Going back to Cali

The ride back to Cali was pretty uneventful, however the scenery, even for the second time was still breathtaking. I get into the city call Stephen and he tell me where to meet him. It’s on the edge of town, so I back out that way. I ride around the shopping center a few times, I can’t find him anywhere. There are tons of people and the traffic is brutal. I finally find him, get back on the bike and it won’t start. I get it running and at the first stop light it stalls and won’t start. After trying to get it started, and trying, very unsuccessfully to push it with his small scooter, we decide we need to tow it. His dad drives out in the car and we hook up a rope. Probably the scariest thing I’ve done in South America, if not in my life.

The rope is attached to my handlebars, the other end to the car’s bumper. Going straight was simple enough, although there are cars and bikes everywhere, it’s now dark and we have a long way to go. Turning was a not so easy, the rope slacks first as the car brakes, then jerks the bike to the side and down towards the hitch. Very Sketchy. After the first few turns I got the hang of it, but still not fun. Braking was also a process, if I got to close to the car, the rope could get caught up in the front tire, not really sure how that would end but I didn’t want to find out. Anyway, finally made it home and got the bike inside.

Stephen, girlfriend, Johanna, and I went up the family’s finca in the mountains. We got there pretty late, so we just relaxed and bit and went to bed early. The finca was beautful. There was a really nice cabin Stephen's grandfather built, all sorts of beautiful flowers, coffee, plantains, oranges, yucca and bananas. Using a machete, we cut down one of the plantain trees and took a huge bunch home with us to ripen.

The next morning his aunt and her boyfriend met us up there. We spent the day at the river where there was a pool and little resort. When we got back the aunt was cooking sancocho. It’s a very typical Colombian stew made with chicken, corn, plantains, pork and I’m not sure what else. Along with a bit of aguadiente, excellent Colombian meal!

Spent the next couple of days in Cali working on the bike and hanging around the barrio. I had a steady stream of mechanics of various specialties coming to the house to help with the bike, most wouldn’t take any money for their time. Otherwise, I just hung out with the family and a few friends of Stephen’s. Most nights were spent hanging out in the park across the street talking to the neighbors.

I also spent a lot of time eating. The family would feed me 4 meals a days, probably more if I didn’t stop them. It didn’t help that I have a habit of saying “si” whenever I don’t really understand a question. Next thing I know a huge plate of food would appear and I felt compelled to clean my plate. Braised beef, ribs with lentils and rice, roast chicken, chorizo, sweet plantains, fried plantains, arepas con queso…all of so delicious.

I had planned to take a cab to the airport, it’s a little ways out of town and Stephen had done enough for me, but he insisted. It’s time to leave and half the family piles into the car with us- a couple of aunts and little Juan Guillermo. Then they insist on coming in with me and waiting until my flight left. I’m starting to feel like one of the family.

Galapagos

Quito, Ecuador

The next day we moved to a small hotel in a little bohemian neighborhood, I can’t remember the name but a bit similar to the Candalaria in Bogota. Lot’s of cafes, hostels, bars and cheap restaurants. Also lots of tourists, but more of the backpacker type then the business crowd at the Sheraton. We spent a few days in Quito, most of them were pretty lazy. Sleeping in, checking out some of the neighborhoods and lots of time in coffee shops.

We went out to the Media del Mundo, the monument that marks the equator. Well, at least where they thought it was 30 years ago when they built it. It was later discovered that it actually passes a few thousand meters to the south. The monument wasn’t all that exciting, but worth the ride out there. We also hiked to the top of Pululahua Volcan. The views from the top were amazing, the crater filled with a few dozen houses and farms, clouds periodically obstructing the view then blowing away as quickly as they appeared.

