Mella Madness

Crossing the border from Panama to Costa Rica by foot was just so much easier than going through the rigmarole of airport exists/entrances – hassle-free and quick, no checking in/out of luggage, scans, or passport control checks, just a quick stamp in one’s passport at both ends, and voilà you’re through. 

Arriving at Puerto Viejo on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, I was excited to see tuc-tucs, my favourite mode of transport.  As soon as I stepped off the bus, I approached one and requested a ride to my hostel, 3,5km out of town.  He quoted a price (CRC 3000) which became un poquito más (a little more) when he realised I was not going to the beach in Cocles (the next small town) but to a hostel, Madre Selva Jungle Hostel, in the rainforest 1,5km further.   I only had dollars on me, and the receptionist at the hostel changed my $20 for Costa Rica colones (CRC), as the driver did not want to take dollars.  I was expecting change, but he waved me off, stating that the CRC 7000 was the right amount.  I tried to argue, but to no avail, and had to contend with paying R250 for a 3,5km trip.   That was the last of my using a tuc-tuc – for the rest of my stay, I walked the 3,5km every time I needed to go in to town, hot and sweaty, but determined not to pay.  

The rest of the day was rather frustrating.  I needed to buy a new sim-card and to draw some money, so I walked the 500m along a dirt road to Cocles, the closest town.  Some very helpful ladies at the supermarket sold me a sim-card for $2, but couldn’t get it registered, so I went to the next supermarket where they sold me a different sim-card (Liberty) which they still couldn’t get registered, so I had to go to the Liberty office in Puerto Viejo, which was closed, as I got there after 17h00.  Along the way I had seen a guy who had been on the same shuttle as me from Bocas del Toro, standing in front of a hostel.  I had chatted to him, and then I had noticed that one could rent bicycles there, which I then did, thinking it would save me walking to town and back.  I could only get it for 24 hours though.  In town I was also unable to draw money, I don’t know why it was refused, as it worked two days later.  It was dark by the time I cycled back to my hostel, and I did the last 500m dirt road using my cellphone as a torch.  A stretch was uphill, so I was pushing the bike part of the way, grateful when I arrived at the hostel safely.  

Another reason for renting a bike was that I wanted to cycle the 10km to the national park at Manzanillo, a town further east.  It was a lovely morning (although there were threatening clouds in the distance) and an easy ride, with just two slight uphills.   One walks to a lookout point, not very far, and then one can walk further to another beach, which a volunteer working at the hostel had told me was “the most beautiful beach I have ever see”.  The path was very muddy, I was hot and tired of all the uphills and downhills, and very disappointed when I finally came to the beach – many palm- and other trees had fallen down, and the embankment was badly corroded as result of rising seawater.  There were buildings, which looked like a bar and restaurant, but everything was closed and deserted, probably as the season had ended.  I had a quick swim and walked back, advising a girl who asked about the distance to not go further as it was muddy and the beach not worth it.  Just as well, because it started raining just as we came out of the forest,  which meant I had to cycle back in pouring rain.  Back at the hostel I had a shower, put on dry clothes, donned my plastic cape against the rain, and cycled a further 3km to return the bicycle. Wet and cold, I ordered an uber to take me back to the hostel, at half the price of the tuc-tuc.   

The third day I again walked to Puerto Viejo to get the sim-card sorted out and to draw money, all successful this time.  There are many restaurants, bars and coffee shops – it is a town with a typical Caribbean vibe and a popular tourist destination.  I bought a very fancy iced coffee which cost a fortune (R160!!), but it wasn’t  that spectacular.  I bought some groceries and did home-cooking that night (pasta and sauce, the standard dish), in a bit of a shock about the price of everything. 

My original idea was that I would spend a month working in Costa Rica, and I managed to get work at a hostel between Quepos and Manuel Antonia, another popular tourist area, on the Pacific side.  It was a long trip via San Jose, the capital, so I spent the following two nights in Cahuita, a town closer to San Jose.  There was another national park there that reportedly had more animal sightings, so I was keen to visit it. Cahuita was much more my kind of town – it is very small, the main street having mostly restaurants, and everybody seemed to be locals. I was early (booking in is normally after 2pm) so I walked through the town, ending up at a restaurant where I had my first casado, a local dish that has now become my favourite.  It is tasty, affordable (R200), the meat is very tender, and it is more than enough. 

The hostel where I stayed, called The Secret Garden, was really lovely, with a very talkative and friendly receptionist who kept everything clean and tidy.  I arrived there one evening after a  stroll to see the sunset, to find her very agitatedly shining her cellphone torch into the bushes.  “There’s a snake here, and I don’t know what kind it is!” she exclaimed.  She had gone to take a photograph of a light or meter in the hedge, and the snake was right there. Later she came to tell me it was not poisonous.  And I had another interesting experience in the hostel.  I was having an afternoon nap, when one of the other occupants of the room arrived, came over to my bed and opened the curtain behind my head.  Looking at me she said:  “I thought this was a females-only dormitory!”  I lifted my head, and replied:  “The last time I checked, I was female.”  She was very apologetic and closed the curtain – I suppose I have my very short hair to blame for that. 

The park is very marshy, so one walks on boardwalks to the point of the peninsula where there is a safe beach to swim. There was a stretch along the coast where they made one aware of the evidence of corrosion as result of the rising seawater level, not very pleasant to see or walk through.  I saw some sloths, monkeys, many hermit crabs and lizards,  but that was about it.  I heard birds call, but the forest is dense and they sit high up in the trees, difficult to spot.  I had a swim at one of the beaches, and as it was a circular route, I emerged at another gate, 4km from town.  At the exit I was greeted by a taxi driver in perfect English:  “Hello lady!  I hope you can speak Spanish, because I cannot speak English!” I laughed and declined his offer of a ride into town, telling him I was going to catch the bus.  He told me they came every hour, looked at his watch and said the next one was due in 3 minutes.  I ran the 100m to the bus stop, was there in time, just to see it drive past without stopping.  I walked back to the taxi driver who was just leaving with 2 other passengers, and sheepishly asked for a ride.  He made us a special offer, so it wasn’t too expensive. 

If one has a long journey on a bus, they stop for a lunch and bathroom break along the way, usually at a place where there are restaurants and stalls that cater for the passengers.  On the way to San José, there were more stalls than usual, with interesting crafts and things to eat.  The distances are not that far, but as the roads are winding through mountain passes, it often takes much longer than expected.  Beautiful countryside, with spectacular views at times – but difficult to photograph in a moving bus. 

In San José I had to go to another bus station to catch the local bus to Quepos, and again the taxi driver quoted an exorbitant price so I ordered an uber, which the taxi driver told me was illegal.  I’m not sure if that is true, but it sounded a bit like they were trying to monopolise the industry, just like in South Africa.  When we got to the Pacific coast, we passed about 30km or more of palm tree plantations, and I read that this area has the largest production of palm oil in Costa Rica.  The palms were planted in the 1950’s to replace the banana plantations that had been wiped out by disease.  Although palm oil production is an important industry in Costa Rica, it remains environmentally debatable because of deforestation, soil health, and water usage and pollution. 

Now I have been working at a hostel, Planet B, 3km outside of Quepos, for almost 3 weeks.  The owner, who lives in Texas, has an hotel as well, 5min walk down the road (BongO), where the volunteers stay.  Bongo is nestled on a slope in the surrounding forest, and wildlife abounds here.  There are monkeys, iguanas, lizards, sloths, macaws and other birds.  

I’m sharing a bungalow with a delightful 19-year old girl, Amy, from the USA, whom I keep on pestering with translations of voice notes that Fernando, the manager, sends on the group.  He doesn’t speak English, and my Spanish is just not good enough to understand.  I really appreciate these youngsters for accepting me as an equal, despite the age difference.  We are spoilt, as we have air-conditioned rooms, a huge kitchen just for the volunteers, and we may use the swimming pool.  We work 4-hour shifts for 6 days, and then have a day off.  There are beaches close by, Quepos is 20min walk down the hill and there is a regular local bus to catch if you don’t feel like walking back up the steep hill.  Spectacular sunsets can be viewed just 200m down the road, and the very popular Manuel Antonia national park is 20min away by local bus.  Costa Rica, and especially this area, is very expensive, so I am more than happy that I have free board and lodging for a month.  Many expats have settled here, and one hears the Americans everywhere.  The sea is warm, but some beaches are very dangerous as there are rip currents, so one has to be careful. 

Yesterday was my day off, and I went to the national park in Manuel Antonia.   One has to book online, which I initially struggled with, but Amy helped and eventually I managed to secure a booking.  I had to buy a non-disposable water bottle, as plastic ones are not allowed in the park, and neither is any food.  There is a restaurant in the middle of the park, which is caged in, so that no animals are attracted by food. 

Walking in the park was frustrating, not at all like the parks in Panama, where I was sometimes the only one there.  There are many visitors, most of them part of a group led by a guide.  The paths are all paved, or are wooden walkways, and often so congested with people and guides, that one struggles to get past them.  The guides have telescopic bent lenses that people can use to look at insects, frogs, crabs, birds or sloths that are often high in the trees.  All the paths are indicated on my Maps.Me app, so I managed to steer clear of the crowds at times, walking deep into the forest.  Then I would slow down, take a deep breath, inhaling the damp forest smell, listening to the silence and  enjoying the fullness of the moment.  I realised that I had missed the jungle walks, not having done one in almost three weeks.   

The following picture is one of an uprooted old giant that had fallen across the path.  A chunk had been sawn out and removed, the rest of it was lying stretched out on the other side of the path.  Just beyond that was a sign that said: “Matter cannot be created or destroyed, it can only be transformed”, with an explanation of the ecosystem that is sustained by fallen trees.

Evidently the fruit lying around the iguana are from a highly toxic tree, the Manchineel tree (Hippomane mancinella), regarded as the most dangerous tree in the world.  Every part of it is highly toxic – the bark, leaves, fruit, and even its sap.  It causes acid-like burns and blisters, the smoke from burning logs when inhaled can cause eye irritation and respiratory problems, and eating the fruit can be fatal.  One shouldn’t even stand under one when it’s raining.  Locally it is known as manzanillo de playa (beach chamomile) or árbol de la muerte (tree of death) and it grows at the edge of sandy beaches. I didn’t know any of is, and happily picked up and played with one of the fruit while walking along the beach (I usually pick up a stone, but there weren’t any).  I also almost sat down on a trunk to put on my shoes, when a passer-by warned me.  Oops! 

