. My clothes were sopping, I was blowing a collection of droplets off my nose every 20 seconds, and I was extremely grateful for my eyebrows.

Do you know the biological significance of eyebrows?

To keep sweat from dripping directly into the eyes.

I knew that with the gain in elevation we would eventually bike ourselves out of this oven but it took a lot of faith to keep powering upward. But about 600 meters up we reached thicker clouds and the stew-like air began to imperceptibly thin out.

I felt Not Hot for the first time since riding this bicycle here.

I write this from a third floor balcony hotel room in Valdivia; I feel like we are in a tree house. A rainstorm is dancing in the streets currently and we are relaxing in this sound, relishing the lack of Corazon Music.

Again, excuse me as I yammer on about how much we love this town. It amazes me how it seems to be built on the vertical, soft mountain peaks rising from all views around it. The red roof of the church serves as central gaze point, and the town square below is filled with children popping wheelies on bikes, teenage lovers holding hands, and old men waiting with their taxis. The three story homes and hotels surrounding the square give all of this a nest-like feeling. Once the travel writers put this in a guide book, it will be a total tourist destination. It is just that charming.

But for now it is only us and all the people who live here. 

So for all the toilets without water, and the ear-rending Corazon Music, the insurmountable heat, and the hotel rooms so small we can't walk past each other, we push through and then find glorious gems like this town and this tree house room. Pleasures are richer in this context.



Photos on the road: Pueblo Nuevo to Tarazà (the rivers section)

This is what real mistletoe looks like, by the way. This epiphytic dark green wad hanging out in another tree.
We found a charming pedestrian shopping mall in the town of Taraza. On the edge of the mountains, surrounded by cattle, this place feels oddly like Wyoming.
Our ride along the Cauca river. We love all the green.
What a delicious road! Smooth, shaded, shouldered. As I keep yammering on about, the roads in this country have been ideal for cycling.
Classic house paint. Laundry day!
Banyos exist in all forms, when necessary. Climbed down into the culvert beneath this amazing ficus tree. The culvert was beating with bats!
A view up into the ceiling of this hotel (in Pueblo Nuevo), proves pleasing in patterns of palm thatch.
Breakfast at Grandma's place is cooked on a fire. Every meal here, no matter where or when, we always leave full to the ears, and pay about $2-$5 for both of us.


Also, thank you all for the feedback! I enjoyed hearing from you, and glad you are all traveling along, less sweatily and with fewer ants, I'm sure. :)  I'll post more town names, for those mapophiles out there. (It may not look like we are travelling very far each day, but there is so much to take in within each kilometer, that it feels very far indeed)