One day was spent in and out of airline offices and travel agencies trying to book flights to the Galapagos. The cruises boats buy most of the seats on the flights so we couldn’t find tickets. We planned on going out there and booking a boat at the last minute, but ended up finding a good deal and booked it in Quito so we could get the flights. The boat was nicer, and more expensive, then we had planned, but it was half off and it were happy to have it all arranged before we got to the islands. Our flight left the next day and we would meet the boat 4 days later.

I had read about a restaurant, Café Mosiac, that was up on a hill and had amazing views of the city. I thought it would be a fun place to go for drinks on our last night in the city. I got the address, we hopped in a cab, but he driver had no clue where it was. He dropped us in the general area, it seemed like an ok neighborhood, but definitely no tourist wandering around. Actually not many people at all on the streets. And it was pretty dark. The cab left, we wondered around for a while, up and down a few hills, no one we asked had ever heard of the place. We finally figured out where it was and we head in that direction.

We start up the steep hill, soon we’re on a set of stairs. It’s getting darker and darker, and creepier with every step. The stairs take a few turns, there is more and more trash and now there is also a horrible odor. A combination or rotten vomit, urine and burning hair, but we are close to the top. I’m starting to feel a little sketched, though, given that there’s no one around, nowhere to go since there is a wall on one side and a fence on the other. That at I’m a tall goofy gringo walking at night with a small white girl with bright blonde hair.

We turn a corner and there are three homeless looking guys having what appears to be some kind of séance. Something is burning, they all look drunk and pretty scary. They say something, I hurry Shannon ahead of me and up the stairs and we both basically run to the street above.
Finally at the top, the view are amazing and the neighborhood is beautiful. It feels like we are in San Francisco. Very contemporary houses over looking the lights of the city. The city is built in a valley and spreads throughout the hills on all side. It’s really beautiful a night, a sea of lights on the rolling hills.

First Border Crossing- Ecuador

The morning in Pasto started as most do, riding around trying to find the road out of town. This morning wasn’t too bad though. Good thing it was a small town. I left early, trying to get to the border before all the busses and tourist showed up. I’m sure I woke up everyone in town as I roared out of there.

I stopped at the Colombia border town of Ipiales to have my pipe looked at. Ended up being there for almost 2 hours by the time I found a motorbike mechanic and then pipe didn’t go on nearly as easily as I thought. Anyway, I met some good people and the kid at the shop was a big help. I got to the border just after noon, a few hours later then I had hoped.






The crossing was much easier then I expected, especially given my dodgy paperwork. I had to do some walking back and forth between the Colombian and Ecuadorian sides, in and out of a few different offices but my bogus paperwork seemed to work and within the hour I was in Ecuador heading for Quito.





The first hour or so was really pretty, green hills full of farms, It looked like hobbit country. I’ll refrain from any references to Ecuadorian people looking a bit like hobbits. They kinda do, though. The scenery wasn’t nearly as stunning as Colombia. Although as I got closer to Quito, the mountains got significantly bigger and more beautiful. Saw my first bit of South America snow, on Mt Cayambe (I believe). It’s a 5800 meter active volcano that sits almost right on the equator. I crossed into the southern hemisphere sometime before getting to Quito. You think there would be some kind of sign. Nope.

The ride into Quito was pretty easy, although, I stopped for gas about 80 km from the city. A few minutes after leaving the gas station my bike started sputtering and almost stalling out. Whenever I’d give it gas it would almost die. I had not clue what was going on. It was also starting to run a bit hot. I pulled over and start looking around, trying to figure out what the problem was. I ended up disconnecting the radiator hose, twice. Both times boiling hot coolant sprays me, scorching my hands through my gloves. I finally decided to just press on. I later, after the bike and I limped into town, that Ecuadorian gas is notoriously bad and very low in octane. It’s premium from now on in Ecuador.