This morning during my breakfast shift I was talking to one of the guests, when she saw a sloth in a tree next to the hostel.  It was the first time I had seen one move in natural surroundings, and compared to the monkeys they are very slow, but compared to a chameleon they are quite fast.  I’m loving this living surrounded by nature, birds and animals. 

After the cooler weather of Valle de Anton, I decided to stick to the mountain areas and booked five nights in Santa Fe, a small town that not many people know of, but I found intriguing as I had read on a website about the clean-up and beautification that a group of people were doing there.  I wrote to them, asking if I could help as volunteer, but I never got a reply, too bad.  I was the only person booked into a Swiss-style hostel, alone in a six-bed dormitory, with only a cat to keep me company – bliss.  Hammocks on the balcony, lovely garden and an adjoining restaurant where my breakfast was served, which was included in the booking.  The restaurant had guests on one occasion, but the other nights I was the only one having dinner. 

The first morning I set out to have a swim in the river 2km out of town, downhill of course, which meant uphill going back, but it was very refreshing.  People still use horses there as the terrain is very hilly.  A family arrived while I was there, and the little girl started fishing with a stick while her mother washed banana leaves that the father had been carrying on his back.  I think they use them for tamales, the traditional dish I mentioned in a previous blog. 

The next day I caught the colectivo (local bus) to the start of a trail leading to a waterfall, Cascada Loma Grande, even though the weather looked threatening.  It felt a bit desolate when I was dropped in the middle of nowhere with a slight drizzle falling, but I found the trail and started down.  It was beautiful in the forest, water dripping from the leaves, but not too wet.  There were many steps and walkways, which made it easier.  I had a quick swim, as by then it was raining harder, and walked (rather climbed) back with an open umbrella, which helped.  By the time I reached the road, it had stopped raining and as I had no idea when the bus would pass, I started hitchhiking.   A twin-cab full of people stopped and offered me a lift on the back, which was loaded with empty 25l water bottles, black bags and cooler boxes.  I squeezed down between the stuff and had the ride of my life – down into the valley we would go, and as we went up the next hill, the landscape would unfold and it felt as if I was flying.  When they stopped in town, some of the passengers got out and paid, but they wouldn’t take any money from me. 

The hostels all have a collection of old books in different languages, which I love.  I found one by Isabel Allende, Inés of My Soul, and spent the next day reading in the hammock.  It is based on the life of Inés Suárez, and her relationship with Pedro de Valdivia, with whom she travelled to Chile in the 1500’s and  founded the city of Santiago.  Every time I now walk in the forest, after reading of their trials, adversities and suffering, I am grateful for a ready-made trail, a shower afterwards, clean clothes and food. 

Santa Fe has an interesting history.  It is one of the oldest towns in Panama, founded in 1560 by the Spanish captain Francisco Vázquez, the survivor of the Eldorado expedition (search for gold), for the purpose of gold mining.  For many years it was quite isolated as it had no paved roads connecting it to Santiago, and it was dominated by a few powerful families who controlled most of the resources.  In 1967 a Colombian priest, Jesus Héctor Gallego Herrera, arrived in Santa Fe and he started organizing the local peasants into cooperatives, to bypass the controlling elites.  By 1971 things were going so well that Gallego, as he was known, was regarded as a threat by the dictator of that time, Omar Torrijos, and he was arrested and “disappeared”.  However, the cooperatives continued to exist and later that year Santa Fe was connected to Santiago by a paved road. 

There is a mountain, Cerro Tute, where a revolt was staged by rebels in 1959, and this was where I was headed to the following day, an 8km hike to the top.  A friend recently told me:  “You must be very fit by now,” but I replied, “No, I climb very slowly and rest very often, but I get to the top.”  “Oh,” he said, “dan is jy fluks, nie fiks nie!”   Much closer to the truth (then you are diligent, not fit).  As it was, it took me many hours to reach the top, but the view was spectacular.  Along the way I saw an old man carrying his shopping,  struggling along very slowly, so I helped him carry it to his house, 500m down the track.  There are some rocks at the top that one could climb onto, and it was very windy, so fearing a fall, I contacted my family to tell them where I was. 

I was still reading my book, and didn’t realise that the restaurant was closed on the last night, so I went in search of some food.  It was almost dark, and there were some huge thunderclouds looming in the distance – I managed to catch a streak of lightning on my cell phone.  I found a cosy looking restaurant with a deck (probably the only one open on a Sunday evening), and was served a huge pizza with a thick crust.  It was supposed to be vegetarian, but the chef came out and asked if he could add some other ingredients, which turned out to be chorizo and bacon.  He was very proud of his pizza, and when I left, he said:  “Tomorrow you take the rest of the pizza to the river, and you sit on the rocks, looking at the water and the trees, relaxing and enjoying it.”  I just smiled and thanked him, not having the heart to tell him it would be padkos (food) for the long bus trip to Santa Catalina the following day. 

Santa Catalina is one of the places on the Mediterranean coast where all the young people go to for swimming, surfing, snorkelling and scuba diving.  It was not my intention to visit it, but after all the strenuous hiking and climbing I felt like a swim in the sea, so booked two nights in a lovely hostel, called Bohdi.  I had stayed in a Bohdi hostel in Anton de Valle, and I can highly recommend them.  They are clean, well-run by friendly and helpful staff, and provide great breakfasts.  As I was checking in, three girls walked past and the manager asked them how their trip was.  They had been to Coiba Island on a snorkelling trip, and were ecstatic.   Needless to say, I immediately booked a trip for the one day I was going to be there, even though it was quite expensive ($80).  One travels for 1,5 hours along the coast by boat, and we saw some pantropical spotted dolphins playing along the way.  There were three dives in various places around the island, with lunch served on one of the beaches.  Coiba Island is a UNESCO World Heritage site, and well protected and preserved.  One sea area has been closed off to visitors as it was being over-exploited.  There is a museum with so much information, it was impossible to take it all in.  We saw many hawksbill turtles, a few stingrays, white tip reef sharks, starfish, many colourful fishes, big and small.  The bigger fish often swam in shoals closer to the surface, and one could almost touch them if you reached out.  It felt like swimming in a huge aquarium, unbelievably beautiful. 

My last stop in Panama was going to be Boquete, another town in the mountains.  Getting there with local buses would have meant taking a detour via Santiago, and many hours more, so I booked a shuttle for $35, which took a more direct route and had air-conditioning.   Boquete is a typical mountain village, nestled in a valley below the highest volcano in the southern part of Central America, Volcán Barú, which is classified as an active volcano, although it last erupted in 1550.  One of the traditional things to do in Boquete, is to start climbing it at 24h00 to be at the top in time for sunrise.  To save my pride, I preferred not to, giving up the chance of climbing the highest peak in Panama at 3,475 meters above sea-level – I know my limits! 

I had booked six nights in Boquete, with the idea of doing most of the hikes, but ended up doing one every second day, giving me plenty of time to relax, read, talk to people and explore the town.  The first was to a waterfall along the Pipeline Trail, a 5km hike and back, not too strenuous.  I was hoping to see the quetzal bird which has its habitat in those forests, but no luck.  Two days later I was on my way on the colectivo to hike the Lost Waterfall Trail, when I decided to go further and do the Quetzal Trail, determined to spot the elusive bird.  What a climb that was!  I got as far as the Tiger’s cave, and 200m before a viewpoint I turned back, completely kaput (exhausted).  I did however see the volcano across the valley through the trees, and really enjoyed the forest.  About a 100m before leaving the forest to walk down a dirt road to the start of the trail (about 2km), I was telling myself:  “You are a South African who knows that you don’t always see the lions, cheetahs, rhinos, etc in the Game Reserve, and you are okay with that.  So just accept that you are not going to see the quetzal.  Besides, the trees are very tall and they live in the tree tops, so chances are you won’t see it even if you hear it.”  The next minute one flew across the path right in front of me, and perched on a branch, half hidden by leaves.  I took a quick photo, but as I moved closer, it flew away.  But at least I saw one!

On the last day in Boquete I was going to do another popular hike to some waterfalls, but after having had serious problems with an upset stomach the whole night, I went for an easier option, i e to take a colectivo to warm springs, called Caldera Hot Springs.  Little did I realise that one had to walk for almost an hour after being dropped off, so out came the umbrella and off I set.  The springs were very natural, with boulders forming little pools, but crystal clear water, quite hot.  There is a river running next to it, so I thought it would be much cooler in the river, and as I walked down to it, I stepped into a little pool, discovering it to be hot, much to my surprise.  Could the whole river be hot, I wondered?  Impossible.  It was actually very cold, the little pool was just a catch-up of the hot springs running into the river.  So I had fun going from hot to cold to hot, pretending the hot was a sauna.  There were some Dutch youngsters further down the river, and on the way back, they passed me with their van, not even offering me a lift – poor form, I reckoned. 

One meets people at the hostels, and valuable  information is shared.  One such girl that I met in Boquete gave me so much information about Costa Rica, that I now have a whole itinerary planned.  She told me she had crossed the border from Costa Rica to Panama close to Bocas del Toro in the north-western tip, which made me re-think my plans of crossing at the usual place (Paso Canoas) more to the south.  Bocas del Toro is another popular tourist town on Colon Island in the Caribbean which I had thought to avoid, but staying in Panama for two more days was tempting.  Besides, I wanted to visit Puerto Viejo in Costa Rica, which is on the Caribbean in the northeast, not far from the border.  So I again took a shuttle to Bocas del Toro, which makes the ferry crossing easier as it is included.  I stayed in a weird hostel, which had pitched tents on a covered wooden deck, in a jungle-like garden, but I had booked a single room for more comfort.  Unfortunately it was very mouldy, I slept with the fan on and the door slightly open, but almost suffocated.  I’m sure if I had stayed longer, I would have developed serious lung problems. 

The hostel I was staying at was out of town,  but close to the beach, which was not fit for swimming, the manager informed me.  “People swim there with their heads covered in a mask” he jokingly remarked.  I walked to a few other beaches, but one was rock covered and the other had big waves and currents, much too dangerous to swim.  So I went back to a bar where I had noticed two women wading, and there was a pool.