I pull into the city, I’m exhausted, at this point still have no idea what’s going on with the bike. I just want to get off and settle into a hotel. I ride around a bit, having no clue how the city is oriented or what part of town the hostels are located. A problem riding the bike is that it’s not that easy to just roll into town, give a cabbie an address and start knocking on hostel doors. I never want to leave my bike with my gear strapped it and also need to find a place that has some kind of parking, whether it’s a driveway, garage, courtyard or inside the lobby. Just finding the part of town with the hostel/ hotels is hard enough, then finding a place with parking, and rooms, usually takes some riding around.

Anyway, I was tired and didn’t feel like the wild goose chase that always ensues. I pulled into the first big hotel I saw, the Sheraton Quito. They had a room and a garage and it was close to the airport. Perfect. My friend Shannon was getting in late so I wanted something easy. Although it was about 5 times more then any room so far on the trip, it was still relatively cheap. And it felt like I was in the 4 Seasons. Roof top hot tub, sauna, steam room, nice towels, bell man. True luxury. With the KFC, Papa John’s and Chili’s around the corner and the mega mall across the street, it felt like I was back in the states. Not an entirely bad feeling. Just a bit surreal.

Cali to Pasto

When I got on the road at 10, it was already scorching hot. It was another beautiful ride, tough, I think Colombia is one of the most beautiful, diverse countries I’ve ever been to. The ride to Pasto was mostly through the valley, mountains on both sides. After a few hours it turned into mostly desert. At times it felt like I could be in Southern Colorado or the Southwest. The mountains, again, were huge and dramatic.






Just past Popayan, I hit a big pothole at about 100 km/ hr. All the sudden my muffler got real loud. I pull over and the whole thing managed to fall off. The area I was in has been notorious for banditos, so I didn’t want to stop long. I strapped the pipe to the back and rallied into Pasto. Now there was no rolling through town unnoticed, the bike was f’ing loud!





I got into Pasto and found a sweet little hotel with a garage. Definitely the nicest hotel I’ve stayed in during the past 2 months. First shower that wasn’t just a pipe sticking out of the wall and it actually had hot water! Total luxury. All for less the $25 us a night, not bad. The hotel was a real treat.





My bike, especially the seat, is really not made for long touring and this was my longest ride so far. 7 hours on the road with very few stops. By the end of the day I was sore. And exhausted. And sleeping in a nice bed with good sheets after a long, hot shower was so well needed.





The entire day had been brutally hot, but jut before getting to town it totally cooled off with a rainbow going right into town. The city is surrounded by rolling green hills. Kind of reminded me of Boise. Really pretty little town. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the women of Pasto. They definitely are not the same caliber as those in Cali. Actually, I didn’t see one attractive woman the entire time I was there, but they were very nice, great personalities.

Cali, Columbia

I pulled into Cali early in the afternoon to meet Cheech’s family. Cheech, or Cheechy down here, is a friend of mine in Baltimore that was born down here. His grandmother, cousins and aunts are still here and they offered to let me stay at their house for the night. Cheech's email said “when you get to town, go somewhere safe and call my cousin. He’ll meet you wherever you are. Cali is very dangerous and their neighborhood isn’t very safe.” So I pull into the Intercontinental Hotel and call Steven. I sit outside on the terrace, have a coke and steal their internet while I wait for them meet me at the hotel. Back on the bike, I follow them to their house.







I pull the bike into the living room, and finally through the house to the dining room/ courtyard toward the back of the house. I love parking the bike inside a house or hotel. I meet the family, 4 cousins, 4 aunts, grandmother, a few uncles and a couple of friends. I still, even after spending an entire afternoon and night with them, can’t keep everyone’s name straight. Steven, one of the cousins, speaks pretty good English, everyone else almost none. But they are all so friendly. And with Steven there to help translate when needed, I am able to talk to everyone.


We hang out for a few, telling them what I’ve been up to and telling stories about Cheech. I get a shower and the grandmother cooks me a delicious dinner. Then I take a ride with Steven, one of his uncles and another cousin to pick up birthday cake, tomorrow is the youngest cousin’s 9th bday. On they way they took me for a tour of the neighborhood, Fatima is definitely not in the Lonely Planet, but I really dug it.