I had not eaten out for a long time, so that evening I went into Bocas del Toro and a friendly lady invited me into a posh looking restaurant overlooking the bay, telling me they served ceviche.  I do not like raw fish, so I have avoided eating it, but thought I should give it a try.  Absolutely delicious!  The way they prepare it in Panama is different from the way they do it in Peru.  The latter do whole chunks of fish, whereas in Panama they cut it up into small pieces, often doing a mix with prawns.  Crisply fried plantains were used as garnish, which complemented the lime taste.  

I had bought a shuttle ticket for Puerto Viejo in Costa Rica on arrival in Bocas del Toro, not sure about the authenticity of it, and I was quite sceptical, but in the end it was all legitimate.  It was quite amusing, as the taxi driver that took me to the ferry, an older man (obviously a local), insisted on seeing and inspecting my ticket to make sure it was authentic.  The shuttle took us to the border, where we were led by someone to the exit immigration office, then across the bridge of the Sixaola River (luckily not the Styx) and to the immigration office on the Costa Rica side, where another shuttle picked us up.  All very efficient and painless.  I was told one had to pay an exit fee of $8 on leaving Panama, but we walked right past that building without going in – evidently no control. 

Back in Albrook, the bus station in Panama City, I knew exactly where to go and what to do to catch the bus to La Chorrera, where I was doing a Workaway job at La casa de Ito, a hostel owned by two brothers, Raul and Mario.  Raul had told me where to get off on the Pan-American Highway, very close to the hostel, but the bus took a detour through town, so I got off at the very busy town square and ordered an Uber.  The hostel is in a house that was owned by their grandfather, but they have added on an open-spaced living and games area, and have tents for guests to sleep in. 

Raul and and Mario work online every day, so my job was to keep the house clean and rake the leaves, very tranquilo (relaxed).  I walked to the town centre twice, but La Chorrera is not a pretty town, and it was very hot.  Once I stopped for an ice-cream in an air-conditioned little shop, and asked if I could sit at the one available table where a young guy was eating.  He could speak a little English and proceeded to tell me all about Costa Rica, as he had lived there for 3 years.  That was the only interesting thing about La Chorrera… 

Staying with Raul and Mario was great, though.  Raul went to a lot of trouble to provide local dishes for me, which I thoroughly enjoyed.  Every evening their friends would come to visit and they would play table tennis, guitar, music or just talk or play games on their phones.  I could never figure out who was who, but I gathered that Ricky made fantastic hamburgers and fried chicken, and Ruki’s mother made tamales (flavoured and spiced corn dough stuffed with chicken, wrapped in a banana leaf and steamed till firm). 

Mario was busy with a project in his room, and I couldn’t understand why the broom was always in his room when I looked for it, until he explained that he was building something and had to clean up every day.  He eventually brought it out the day before I left.  It was a boat, for the game Dungeons & Dragons, of which I know very little, but he showed me how one could fold open the decks, with things inside.  He was building it with scraps of cardboard, empty toilet rolls and lots of toilet paper mixed with glue.  I was very impressed, and sad at the thought that it could be broken in their ensuing battles.  He however, was very pleased with his project, sure that it could be fixed again if broken. 

I went in to Panama City one day, to see the American Bridge over the canal and visit the Biomuseum,  which is close to the bridge.   The bus dropped me on the western side, as there was supposedly a lookout point and some Chinese stalls.  Well, I got there to find nothing, apart from one local stall next to the road, and an area that was cordoned off with rope and a guard keeping watch.  The guy from the stall could speak English and explained that Trump had ordered all the Chinese stalls and a statue to be removed, closing off the area to visitors.  America had built the bridge, but the Chinese had built the harbour on the inland side of the bridge, which explains their presence there – but Trump was calling the shots.  I walked across, a scary and unpleasant experience as the walkway is very narrow (and high!!), covered with garbage, and in the middle section there is no barrier between the pedestrian and the hundreds of cars racing past in four lanes.  But I stoically marched on, keeping my hand on the railing to my right, in case I stumbled – landing in front of a car on the American Bridge was not on my bucket list.   And so I walked from North to South America…

The Biomuseum (which depicts the biodiversity of Panama) is excellent – it has an interesting architectural design, with interactive and  informative displays.  It has different sections on different levels, and in the basement area, which is open, the history of the world and Panama is depicted on several pillars.   Here I made an interesting discovery:  my great-grandmother’s maiden name was Patterson (of Scottish descent), and in 1699 there was a failed attempt by Scotland, under the leadership of William Paterson, to found a colony in Darien, in the northeast of Panama.  Could it have been an ancester of mine?  Might just have been – a good explanation for my yen for travelling.

On the upper levels the biodiversity of Panama is shown through its geological structure, fauna and flaura, sea life and space exploration.  The isthmus (land bridge), which was eventually Panama, developed from volcanoes over millions of years, thus eventually connecting North and South America.  The general theory, that it was approximately 3 million years ago, has been accepted for the past forty years, but new research is showing that it all started many more million years ago with the movement of tectonic plates which caused a volcanic arch.  The forming of the isthmus allowed animals to move from South to North and vice versa, it divided the oceans into Pacific and Caribbean, impacting on the movement of the gulf stream, and effecting the development of marine life. 

There was a colossal downpour when I came out of the museum, which lasted for an hour or more, and eventually I just put up my umbrella and caught a bus to the Pan-American Highway,  from where I could go back to La Chorrera.  Not that easy – the bus dropped me beyond the highway, and I had to trudge through wet neighbourhoods and roads to eventually find a bus stop.  A lady who was also waiting, assured me it was the right place, but a few buses passed and didn’t stop, some stopped but said not La Chorrera, and then a taxi stopped, asking if anyone wanted to go to La Chorrera.   I had checked taxi prices and was not about to pay $30, but then he said only $2.  I couldn’t believe it, but it was getting dark and I was anxious to get home, so I climbed in.  The driver lives in La Chorrera, was fed-up with the rain and worried that there might be leakages at his home, so he had stopped working and was going home.  Later Raul told me that it was quite common for taxi drivers to do that, and that the standard rate then was always $2.  I gave him $5 dollars as I was very grateful for the lift. 

There was a Chinese girl, Valencia, staying at the hostel when I arrived, and in her last day she entertained us with her traditional clothes, dyeing fans and swinging a dragon ribbon, which is called dragon poi, which I could barely do.  She said that during festivals in China, even little kids do it. Raul is also a tattoo artist, and when I came back from Panama City, he came up to me and said:  “Look what I’ve been doing today,” showing me a picture of a tattoo.  Valencia came out of her room, proudly showing me the tattoo on her upper leg.  I was sorely tempted to have one done, but I thought I had better ways of spending $100, even though Raul assured me I was not too old for one. 

We could choose from several fans that Valencia had, and when I asked her later what the Chinese lettering on mine was, the meaning  was quite profound:  “Life is a journey, sometimes challenging – I am the walker.”  Above the Chinese writing there is a red symbol, and the meaning of mine is:  “follow your mind/ good luck”. 

On my second last day there I had finished working and was sitting at the table outside my tent, staring at the wall, when I suddenly felt inspired to paint a dolphin.  If I couldn’t have a dolphin tattoo, I would paint one on the wall.  There was already a wave and a sun, and I found the perfect spot for my dolphin.  I’m the worst artist, so googled a picture and was quite chuffed with my attempt.  I told Raul and Mario that it would remind them to visit South Africa and to stay with me. 

They are busy extending their accommodation by building a ‘hobbit’ house, which they started while I was there.  There was already a cement rectangle as basis, to which they attached curved steel rods and wire netting.  Next would come waterproof plastic, then foam, more netting and eventually cement plaster, which would be covered by a mosaic of ceramic tiles.  Raul had learned this building method in Mexico,  and was planning on having it all finished in two week’s time. 

After spending 9 days living the traditional Panamanian life, having great conversations and listening to them and their friends as I lay in my tent, I was sad to go.  Raul carried Suerte to the front gate, and they sent me off with a fond farewell and special blessings. 

My next stop was going to be El Valle de Antón,  but I had to first catch a bus to Anton, a town on the Pan-American Highway, and then a local one from there.  When I arrived in Anton and told the conductor I was going to El Valle de Antón, he gave me a curious look and spoke to the driver, who went around the block again to drop me where I was supposed to have gotten off before.  A sleazy looking man immediately approached me, speaking English, taking Suerte and shoving me toward a seat against the wall, saying that the ‘big bus’ will be there in 10 min.  He had a little book, and was using his phone a lot.  Five minutes later a small bus arrived and he instructed me to get on, but we ended up going back 30km to the previous town, Las Uvas.  What was fishy, was that the bus driver gave the conductor some money, which he gave to the sleazy guy.  I was following our route on Google Maps, and when I asked the conductor why we were going back and not using the direct route from Anton to El Valle de Antón, he kind of smiled and said the buses on that road did not run regularly.  Back in Las Uvas, I had to carry Suerte over one of those road passes, and sure as anything, on cue, a bus, filled to capacity and more, was waiting just for me.  Again a man with a book and phone, and money exchanging hands.  I had to stand with a bent head, too tall for the space, grabbing hold of anything to prevent me from falling.  Later on I managed to get a seat, when some people had gotten off.   It felt like a cartel was at work – the drivers and conductors were mostly young guys, but some of the ones with the little books were older, and their eyes looked like they were on drugs. 

El Valle de Antón is a beautiful town built in a volcanic crater which was last active some 13,000 to 200,000 years ago.  It had once been a lake, which drained through many thousands of years, and the valley was occupied by different native tribes for many years.  At about 600m above sea-level, it is cooler than other areas of Panama and has become a popular weekend retreat for Panamanians, with a colourful permanent market where plants, fruit, vegetables and artisan’s products are sold.  All the plots are huge, with rolling lawns and pristine gardens, although the houses are not necessarily mansions.  There is even a street called Milionares Row. 

The mountains forming the ridge of the crater provide the opportunity for many hikes, of which I did a few.  One of them, La India Dormida (The Sleeping Indian), has the shape of a woman lying on her side, and I was fascinated to read the legend that is told by traditional people. 

I eventually gave up trying to reach the end of the trail, and walked down to the road running back to town as I wanted to have a swim in a river closeby.   I was low on water, and very tempted to drink the water from the river, but I was a bit scared as I realised the river runs through the town before reaching the swimming place.  I was visualizing an ice-cold Coke, but when I eventually reached town and was buying one, the man behind me in the queue was shocked at my choice of drink after a strenuous hike, and recommended I rather drink coconut water.  Meekly I replaced the Coke and went in search of coconut water, which I couldn’t find, but bought orange juice instead. 