The whole time in Cali and in their neighborhood, I never once felt unsafe. It may have been another story had I been walking around there alone, but the family knew everyone and it was very chill. This is despite Steven was telling me stories about the neighborhood a few years ago and how, even now, there are gang members and oher shady charactes that live in the barrio. But he gtold me that everyone in the neighborhood looks out for each other and there are almost no problems these days.







We get back and hang out for a few and Steven and I head out to the mall. At 8 on Saturday night, the mall in Cali is hopping. There are a bunch of bars inside the courtyard where people are hanging out. Cali’s reputation is well deserved, the women here are gorgeous. I don’t think I saw a single unattractive woman the entire time I was there. And the mall was definitely no exception. We have a few beers, hang with a few of his friends and head back to the house.

We get back there and everyone is hanging out in the park across the street. Kids are running around, parents and sitting around and talking. Down the street, several parties and just beginning. Some very large speakers have been carried out into the streets and salsa music is blaring. For the next several hours we hang out there in the park. I, at least in my mind, am doing pretty good chatting with everyone in my poor Spanish. We have a few beers, then some aquadiante. More beers, more aquadiante. None of them would let me pay for a thing and everyone made sure that I always had something to drink, as soon as I finished a beer, someone would be off to the tienda for more. And, of course, more aquadiante. A couple of the aunts can party! The were putting back the aquadiante and dancing in the street with the neighbors. Everyone there was a lost of fun. Then, maybe the highlight for me, Steven's mom made the best empanadas I’ve had in Colombia.








Steven, his brother, one of their friends and I went out for some late night food. We ended up a carbon place, basically a big bbq restaurant. I had the ribs, definitely wasn’t Kansas City BBQ, but it was damn good. At the restaurant and the mall, actually my entire trip from Bogota to Quito, I never saw another gringo. Love that. On the way home we came up on an accident. It must have just happened, some guy ran off the road and hit a tree. Not sure if he was completely wasted or in shock from the accident, but he was stumbling around, holding his head, blood gushing all over the place. The windshield was smashed up, blood all over it as well. Pretty crazy scene.







That night in the park was one of the most fun I’ve had in Colombia. It’s cool how down here, and in most Latin cultures, the family is so close. I have no idea how many people live in the house, I’m guessing 12 or so. The house is beautiful and pretty big, but about the same size as a house for a family of 4 in the states. For the most part, it was just the family, a couple of girlfriends and a few friends, hanging out all night.

The next morning I woke up feeling a bit guayabo (hung over). A cup of coffee, eggs with chorizo and some awesome pastries/ rolls, a few photos and some Micheal Jackson videos with the birthday boy and I was ready to hit the road. I was really bummed that I didn’t have more time there, and I think they were too. They kept asking when I was coming back and how long I could stay next time. They have a house in the mountains that looks beautiful they they want to show me. Hopefully I can make it back up there soon.

Ibaque to Cali

I was up and out of the sketchy hotel early in the morning, on the road before 8. I rode around town in circles for almost an hour trying to find the road to Cali. I actually found it fairly quickly, but I stopped to make sure I was on the right track, and the guy I asked pointed back into town and said I was headed in the wrong direction. A few more laps around town and I was finally out of town around 9. The first hour or two was amazing, but very wet and cold. I rode through the Zona Cafetera, the coffee growing region. It was some of the most amazing scenery I’ve ever seen. Dramatic mountains, with coffee and all sorts or fruit covering the mountainsides. The road climbed the hills, then into the clouds. At the top is was almost a complete white out, everything was soaking wet. I came out of the clouds pretty quickly on the other side.










The ride down was also amazing, although much drier then the way up. In a couple of hours I was in the valley, going through Calarca. It reminded me of iding though the wine country in Napa or near Santa Barbara. Beautiful farms on either side of the road, with gorgeous estates and well kept barns. Clearly there is some money around Calarca. I stopped for lunch and coffee at a cool little roadside restaurant. From there it was a pretty easy, pretty fast ride into Cali.

Ride to Ibague

It took me a while to get the bike packed up, say some good byes and get directions out of town, I finally got on the road about noon. Another hour spent getting fuel and tracking down a bolt I lost when I had to pass a cab that was stuck on a hilly, cobble stone (more like rock field) street. It ended up being another venture into a random industrial neighborhood. The city seemed like it would never end. Finally the congestion ended, the buildings disappeared and I was heading for the hills. It felt so good to turn the throttle on an open road.



The ride was pretty cold and a bit damp at first, but after an hour or so it quickly changed to sweltering heat. It’s amazing how fast the weather changes down here. I really can’t begin to describe the scenery I saw and wish I had more time take pictures. I easily could have stopped every 5 minutes. Absolutely amazing. Huge mountains, rivers, jungles, deserts, pine forests, beautiful farms, cool little towns and all sorts of road side stands. So many times I found myself giggling like a school boy or hooting and hollering I was so excited to be riding a motor bike through Colombia.

There are a very different set of rules for driving down here, essentially there are none. I have passed cars, trucks, busses and other bikes on double yellow lines, on the right shoulder, on the left shoulder (while another car was also passing), around corners, and in between oncoming trucks. You can make pretty good time on a motorbike down here. At one point there was a construction zone, maybe 50-60 cars in line. With a bike, it’s right up the middle or down the shoulder and you’re in the front of the line. It was me and another bike and a bunch of cars behind us. The guys waves us through, and I notice none of the cars behind me are moving. The other bike and I just blast through the construction, weaving in and out of dump trucks and bulldozers. Once I was through the construction, I had an empty road in front of me.




The first day I was pulled over twice. The first was a routine stop to check insurance. I wasn’t sure what the cop was looking for at first. Finally figured it out and tried explaining to him that the card I gave him (which I made at an internet café in bogota, totally fake), was my proof of insurance. Finally a Colombian guy pulled over and spoke a bit of English, he translated and the cop finally let me go. I think he was mostly just tired of hearing me say “no ententiendo”. The second time was coming though a little town about an hour later. This cop started by asking about the bike, where I had been, where I was going, etc.. I initially thought he just wanted to chat about bikes but he started saying something about an infraction. I gave him my license and fake insurance card, and asked what the problem was. Apparently I was wrong, there are a few enforced laws down here and it’s illegal to pass another vehicle on a double yellow line, in town at three times the speed limit. I just told him I thought it was ok since everyone else passes each other when/ wherever they please. He very nicely explained that passing wasn’t allowed in the pedestrian zones in town . No ticket.

I pulled into Ipiales around 5 or so. Still light out but it was disappearing quick. It was a much bigger town then I expected, more like a small city. I saw a motorcycle dealership, so I pulled in and asked if they knew of any hotels that had parking for the bike. As usual, the guy gave me directions and I understood the first two, of maybe 5, turns and ended up riding around in circles. I headed into the centro, total chaos. Roads closed, people and cars everywhere, not a decent looking hotel in site. I finally saw a place that had a front door that the bike would fit through. The place was shady, but I could park the bike in the lobby so it would work. I think the hotel rented the rooms on the first floor by the hour. I got to the room and immediately ripped all the blankets off the bed, real glad I had my own sleeping bag in this place.

I wondered out to find something to eat, there was a pedestrian mall a few blocks away. I was walking around when I heard someone calling my name, it was the guy that worked at the hotel. He took me to a great little hole in the wall restaurant, had one of my favorite Colombian meals, bandeja de paisa- chorizo, ground beef, chicharonnes (fried bacon), beans with meat, rice and avocado. Over dinner he asked me to help him get a visa to the us. I couldn’t really figure out what he was saying or how he though I could help him, but I told him I’d do what I could. I also asked if the town was safe to walk around at night. He said it was pretty chill, but be careful near the hotel because that’s where the transvestite hookers work and sometimes there are some sketchy characters hanging around. Go figure. After a walk around town and some people watching, I headed back to the hotel. Sure enough, a group a she-men were hanging on the corner, yelling and whistling as I, now very quickly, walked by. Into the room, locked the deadbolt and quickly fell asleep.