There are mineral baths on the edge of town, and I followed the sign to ‘Aguas Caliente’ (warm water), ending up in a public heated water park, which I later realised was the local gathering place on a Sunday.  Everybody had gathered around the little pools with their cooler bags, food, loud music and kids running all over the place.  I had a quick swim, and went in search of the right place, where I had to pay $6 entrance fee.  My bathing costume was ruined for life, turned yellow-brown from the minerals, but it was very relaxing to lie in the lukewarm water.

On arrival at El Valle de Antón I walked 3km up to a waterfall and swimming hole, only to be told I couldn’t swim as it was closing soon.  “But I have to swim!” I exclaimed, “can’t I still do it?”  Ten minutes is what I was given, and I had to pay $6 for that, but definitely worth every cent. 

On my way I had seen and photographed a beautiful flower arrangement in a stall, speaking to the woman who had made it, and I recognized her on the way back, as she was walking home.  I stopped and chatted to her, very happy that I knew somebody in town. 

One experiences so much in a short time, I’m afraid my blogs are rather long, but they are also serving as diary for me, so I appreciate you all for sharing my experiences and memories.  I’ll end this one with some pictures with descriptions – great place, El Valle de Antón!

When we flew into Panama from Bogotá, approaching from the Pacific Ocean, I was surprised to see we were heading northeast past Panama City and within minutes ended up almost over the Caribbean – Panama is a very narrow ‘bridge’ between South and North America.  The eastern part we were flying over was mostly forests, called the Parque Nacional Chagres, and there is only one road running east to the south of the national park, thus mostly uninhabited.  Panama City, on the other hand, is rapidly growing and in 2023 had a population of almost 2 million in the broader metropolitan area.  The skyline is impressive, impossible to get it all into one photo.  Very modern, with a metro-line that is being extended to La Chorrera, west of Panama City. 

I bought a sim card at the airport, and when I tried to change dollars to balboa (Panamanian currency), I was told that they use USA dollars here (1 USD = 1 PAB) which suits me fine.  I asked the man at the cambio (money change place) about taxi’s, and he pointed me to the counter across the way, which was unmanned.  I was looking around when I heard him shout “Taxi!” – he had come out of his booth and was shouting to the man in charge of the taxi booth. 

The hostel, Casa Areka, where I had booked at, is in a small area that has no immediate high-rise buildings in the vicinity.  Maurice, the manager, was super friendly and helpful, excepting that I had to lug Suerte up a narrow flight of stairs to the 6-bed dorm with an en-suite bathroom.  I was starving, so headed straight to the huge store in the mall behind the hostel, bought a beer, a ready-made tuna and pasta salad, as well as a green salad, devouring it all the minute I got back.  I headed out to explore, finding a park with a dilapidated jetty and small beach within two blocks from the hostel.  I walked to the point of the jetty, clambering over the broken parts, to watch the sunset and take some pictures of the buildings opposite the jetty. 

The following day I walked the 5km along the coastline to the Casco Viejo district (literally translated means ‘old shell’), the colonial quarter of Panama City.  It was an interesting walk, but humid and hot!

I ended up in the Plaza de la Independencia (Independence Square), which was where Panama declared its independence from Colombia on 3 November 1903.  I was quite surprised when I had to pay to go into the Metropolitan Cathedral, also known as the Catedral Basílica Santa María la Antigua since 2014, when it became a basilica. It is one of the oldest cathedrals in the Americas – construction was started in 1688, and it was completed in 1796. 

I was so hot and bothered when I walked back, and thinking about it, I had a great inspiration:  I was going to cut my hair.   Back at the hostel I had a shower, put on a dress and googled a hairdresser – there was one right next door!  I had a lot of trouble explaining to them that I wanted a no 2 razor cut.  Even Google Translate was to no avail.  It was only when I said “a razor like a man’s” that they understood and asked a male hairdresser to shave off my hair.  What bliss, I should have done it long ago.  

I met some really nice people at the hostel, and one of them, Hannah, was very excited about my haircut, as we chatted at the pool before I went.  The funny thing was, she didn’t recognize me in the kitchen later when everyone was making supper.  I said: “Hannah, what do you think?”, and she exploded with a “Oh my goodness, I didn’t recognize you at all!  I love it!”  Some other people also asked me whether they had seen me beforehand, as they didn’t recognize me. 

Most of the people there had done a boat trip to the San Blas Islands, or had been, or was going to Santa Catalina – those seemed to be the popular things for the young crowd and the surfers.  I had other plans though, as I had heard about the Pipeline Trail near Gamboa, which was where I was heading to.  I took an Uber to Albrook, the bus terminal in Panama City, where I had a gruelling and challenging experience of catching the local bus to Gamboa, a 45-min trip to the  northwest.  In short:  every counter I approached to buy a ticket, told me “further down”.  I finally found an information counter with an English-speaking lady, who explained that I had to buy a Metro Card, as it is used for local buses.  The machine swallowed my money without producing a card;  I had to wait in a long queue at the claims counter, to be told I had to wait for the supervisor;  45 min later I was told the claim would pay out in 3 days’ time;  I bought another card for US$3, couldn’t find the departure platform, and eventually the information counter lady escorted me outside and made inquiries;  found the right place, waited another 30 min and eventually boarded – but then my card wouldn’t work, it was not loaded with dinero (money)!!  A very kind woman on the bus came to the front and swiped her card so that I could enter.  The total cost for the trip was US$1 (all that effort for $1) – but one can’t pay cash.  Was I happy to sit down, after strapping Suerta down with a safety belt that is in an open area on the bus. 

I had booked 3 nights through Airbnb, and had a lovely room with a fan and an aircon with Migdalia, who couldn’t speak English, but was most accommodating and helpful regarding information and suggestions for things to do.  Her house, in the middle of the town, was spotless and uncluttered, and one had to take off your shoes when entering.  There are many huge trees in the area, with houses scattered far apart.  I had downloaded the Merlin app for identifying birds, and on the first morning I stood on the stairs outside her kitchen for 30 min, then walked around the block for an hour, and in that time Merlin had identified 48 different species of birds!  I was flabbergasted.  And then there were 3 agutis (agouti in English) in her yard, that ate from her hand.  And black vultures, and even 3 iguanas the following day – a complete menagerie. 

There is a sloth sanctuary about 2km from the house, and as they are difficult to spot in the wild, I thought it well worth a visit.  One buys a ticket for the tour at a very grand hotel, which includes a visit to the big frog- and butterfly-breeding cages.  On the way we passed an orchid nursery, but very few were flowering. 

Gamboa is on the Panama canal, and when I walked back via a lovely trail, I came out at the place where the Chagres river runs into the canal, and I sat and watched the huge freighters pass.  A train came past twice as well, loaded with crates. 

When I got back to the house, a German traveller, Sarah, had arrived.  She had walked the Pipeline Trail that afternoon and was not impressed, but I decided to go the next day anyway.  It was good to have English company, and we shared our travel stories.  She also mentioned that the local restaurant next to the only shop in town, sold very tasty meals for much cheaper than I had paid for mine the previous evening.  I had bought some bread, peanut butter, jam (for sandwiches) and oats (for porridge every morning), so was okay for food, but I did have a hamburger and chips at the restaurant the next day.

The Pipeline Trail in the Soberania National Park is known for its diversity of bird and other animal life, and is a popular destination for birders and nature lovers.  It stretches for almost 30km to Gatun Lake, the manmade lake that feeds the Panama Canal.  Most people walk for an hour or two – I walked 5km before turning back, quite enough in the humidity and heat.  I met a few groups who were walking with a guide, but I like to do things on my own, saving money in the process, so obviously I saw very few birds, no sloths and only a few white-fronted Capuchin monkeys.  I did hear the terrifying call of the Howler monkeys, but never saw them.  The trail got its name in the 1940s when the Allies dug this route for a pipeline that was never completed, and although there is an embankment on one side, it is totally overgrown and one is not aware of a pipe.  The trail follows a road though, so invariably there were vehicles coming and going.  I found a trail veering off to the left, and walked a good kilometer or more uphill to a place called Radio Hill, in the hope of finding a view.  There was only an old water tank, and a tiny viewpoint, but I did see one of the green frogs at the base of a tree. 

I was unable to recharge my Metro-card in Gamboa, so offered money to the bus driver, but he just waived me (and Suerte) in.  I had to go back to Panama City to catch a bus to Colon, on the Caribbean coast, from where I was going to a hostel a few kilometers from Portobello – I seriously needed to swim.  The description of Hostal Ofiuras said:  “Private room with en-suite bathroom, sea-view”.  They did not mention that the hostel is on the side of the narrow main road that runs between the mountains and the coast, and that the shallow sea had sea grass, and that I was the only guest.  My apprehension soon turned to perfect relaxation and enjoyment, as I went into Portobelo to buy groceries, had a clean and functional kitchen all to myself, and could lounge on the deck-chairs or swim in the little pool right in front of my covered patio (which was great, I could even sit there when it rained). 

Portobelo on the Caribbean coast has an interesting history.  It was established in 1597 as a port that the Spanish used to export Peruvian silver from South America.  Legend has it that Columbus named it Puerto Bello (Beautiful Port) in 1502.  Through the early years it was repeatedly attacked by privateers and pirates, the most well-known being Francis Drake, who died there of dysentery and was given a sea-burial.  There is a little island close by called Drake Island.  There are remnants of an old fort, which is now a UNESCO heritage site, but although it was mentioned as one of the best tourist towns, it is not well-kept.  I went into the church, which is being restored, and saw a black Christ figure- afterwards I read that it is also known for its black Christ. 

I saw some people snorkelling deeper into the sea in front of my room, so went looking for equipment to join them.  I was told next door, and again next door, and eventually found someone where I could rent frog feet, goggles and a snorkel.  When he heard what I was planning, he suggested that I rather take a boat to playa Huerta (beach that could only be reached by boat, $50), as the snorkelling was much better there.  Good decision, as Maps.Me had shown a trail through the forest that I had thought of taking, but turned out to not be one at all.  The rainy season had started, so luckily there were not many people.  I bumped into a woman who recognized me from the bus station when I was waiting for my Uber to take me to my hostel.  I had offered her a ride, but she preferred getting on to the very crowded local bus.  We chatted for a bit, and when I was picked up again after 3 hours of snorkelling, swimming, lying in the sun and chilling under the trees, she waved frantically from where she was snorkelling – instant friends. 

The next day I took the local bus to another beach, Playa Langosta, that looked like it had sand and was swimmable – which it was, but a stupid guy came and parked his car, opened his boot with massive speakers and proceeded to play the loudest boom-boom music which made the earth tremble.  He was immune to any approach from people to turn down the volume.  I tolerated it for a while, then moved further away to sit under some trees, but there was so much filth lying around, and other people were playing music too, that I just had another swim (at least the sea was clean) and fled home to my little pool and peace and quiet.  It rained later anyway, so it was just as well I had gone home. 

When I arrived in Colon, I was asking around where to catch the bus to Albrook (bus station in Panama City) when a kind lady pointed out to where I thought I should go, but then she indicated to me to follow her.  Through the crowds along the street, broken pavements, vendor’s everywhere, I just kept on following her, pulling Suerte most of the way, picking her up at times, until she said we had to cross the traffic-filled street using the pedestrian overpass.  My heart sank – all those stairs, and Suerte weighing a ton (19kg actually, I checked at the airport).   I managed as best I could, the lady glancing over her shoulder all the time, encouraging me with a sympathetic look.  Halfway across the overpass, she pointed to a bus (a big one, not a local one), asking them to wait for us, and I bravely struggled on.  When I got to the bus, I realised she was not coming, had just done me the favour of taking me there, such kindness.  The conductor grabbed Suerte, put her in the baggage compartment and forcefully squashed me onto the front stairs, as the bus was so full.  There I stood, one foot on a lower step, barely able to find a place to hold on, wedged in between a garrulous conductor, two men behind me, and three more women, all on the stairs of the bus.  One woman was sitting right next to the driver, who kept up a monologue for the duration of the trip.  After about an hour some people started disembarking, so that I eventually had a seat for the last 30 minutes, otherwise I would not have made it.  The irony was that I was in no hurry, and would gladly have waited for the next bus, even for an hour or more.  But one is carried along by the momentum of the moment, and one does not think clearly. 

Two weeks of living in the most beautiful environment,  doing volunteer work on a farm called Cultivarte, 20min by local colectivo from Anapoima, Colombia. 

Eyal and Natalia have spent about 15 years planning, and 10 years implementing and fulfilling their dream of creating a space where they can live and propagate their healthy, natural and structured lifestyle.  Their house and all the structures they have built, are from bamboo, and the grounds surrounding them are cultivated, but natural, with pathways connecting the various areas.  There are more than 800 mango trees on the property.   They run yoga and meditation retreats on weekends, or anybody can book and run their own retreats or workshops.  They are also involved in teaching English at the local school.

We were 4 volunteers – myself, Emil and Emma from Denmark and Boaz from Australia.  From Monday to Friday we had a structured programme, with either Eyal or Natalia explaining every morning what the work would entail for that day.  On weekends we were free.  We started at 7am with small chores, yoga at 07h20, breakfast at 08h30, work from 09h00 – 12h00, lunch at 12h00, siesta, and then work again from 14h00 – 16h00.  After that we were free to do our own thing.  Supper was at 19h15 – three scrumptious vegetarian meals made by their trusted chef and helper, Sara. 

On Saturday I went to Anapoima to buy slip-slops as my Crocs had broken, and to have lunch, preferably meat (which turned out to be a very tough steak, again!).  I was standing in the doorway of the restaurant looking at the menu, when I heard a voice behind me:  “Can I buy you some coffee?”  Amazed at the English,  I turned around, and it was Eyal who was in town to have his car washed.  He not only bought me coffee, but cheesecake as well, very kind of him. 

On Sunday I walked to a nearby village , El Triunfo, mostly uphill and the last 800m very steep, arriving hot and sweaty.  I bought a cooldrink at a street cafe, and was calling all my children, when a church procession, led by a priest, came past in the street, stopping at different houses to bless them.  I couldn’t understand how the priest decided which houses to bless, until I saw that there was a table with some decorations outside certain houses, and that is where he stopped.   The priest was chanting all the way, it being broadcast by a car that was following the procession, and I had to laugh, as he became short of breath when he was walking uphill to the church, commenting on it!

My work was mostly weeding the vegetable garden and some flowerbeds, but Natalia challenged me to help with the construction work too, which I happily did.  Emma and I made four drawers for a wardrobe for the new house Eyal was building, and after the first day, she said she had learned a new word, “skew”, as I had used it so often.  Boaz, who is a carpenter by trade, was very patient with us, although at the end he admitted that the work we had done in 3 days, would have taken a skilled person a few hours.  And the drawers would have been the same size, and not as ‘skew’ as ours. 

The young people accepted me wholeheartedly,  and we had a lot of fun, playing cards at night, with much humor and laughter.  I had told them it was my birthday on the 20th, and before my last lunch, Natalia surprised me with a brownie with a candle, all of them singing happy birthday – the best gift to end off an exceptional 2 weeks.

There was an motorbike accident on the way back to Bogotá, a man was still lying in the road and I assume another had been put in the ambulance, as there were people around it.  Our busdriver was a bit of a cowboy, so I was reminded how easily things can go wrong and was grateful when we arrived safely in Bogotá through very heavy traffic, the busdriver weaving in and out of traffic.

Alan’s plane was leaving late on the 18th, so we met that morning and walked around in the botanical garden and a nearby park with a big lake.  Both these places were well-kept, beautiful and clean, and the botanical garden had some interesting cultural and educational aspects as well.  There was even a section where South African plants were growing, which made me nostalgic. 

I had four more days in Bogotá before flying to Panama, and on Sunday I decided to climb the 1,605 steps to Monserrate, a viewpoint in the west Andes behind the city.  It is 3,152m above sea-level, and the modern day basilica there, called the Basilica of the Fallen Lord (Señor Caído), was completed in 1920.   The original was built in 1640 as a place of worship and pilgrimage site for the Spaniards.  Climbing up to the basilica is very popular with the locals, and it being Sunday, about half of Bogotá were either going up or going down.  I had not slept well the previous night, and was tired even before I started, so I stopped for a rest after every 20 steps.  Initially the steps were far apart, but as the trail got steeper, they were closer together and I could manage 50 at a time, and even 100.  I did not feel alone – many people often stopped to rest.  It took me 2,5 hours to climb, and it rained the last hour, which meant I didn’t see the view from the top, but I had taken photos lower down.  A service was starting as I entered the basilica, and I was surprised when they started playing a jolly religious song with everyone clapping.  I didn’t stay long, but I understood a little in the beginning when the priest commended people for undertaking the pilgrimage,  especially in bad weather, so it felt special.    It was quite a cultural experience, as there were stalls along the way, selling all the local street foods, as well as artisan products, and just being part of that throng of people was worth the effort. 

Monday was my birthday and I spent the whole morning reading and answering messages and taking phone calls, fantastic.   I treated myself to a meal at the popular Crepes & Waffles, a restaurant started by two women and where only women work, and where the food is divine.  I told them it was my birthday, and they surprised me with a Feliz Compleaños written on my dessert.  

The gold museum in Bogotá has been rated as one of the best museums in the world, and it definitely is worth a visit.  I spent my last day in Colombia there, and was struck by the depth of culture that the Colombians have, going back thousands of years.  The history of gold is narrated with artifacts and descriptions, and the explanations of rituals and meanings attached to them adds a dimension that is both humbling and thought-provoking.  Something that stood out, was the absence of weapons – no violence, only deeply spiritual, creative and skilled people.  As was described in the museum:  “Metal objects that were created by man, were returned to the earth as gifts to the gods.  Imbued with profound religious meaning, they are offered up in lakes and caves, in order to restore the balance in the world.  The metal cycle is thus completed; manipulated by man, it is used by him to manage the universe.”  I left the museum filled with awe, very grateful for the opportunity to have been able to travel in Colombia, at the same time wishing I could stay longer. 

Just a few more pictures of Bogotá – I was very sad to leave. 

Gnats have been having a field day on me here in Colombia – the welts keep itching long after, and every new bite causes the old ones to itch again.  I’m slowly becoming immune, and have bought some ointment which helps for a few hours.  Other than that, I am surprisingly healthy, strong and fit, for which I am very grateful.

Meeting up with my cousin Alan, almost 4 weeks ago in Bogotá, opened a whole new world to me.  He is an ornithologist and naturalist and an avid birdwatcher, with binoculars, camera with huge lenses and the necessary apps on his phone.  Colombia has the highest number of bird species in the world, with over 1900 recorded, more than 80 of them endemic to the region.  Alan came to Colombia to do a birding trip, but arrived a week earlier so that we could travel together for a while – wonderful for me to have company, and an expert guide to go with it. 

We decided to meet for coffee to discuss our plans for the next couple of days, and were served a very good cortado, which Alan proceeded to knock over before even having had his first sip of Columbian coffee.  A proper mess, with his brand new Lonely Planet book on Colombia, and his birdwatching notebook with calender, covered in coffee stains.  Undeterred, we carried on planning and within 10 min had an itinerary (sort of) worked out and our first 3 days booked in San Gil, a 6-hour bus trip north of Bogotá.  “You’re good at this”, Alan commented.  “I’ve had lots of practice,” was my reply. 

We caught the bus to San Gil at 10am, thinking it would be a 6-hour trip, which then turned out to be 11 hours, so we arrived after dark.  We had been sitting in the bus for so long, we decided to walk the 2 km to the hostel, fortunately downhill, as we were carrying our luggage – I had a smaller bag, Suerte was left at my hotel in Bogotá.  We arrived at the address, but there was no sign of a hostel, and the area looked a bit dodgy.  The owner, Manuela, arrived within a few minutes and unlocked a door – what a surprise awaited us!  She and her sister had restored a 100-year old building, which had originally been the first hotel in San Gil.  It is a double storey building, around a covered courtyard, with high ceilings downstairs as the horses were brought indoors in the past.  They had kept a lot of the old woodwork, but replaced the floors, using the floorboards to build the coffee tables.  The kitchen and bathrooms have been newly built, all very tastefully done.  Their aim is to open a coffee shop downstairs, which would probably happen soon.   