"Gone are the days we stop to decide where we should go, we just ride."

Bogota, Colombia

A day later then planned, I’m getting on the night bus heading to Bogota. I ended up sitting next to a local guy from Medellin that was going to Bogota for the long weekend to see some friends. Talked to him for a bit, watched Blood Diamond in Spanish and got a decent night’s sleep. I get into the bus station and grab a cab to the centro. It’s cold, cloudy and grey and the city looks pretty industrial. At first glance, I don’t really like it. It feels like I left California and landed somewhere in the Midwest.

I got into the city, found a hotel and headed over to meet Nic. We had been emailing for the past week or so about his motorcycle. He shipped his bike to Chile from Australia and he and two friends spent the last 5 or 6 months riding around S. America. It was time for him to go home and it was time for me to get a bike. We had some coffee and chatted about the bike, then were off to sort out some paperwork. We found a notary that stamped our homemade bill of sale. It’s difficult, possibly illegal depending on who you ask, to buy a vehicle in Colombia with a tourist visa. So we had to creat our own and this is the most official piece of paper work I have for the bike, the first border crossing should be interesting.




We get back to his hostel and went over the bike, he had a problem with the speedometer that we would work on tomorrow. I went back to the hotel, got a shower and am heading back to Nic’s hostel. I ran into a few guys from Colorado that I met in Taganga. The were heading out on the night bus to Cali, so we all went out for a few pre-departure beers.




They took off and I wondered around town a bit. They area where I was staying, The Candaleria, was the old part of town. Beautiful colonial architecture, lots of coffee shops, art galleries and small pubs. Very Bohemian. There were street performers, almost a small circus, in the town square. Jugglers, fire dancers, clowns riding little bikes…pretty surreal. And lots of young people drinking cheap wine and smoking joints. I stopped into a little pub for a beer. It was a rock bar, there wereon the stereo. I met a few Colombian guys that had studied in London, they spoke pretty good English. I hung out with them and a few of their friends for a while.

They were heading out to another bar to see some music and asked if I wanted to come along. I told them I was going to get a bite to eat and meet them there. About 2 blocks away, I’m looking for something to eat. It’s not the busiest street in the Candalariea, but certainly not the darkest and most deserted.




Out of nowhere a guy is next to me, saying something I don’t immediately understand. I see a knife, pretty small knife, and realize he’s saying “cash, cash”. He’s a little guy and I’m about to hit him and take off, when I feel another knife pressed against my back. A quick glance behind me and the first guy now has his knife to my neck. (this happened right about where the group of people are standing in this pic to the right)

A third guy goes through my pockets, he gets a few pesos, I tell them that’s all I have. He feels my id card in a zippered pocket and cuts it open. Now he’s got another 50 pesos and my id, along with a credit card. I grab the id and card, tell him it’s just an id. As their leaving, one of the guys turns back and gives me my hotel keys. They were polite banditos after all.

They whole thing took about 30 seconds, people all around. Every day I met someone or heard about someone getting mugged in this area. It’s where all the hostels are located and the slums of the city are very close. My friends that lived there all carried collapsible battalions, I started carrying a long, heavy socket wrench. As well as taking cabs everywhere when it was late.



The next day Nic and I took off the front wheel and went out looking for a bike mechanic. We ended up in a part of town call Caracas. It was a neighborhood filled with everything you could ever imagine for motorcycles. Hundreds of mechanics and all sorts of shops with tires, parts, gear, you name it. All right next to each other selling, more or less, the same things. I later found similar neighborhoods in Bogota filled with industrial cloth stores, upholstery shops, electronics, etc. I find it strange that there are all right next to each other, selling the same merchandise for essentially the same price.