San Gil is not a very exciting town, but there are many trails in the area, and the first day we went to the Cascadas de Juan Curi Parque Ecológico, where there is a beautiful waterfall with a pool that we could swim in (I think this is where the gnats got to me the first time).  There is an app, Merlin, that identifies bird calls, showing pictures of the specific bird, so our progress was slow and comfortable up to the waterfall as we stopped often to identify the bird calls.  Alan identified more than 20 species every day, and recorded them on EBirds at night, a website that contributes globally to bird sightings. 

The following day we took a colectivo (local bus) to a nearby town, Barichara, and walked 6km of the Camino Real to Guane, a small old town where time seems to have stood still.  The part of the Camino that we walked, was a broad stone-paved path with stonewalls on either side, quite impressive.  It was a Sunday, and many people were walking, some with blaring music from radios they were carrying, some overweight and very hot, some wearing strappy tops and tight fitting shorts – all very Colombian.  It took us 4hrs to do the 6km, because we stopped so often. 

We were taking the night bus to Santa Marta the following day, so had time to go to the Parque Natural El Gallineral in San Gil, close to the hostel.  It had been raining during the night, and the park was closed (parks close when it rains, as I discovered in Buenos Aires), but luckily it opened just before eleven.  We spent a few hours exploring, seeing iguanas, birds, river rafters, flowers and huge trees.  We sat next to a stream and had the sandwiches we had made, Alan trying hard to find a specific bird, without any luck.  A light drizzle started as we left, which soon became a total downpour.  We had an umbrella and a rain cape between us, but we soon realised it was insufficient and ran for cover under a vendor’s awning.  When the rain eventually stopped, the streets had been turned into small rivers, and we were drenched by the time we got back to the hostel, having had to trudge through water that was running accross the sidewalks.   Luckily Manuela had said we could use the kitchen and bathroom until we had to leave, so hot showers sorted us out and the wet clothes and shoes were stuffed into plastic bags. 

Meryl thinks she is clever in chosing good hostels – until she chose a party hostel in Santa Marta!  Fantastic place, delicious breakfasts included, with a small swimming pool in the courtyard, very friendly and helpful staff – but the very loud, thumping music carried on until 3am, or even 4am.  It was supposed to stop at 2am, but it being Easter holidays, it carried on later than usual.  If in Santa Marta, avoid the La Brisa Loca (which, by the way, means The Crazy Breeze). 

Santa Marta is on the Caribbean coast, a popular holiday city for Colombians to visit, and there were many there as it was school holidays.  We stored our luggage until it was time to check in, and walked the few blocks to the sea, where the water was not very ‘Caribbean’, as it was the harbour area. It was very hot, so we decided to go and swim at the hostel instead.  On the way we went into the gold museum, and I was amazed at the intricate designs that had been made by the indigenous people.  The history of gold in Colombia is quite interesting.  For the indigenous people, it held spiritual and political meaning rather than monetary value, and they used it in their rituals.  The legend of El Dorado originated as result of the Muisca tradition of covering their chief in gold dust before pushing him into the lake at Guatavita, and throwing gold objects into the lake as well. 

Finding the place from which to take the local bus to Parque Nacional Natural Tayrona the next day, was quite a challenge.   It was in the market area of Santa Marta, a crowded, chaotic and noisy set-up with dirt everywhere in the streets.  

We did eventually find the colectivo and spent the day hiking in the park.  The walk from the entrance to the coast is through indigenous forests, but I was rather disappointed when we reached the sea, as it was quite a commercialised area, and crowded.  There are several beaches, and we managed to find a quiet spot to eat our lunch and have a swim.  We had planned to walk out through a different gate, but when we asked some rangers about the possibility of doing that, they told us it would take 8 hours, as one has to cross a mountain.  I didn’t feel like walking back the same way that we had come in, and we chose to take the ferry back to Santa Marta, an option that got us drenched once again, as was everyone on the ferry.  The sea was choppy, the boat was fast and the spray from the boat deliciously refreshing, but heavy.  

The next day we again had to find the collectivo that would take us to Minka, a small town in the Sierra Nevada mountains close to Santa Marta – it happened to be in the same messy market area.  Minka is high up in the mountains, and again there were several hikes in the area.  We only stayed one night, and spent a few hours doing a long uphill hike along a road to a waterfall.  We didn’t even see it, as one had to pay an entrance fee, and by then we were fed-up with all the people, motorbikes, 4×4 vehicles and cars travelling up to the waterfall, completely overcrowded.  So we went back, swam in the pool at our hostel and Alan treated me to a wonderful meal in a restaurant on the bank of the little river that runs through Minka. 

Back in Santa Marta, I had to find a place to change money, and when I asked a group of police officers where I could find one, they escorted me to one which was just one block away – quite weird, but very friendly.  We also ran into a religious procession, and it was funny how the people from the street just joined in.  

We flew back to Bogotá as Alan had to join his birding trip group, but he had time till 5pm, so I could show him the historical part of Bogotá, called La Candelaria.  (I posted some pics of this area in the previous blog, will just add a few more.)

The flight to Colombia was via Santiago, and crossing the Andes in daylight was spectacular, even though it was summer.  Being in Chile filled me with nostalgia, and I promptly ordered a pisco sour at one of the bars and sent a WApp to a family I had stayed with in Cochran, Chile, 6 years ago.  

I arrived in Bogotá after 9pm, and waited for a very long time for my luggage, which I was afraid had gone missing.  It was eventually spewed out by the conveyor belt, thank goodness, and after a very warm welcome by the passport control guy, as well as the baggage control one, I logged into the airport WiFi, only to discover that my hotel booking had been cancelled and I had been referred to another hotel.  There was supposed to be a hotel transfer vehicle, but after a frantic search, I realised there was none.  A kind man outside at the transfer area helped me find transport to the new hotel, where the person on duty unfortunately knew nothing about my booking.  After 30 minutes of Google Translate-communication, I was shown to a room with no windows, but an en-suite bathroom, which was a comfort.  I sat on the bed for an hour, in a state of disorientation and shock.  I had no idea where I was, what it looked like outside, if there were shops or restaurants in the vicinity, and I had no idea what to do the following day.  I had one day in Bogota, as I had planned to visit family of friends in South Africa the following day, and it was supposed to be spent exploring the historical city centre and buying a bus ticket to Armenia, where I was headed.  I wrote miserable WApps to my children and some friends, bemoaning my situation.  Everything had been going so well, I was not prepared for this set-back and felt completely at a loss. My daughter responded with:  “Very easy, just look for another hotel in the old city.  One needs such disasters, it makes things interesting and a good story to tell.”  In retrospect my reaction seems ridiculous, but at that time it was disastrous, not just a bump in the road. 

I was up at 7am, showered and dressed and fighting fit.  I sent a WApp to the original hotel, asked for a transfer to them and a taxi to take me there, which was immediately granted, but would only be after 12 noon.  I discovered that the bus station was within walking distance from the current hotel, so set out to buy a ticket to Armenia (a town in Colombia) for the following day.  Much to my surprise, the sun was shining, and, as usual, everything was working out perfectly.  I was starving by then and ordered a funny looking breakfast at a really sleezy place in the bus station, but “honger is die beste kok”, as we say in Afrikaans, so down it went. 

Hotel Artistico, where I had originally booked, has an old-world feel to it, right next to the historical centre, and after settling in, I took to the streets.  It was Sunday, and there were street markets everywhere.  All my woes of the previous night forgotten, I was walking around with a huge grin, enjoying the hustle and bustle, favourably impressed with Bogotá.  It started to rain, but umbrellas and covers came out, and everything carried on.  Angela, a friend of mine in South Africa who is Colombian, had given me some recommendations of things to do and places to visit, so I meandered along, passing the Plaza de Bolivar with its beautiful cathedral and other old buildings,  working my way to the Botero museum, which is free.  

Fernando Botero Agulo was a Columbian artist and sculptor, who was born in 1932 and died in 2023 in Monaco.  He was considered the most recognized artist from Latin America in his lifetime, and his style became known as Boterism.  In 2000 he donated 123 of his own pieces and 85 artworks from his private collection to the Museo Botero in Bogotá.  His paintings have a way of making one smile – exaggerated bodies, small mouths, funny expressions, everyday occurrences from an ironic point of view. 

I walked further up the hill to Plazoleta Chorro de Quevedo, a plaza in the heart of the historical center, which is the place where the city was founded in 1538.  The plaza was rebuilt in 1969, based on some old images and models, and a new well and church were built.  Some streets around it are narrow and cobbled with quaint bars and restaurants,  and the graffiti is very artistic. 

The following day I caught the bus to Armenia, a 240km trip that took almost 7 hours, as it takes one and a half hours to get out of Bogotá.  The road winds over the Andes, a breathtaking and sometimes scary journey as the abysses are steep – but worth every minute.  I so wished I was in a car to be able to stop and enjoy the scenery. 

Rickus and his wife Xio picked me up from the bus station, and I spent the following two days with them and their two children, Alexis and Elen, at their beautiful home on the outskirts of Circasia (a smaller town 20 minutes from Armenia), being thoroughly spoilt.   Xio’s parents, Ruben and Amanda, live on the same property, and Amanda showed me around the huge garden the next morning, picking some coffee beans, explaining the process of cleaning and roasting. They have many fruit trees, such as bananas, oranges, tangerines, avocados, other citrus and even a little apple tree which Rickus grew from a seed – I told him it is much too hot and humid there for apple trees to grow,  but he is hopeful. 

They took me to Solento later that morning, one of Colombia’s main tourist destinations, and we walked up the Valle de Cocora (Cocora Valley), where the very tall Quindío wax palms (Ceroxylon quindiuense) grow, the national tree of Colombia – a sight to behold.  We walked through the town, taking pictures and having lunch at a restaurant which was in an old house, beautifully restored.  I bought some coffee – it was the coffee region after all – which I now have to carry with me until December.  

When we came back from Salento, Amanda had made a perfect tortilla with plantains from the garden.  Usually the tortillas are made with fried potato pieces, but the plantains give a different flavor and texture.   Plantains are a big type of banana that is used only for cooking.  The thin flat chips that are made from them are often served as a side dish instead of potato chips.  

The hospitality of Rickus, Xio and their family touched me deeply.  We had many open conversations and discissions about family, child rearing, religion and life in Colombia. There are certain parts of Colombia that are controlled by drug lords, and life can be difficult there, as it is a war zone.  There is to be an election in May, and a promising presidential candidate has said that if he wins, he will attack the drug lords and their industry.   Armenia and surrounds are in a very safe area, and as Amanda said, it is absolutely wonderful to live there.  Xio does home schooling with Alexis and Elen, and they both passed their grades the day I returned to Bogotá. 

The road to Armenia is interesting in that for a certain stretch it is dual carriage, with the way there following the old, winding pass, and the way back going through tunnel after tunnel and many viaducts.  Naturally the travelling time back to Bogotá is faster, but not as scenic.  The bus stops at a restaurant next to the road, and evidently one can get a free meal, but the queue was long and I couldn’t figure out how to do it, so I just ate the delicious lunch that Xio had packed for me. 

Back in Bogotá I stayed at the Hotel Artistico again, and discovered a small restaurant with good food around the corner, one block away.  I was a bit wary of going out after dark, but hunger made me brave and Rickus’ advice was to walk purposefully with chin held high – it worked, no threats at all.   The matronly woman who runs the restaurant, does everything – the cooking, serving, cleaning  and payments, all very homely.  The hamburger had fesh lettuce, tomatoes, cheese and a decent patty.  No eating utensils were provided, so the eating was a homely mess too.   One of my favourite meals has become the arepas de maiz (round, flat buns that are made from maize flour).  They are sliced open, like a pita, and filled with anything.  I first had them at Xio’s house, when she made them with a curry mince filling and cheese.  The breakfast ones on the market street are filled with egg and cheese, and served in a foil envelope that keeps it warm. 

I had a very relaxed and interesting week in Montevideo, a city that epitomises the Uruguay approach to life.  I’ll mainly post pictures, they depict what I experienced, but I cannot refrain from telling a story or two. 

The first one is about my arrival.  The bus ride gave me the opportunity to re-establish my equilibrium, and the reception at Montevideo Hostel was extraordinary.  Annette, the owner, gave me the warmest welcome, inviting me to have breakfast even though it was already noon.  The spread (every day, available the whole day!) consisted of eggs, freshly baked flat buns, cheese, salami, fruit, tea, coffee, juice, yoghurt,  seeds, corn flakes, cake, and sometimes a special treat like aroz con leche (a rice and milk desert). 

I was shown to a 6-bed room, but we were only two in the room, making it more comfortable.  There was a locker to unpack my things into, and a little balcony just outside the room, which became my personal haven for the week. 

I can strongly recommend this hostel.  Annette runs it like a home, and everybody is family – mostly young guys who work in Montevideo for a few months and live there, some even up to a year. 

After a healthy ‘breakfast’, I set out on an exploratory walk, straight down to the sea through a rather rundown neighbourhood, deserted on a Saturday afternoon, and along the broad promenade which runs all along the sea for many kilometers, called the Rambla Sur (Southern Boardwalk).

The further I walked, the more despondent I became.  Everything looked drab in comparison to Punta del Este, the sea was polluted and brown, the people looked different, there were beggars and homeless people lying in nooks, the high-rise buildings were facebrick and brown, and in general the buildings looked neglected.  “Montevideo is ugly,” were my thoughts, “how am I going to spend a week here?” 

I veered inland when I was opposite the old city, and then the magic started to happen.  Suddenly there were more people, coffee shops and restaurants, and as I started walking up Avenida 18 de Julio (the main street), there were plazas (squares) with interesting buildings, and as it was getting dark, lights in the street.  I was becoming more and more intrigued, and as I entered Plaza Juan Pedro Fabini, I was enthralled:  people were sitting in a circle on chairs, and elderly couples were dancing the tango – the real thing, not the staged tango dancers of Buenos Aires! 

On Sunday I walked to the Feria de Tristan Narvaja market, a bustling street market that has spilled over into the adjoining streets.  I decided to buy myself a mate and bombisha, now all I need is the thermos.

Much of Montevideo is in need of restoration – there are many striking buildings hidden in all the streets, which remind one of a thriving era of long ago. 

The murals never cease to amaze me:

I spent most of my days exploring; I happened to walk past a well-known coffee shop, ruins of an old gas company, Montevideo University, and a derelict Italian hospital that still seems to be used, as I saw people going into the building. 

I followed a tourist group down some stairs on Plaza de Independencia (which I had previously assumed led to public toilets), and there was an underground museum depicting the history of the independence of Uruguay, heralding General Jose Artigas, a national hero and regarded as the father of Uruguayan nationhood. The mood in that dimly lit space was grave, hushed, almost pious. 

The last day in Montevideo I decided to take a bus to Piriapolis, a small coastal town east of Montevideo, as Annette’s husband had highly recommended it.  My main mission was to eat a steak, which I had attempted to do the previous day, but the restaurant I wanted to go to, where Maria (Workaway host)’s son was a chef, was only opening at 8pm and I was not prepared to walk home late at night. 

Annette’s husband speaks English, and we had a very interesting conversation about Uruguay when I asked him how the Iran-war is affecting the country. “Uruguay does not become involved in the issues of other countries,” he said.  “We always maintain a moderate stance, encouraging dialogue rather than violence.  We respect the fact that every country has the right to govern themselves, without interference.  Even in politics we are moderate – it does not make much difference if it is a left- or right-wing party in government, it is much the same.  As far as the possibility of an energy crisis, it should not impact too heavily, as 98% of our energy is generated by solar-, hydro- and wind-power.  In the past year, 60% of cars that were sold were electric, and there are charging points everywhere.  At the moment, there is no real impact,” he concluded.  One person’s opinion, but I experienced the moderation and respect he spoke about. 

I had also asked him about the possibility of seeing candombe, the traditional dance that was started by the African slaves and their descendants.  It was banned in 1955, but has  been revived, and they have a festival the whole of February, which I had missed.  I was recommended to attend a show at El Milongon, and I booked a ticket for the Thursday night:  $40 (US) if one just had wine, $80 including dinner.  I had been walking around the whole day, and was rather tired, so I cancelled it and stayed in the hostel. At about 9pm I was upstairs in the general area, when I heard drums, and one of the guys that is a regular at the hostel, said that there was a group of women who practiced candombe in the street below us every Thursday night.  I ran downstairs and lo and behold, there they were – my own private show, totally free!

Some random photos:

Truthfully?  A tough experience last week, on different levels.  And also a very enriching one, on different levels.  I am reading An Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda, and I was struck by the following:   “All thoughts vibrate eternally in the cosmos. … Thoughts are universally and not individually rooted; a truth cannot be created, but only perceived.  The erroneous thoughts of man result from imperfections in his discernment.” (P 112).  A gentle reminder to carefully consider my own thoughts and how I express them.  And to realise that my preconceived ideas and perceptions determine my reactions to situations – thus, all is personal. 

I had a Workaway commitment on a farm, Don Miguel, 7km out of Cufré, a very small town north of Colonia Valdense.   Maria and Hugo picked me up at 20h30 at the busstop in Colonia Valdense,  which is about halfway between Montevideo and Colonia del Sacramento.   I was an hour early and bought a sandwich in the little restaurant which serves as busstop, so I wasn’t aware that they had arrived until I got a WApp telling me they were waiting.  They were driving an old white combi with one seat removed, which enables Hugo to transport things I suppose, as he doesn’t have a truck.  We picked up their grandson, Sabino, on the way to the farm, which was about a 20-min drive.   I was shown to my room, which was in a long outbuilding, where the kitchen was also located.  I was told that breakfast would be in the kitchen just after 08h00, lunch would be there as well, and for supper I could help myself to anything that was available in the fridge or kitchen.  Google Translate was working overtime, but I understood most of the instructions. 

The room was very basic with twin beds, and toilet and shower en suite.   I could unpack my things on the other bed as I was the only volunteer, and Maria brought me two sheets and a pillowcase – I found a blanket in a full cupboard in the room.  There was a gauze door to keep out mosquitoes,  but the windows in the room and bathroom didn’t have any. Fortunately I had a repellent.  

Breakfast the next morning was green tea, homemade bread, butter and homemade pumpkin jam (delicious), but Maria had fruit and yoghurt as she was on a special diet.  “Not for health reasons” she explained, looking at Hugo for support, “but because I am taking chlorine dioxyde, an alternative medicine for treating cancer.  I have been taking it for 8 months, and the cancer has shrunk to more than half its size.  It is the most inspirational thing that has ever  happened to me, and I am writing a book about it,” she concluded.   She was not allowed to have any gluten, sugar or acids, especially citrus fruits (high in vit C).  She was quite hesitant in telling me all this, as obviously it was a sensitive issue, but I was so inspired by her positive attitude that I asked her permission to write about it. 

I asked about the work they were expecting me to do, and Maria said that I had to clean the kitchen after breakfast, to always keep it clean, and after that I had to trim the hedge (in the photo of the outbuilding), remove some prickly plants and harvest some herbs (yellow nutsedge,  chuffa in Spanish).  I misunderstood about the chuffa.  When she demonstrated what she wanted me to do, she picked some, and some she pulled out by the roots, so I assumed it had to be the latter.  I washed them to remove the soil from their roots, which I was not supposed to do, but she was not too upset about that and told me to put them on a metal gauze frame to dry out.  I’m explaining in detail here, to illustrate the difficulty of not being able to communicate effectively, Maria’s strong sense of being in charge, and my eagerness to do things right.  That set the tone for the week. 

When I’d done all that, I found Sabino in the kitchen making empanadas. and he invited me to try to make one.  He was very impressed with my first attempt, and we continued making all of them (which were for lunch and for supper), discussing politics in his broken English and my poor Spanish.    Lunch was always at a table under the trees, as the kitchen was too warm.  I had to set the table with plates, cutlery, glasses and freshly squeezed orange juice.  After lunch I cleared away everything, did the dishes and pots or pans that had been used for cooking, and swept the kitchen floor.   Feeling a little bit like cinderella, it occurred to me that that is what it must have felt like for the servants on our farm in South Arica, who were always cleaning up after us.  The big difference being that here I was eating with the family, and they never did – a humbling and shaming thought.

Workaway volunteer hours are normally 5 hours a day, so I assumed my work had been  done after cleaning up after lunch, but Maria always had some extra things I had to do in the afternoons, normally involving the herbs, which I was keen to learn about and I happily obliged.   One day I had to harvest purple basil, as it had to be cut in the heat of the day.  On another day I had to put stickers and her logo on packets, fill them with that specific herb, weigh them and seal them with an electric sealer.  As we worked, she explained the importance of having the right attitude and positive energy when handling herbs; that we had a chakra in the middle of our palms, and that the energy was transmitted in that way.   She also mentioned that not all volunteers were able to work with the herbs, which I took as a compliment.  She had studied medicinal herbs many years earlier, and was very intuitive and knowledgeable, explaining the properties of the herbs that we were packaging. 

In the meantime, Maria was making fig jam and salsa sauce and boiling bones to extract gelatine that she bottled and sold.  This she did in her garage on a woodburning stove, sitting in front of it, continuously feeding the flames with pieces of wood.  One day she asked me to gather wood for the stove, using the wheelbarrow and finding wood any place around the house.   Quite an easy job, as there are many huge trees on the property and lots of dry wood lying around.  There are also a few huge ombu trees around the house, which I loved – beautiful from one angle, hollowed out on the other side.  Their fibrous material is of course no good as firewood.  

On the second morning I decided to help Hugo fetch the cow and watch him milk.   He asked me to try, but no matter how hard I squeezed those teats, I just couldn’t get the milk to come out.  It was a strange feeling, I could feel the milk going back up into the udder, instead of out.  Hugo was very encouraging, explaining how I had to curl my fingers from the top to the bottom, but to no avail.  We had quite a laugh, and eventually I just gave up.  After milking, we fetched the calf, which was almost full-grown, to drink.  Hugo walked into the camp, calling out as he searched for it, and eventually the calf appeared from the bushes a way off.  My mother used to call her tortoises on the farm in the same way. 

Hugo is just as entrepreneurial as Maria.  One day I saw him cleaning out one of the outside rooms, and later I heard a constant droning sound.  I investigated, and saw that he had a machine that was making rice flour from rice.  The following day he showed me that he also makes flour from pomace, the remains of grapes after the wine had been made.  Evidently it is an excellent antioxidant.  He gets the pomace from a bodega (wine farm) on the outskirts of Cufre. 

Another whole morning with Maria was spent making apple vinegar and cutting and salting cabbage, which gets bottled and is used as probiotic.  Maria also sterilized the jams and salsa she had bottled, which I then had to lable. 

Recipe for apple vinegar:                                   Add together in a glass container:
1 kilo apple or peel with core
1/2 kilo sugar
10 l of cold water, or less
Cover with taped down cloth (must breathe, and the taped down cloth keeps bugs out)
Leave for minimum of 6 months, strain and bottle.     

Recipe for salted cabbage:                     Remove the core of the cabbage and slice very thinly.  Add coarse salt, 2% of the weight of the cabbage.  Mix while crushing the cabbage with your hands until watery, leave 6hrs.  Put one clove of garlic cut lengthwise and a few cloves in the bottom of a glass jar.  Fill half the jar with the sliced cabbage, pressing it down very tightly.  Add more garlic and cloves, and fill up with tightly packed cabbage.  Add more garlic and a few cloves, and fill the jar with seawater.  Put lids on, but not screwed shut, the liquid should be allowed to escape.   Stand for 5 – 9 days. 

At some stage Sabino walked into the kitchen with a piece of a root of the Ceibo tree, which has medicinal properties.  Maria then showed me how she makes smoked olive oil (aceite de carbon) which she served on our pasta that afternoon for lunch.  She put a piece of the wood on the gas stove, let it burn until it was red when the flames were blown out, and dunked it in a cup of olive oil, immediately covering it with a saucer.  She did it twice to get more of the smoked flavour.  She had also come up with a recipe of salted, dried onions which she bottled using the smoked olive oil.  Evidently one can buy smoked olive oil, but it is very expensive.  It is absolutely delicious!

I had to cook lunch one afternoon – rice, steamed vegetables (which I was in trouble for, for cutting up in small pieces instead of big chunks) and steaks – and Maria kept the butternut seeds, explaining that she makes a very healthy seed drink that is good for deworming, is anti-inflamatory, and good for the prostrate gland too:

Seed drink
2 spoons of seeds (any squash, butternut, watermelon, cantelope)
1 spoon coconut
1 spoon honey
1 cup of water, 4 cubes of ice
Smooth in a processor, and pour through a  sieve, serve immediately. 

It was also my job to let the chickens out at 18h00, to collect any eggs they might have laid, and fill the water trough.  And to be sure that all 14 hens and the cock were safely back in the run before closing it later, as there were small foxes and other predators around that could’ve caught them.   The first night Maria and Hugo were not there, and thinking there were 14 chickens in total (I had not understood that there were 14 hens and one cock), I was happy that they were all safe and sound, having counted 14.  As I walked back to my room, a hen came sauntering by, totally confusing me.  The misunderstanding was cleared up the following day when they explained about the 14 + 1.  One hen had a long cloth string attached to her leg, and was being picked on by the other chickens.  When I asked Maria about it, she said she had been broody and had been tied up, and if I could catch her, I could untie the string.  That evening she had accidentally tied herself up around a pole in the chicken run, so it was easy to just pick her up and remove the string.   I am convinced the extra egg the following day was her feeling liberated and able to lay again. 

One night I discovered a little scorpion in my room, which kind of freaked me as it was under my phone which was lying on top of the adapter on the floor.  It made me decide to not extend my stay, which Maria and Hugo had asked me to do as their next volunteer had failed to reply to WApps.  I had been sharing some personal issues with Maria, and she had responded with positive energy and had offered to do reiki, which she was trained to do.  It had all become very intense, and I had felt my energy being drained to the point of exhaustion, so the scorpion was just what I needed to remind me that I should take charge of my situation and make sensible decisions.   My work had been done, it was time to move on. 

I would often go for a walk late afternoons, watching beautiful sunsets, taking pictures and picking and smelling a dainty flower along the way, that had the same calming effect as lavender.  Dante, one of the three dogs, always accompanied me with much gusto, reminding me of the joyous pleasure to be found in simplicity. 

Working and travelling are contrasting activities.  Travelling to me is about exploring, discovering, being attentive, walking, and sometimes interacting.  It is mostly personal, invigorating and exciting.  Working, on the other hand, means becoming involved, being open to forming relationships, sharing living- and life-spaces, learning about the culture and accepting that people do things differently.  It involves energy, sharing and participating, and being present.  Sometimes I can do it for longer periods of time, when there is an easy and comfortable flow of energy, and sometimes for shorter, when the intensity of the energy is draining.  The past week has been the latter.   More about that in the next blog, first a travel experience in Punta del Este.    

The morning I had to leave La Paloma, it had been raining and the clouds were threatening, so I was waiting in the kitchen area of the hostel to see what would happen.  I did not feel like pulling Suerte through the mud, and contemplating my options, I started chatting to two women who were having breakfast.  They, Susi and Manuela, were going to Punta del Este by car, and I promptly bummed a lift, offering to pay what the bus would have cost.  We had the most enjoyable trip, drinking mate and chatting the whole way, and they dropped me right in front of the hostel.  They are two best friends from Buenos Aires, who were on holiday for a week, and we shared life stories and philosophies as usual.  Susi and her partner (who was at home) have applied to adopt a baby, and I said a special prayer for them in a church in Punta del Este. 

Punta del Este is something else.  I got quite a shock when I walked out of the hostel and was confronted by many 27-storey blocks of flats lining the waterfront street, as far as I could see.  A man I met walking toward the city center told me it is supposedly becoming the next Dubai, as investors are looking for places that are secure and safe. 

My Uruguay friend, Ale, had given me the names of two places to visit, but he owns a car, and I don’t, which meant I had to take a bus, and walk quite a bit.  The first, Casapueblo (House of the People), was a total surprise.   It is a huge, architecturally unorthodox house, built over 30 years by a world renowned artist Carlo Páez Viraló.  He knew many world leaders, travelled widely, painted with Pablo Picasso and represented the cause of Africans in his artwork.  The house started off as a wooden shed that he had built as his studio, which he later personally plastered and added on to, with the help of friends.  I watched a video about his life – truly inspirational. 

Getting there was not easy.  It is the first time ever that Maps.Me took me to the wrong place.  When the bus dropped me off, a lady showed me the way to walk, and after about 2 km through a posh neighbourhood and down a steep hill, I realised I was not going to find Casapueblo.  A woman standing next to her car was my salvation (at that stage it felt like salvation, not rescue), as she offered to take me to the place.  It turned out that she was a landscaper, who had done most of the gardens in that area, all very attractive. 

Walking back was fun, as I followed a trail down a cliff overlooking the ocean, where I sat down and had my late lunch that I had packed for the day, not knowing what to expect. 

The second place Ale had told me about, was the Arboleto Lussich, one of the most important privately-owned forests and the largest arboretum in the world.  It was started in 1896 by Antonio Lussich, who was a sailor and collected seeds and trees from all over the world.  It covers 192 hectares with trails and lookout points to the east and west.  

Uraquay people are helpful and kind, without fuss or bother.  I experienced this again on the way to the forest.  I asked to be dropped at the same place as for Casapueblo (it was just easier), but as we approached the bus stop, I was standing next to the driver and mentioned to him the actual place I was going to.  He then told me to wait, took the following off-ramp from the highway, stopped and dropped me off 600m from where I had to be, shrugging off my thanks with a ‘con gusto’ (with pleasure).  I took the wrong bus going back, and ended up far out in the northern part of the city before realising it.  I just crossed the road and waited for the next bus back to town, getting off before the bus terminal, as the walk home was shorter from there.  I was dying for some coffee, and I’m quite ashamed to say, but there was a MacDonald’s and I couldn’t resist buying a take-away and a donut.   And then I walked through a beautiful neighbourhood, aptly named Beverley Hills, with huge trees, green and lush lawns and gardens, and charming houses.  

The old town of Punta del Este is on southern point of the peninsula, with the harbour on the west side.  I walked around the point, the weather quite ominous with seriously threatening clouds, but thankfully it never rained.  I stopped at a hippy shop to buy a fridge magnet, and was somewhat overwhelmed by the owner who could speak English, had been in South Africa and was adamant to take me right to the back of the shop and show me some maps, explaining the points of interest.

And finally, the most photographed place in Punta del Este, ‘La Mano’ (The Hand).  The guy at the hippy shopped had asked me what my interpretation of it was, and wriggling my fingers upwards, I replied:  “Hello, here I am!”.  His reply:  “No, completely the opposite!  It is ‘Help me, I am drowning'”.  Well, that might be so, but I prefer my interpretation.