Anyway, we found a mechanic, explain the problem in our broken Spanish. The guy seems to get it. He gets the tire off and walks us around the corner to the welder. We watch this guy work for an hour or so. He clearly knows what he’s doing and seems to fix the problem. Although I had to later return for a bit more work which he happily did (although I still couldn’t get te speedo working). Another guy bangs a small dent out of the rim. We spent almost three hours there, had ad least 5 guys working on the rim and spent less then $20 us. It would have cost more then that just to have someone look at the rim In the states.

I head back to my hotel to chill for a bit. I go back to Musicology to meet Nic. I’m an hour or so late and the owner tells me her left with a few other guys for Alex Carne de Res. This place is about an hour out of town, I don’t know much about it but a friend told me it was a lot of fun and I had to check it out when I was in Bogota.

I’m still at the hotel, trying to decide what to do when I ran into a British girl I met in Taganga, We actually “met” on face book before getting to Colombia through another friend, Natasha, who is a whole different story. So the owner tells me that three other people from the hostel are heading to the restaurant, so I grab Nina and hop in the cab. The others are two Irish girls and a guy from England. All seem cool enough. It’s the last night in Colombia for the Irish teachers and the Brit is heading south on a similar schedule as mine. .

On the way out of town, Nina tells the cabbie she needs to go to the atm. She needs to go to a particular bank and at a stoplight she sees the ones she’s looking for. She opens the door to run across the street, perfectly timed, a guy on a motorbike is riding up the curb. He smashes right into the open door. Something right out of a Hollywood movie, except that he didn’t rip off the door, just a blinker and some flesh. And the door no longer closed properly. Some negotiations ensued, and it ended up costing Nina about $75 us.

Another hour and we were at the restaurant. The place looked like a county carnival. Nothing in site for miles except for a sleepy little down and then, out of nowhere, lots of neon, windmill, nd all sorts of kitsch. And the place was huge. We get inside and they tell us they don’t have a table for us. We wonder around for a while, the place is packed and not an empty table to be found. Nor could you find an ugly person in the place. A few thousand people, mostly Colombians, and all of them were good looking. Amazing. A group from Bogota asks us to join them. They speak pretty good English, they are clearly well educated and have some money, and ended up being a lot of fun.

I sort of bounce between these guys and nic and his crew. Towards the end of the night, I head over to look for Nic, they are gone but I meet a Colombian girl and a group of her friends. I hang out with them for a while then the lights come on. I head back towards Nina and the others. They are literally about a half a mile away, the place is huge. They are gone when I get there. I hang with the Colombian girl for a bit longer and end up taking a long, expensive cab ride home. Well worth every penny, though, great times at Alex Carne de Res.

The next day, for the first time in S America, despite all the late nights I spent in Tagnaga, I was properly hung over. It was pretty cold and grey outside, so I spent the day watching whatever cheesy movies I could find in English. A slice of pizza and a coke and back to the room for more tv. It was the first day down here that I really didn’t do a single productive thing all day. It actually felt kind of nice to have a lazy Sunday.

The next few days were spent wrenching on the bike and getting some gear together. I spent much more time in motorcycle shops and garages then I did in any of Bogota’s museums or other tourist attractions. I did go to the Botero museum which was very cool. I really dig his style. For the most part he only paints and sculpts very rotund people all in a very trippy manner. There were also lots of Picasso’s and other original works. I also spent a lot of time in the bakeries, cafes and almuerzo spots around the Candaleria.




I got to know a few mechanics pretty well, they had a stall in a large garage where about 40-50 guys worked. Some did nothing but alarms, others exhaust pipe, some only tires. Everyone had their specialty. My guys spoke no English and my mechanics Spanish is nonexistent. They were very helpful nonetheless. The last day there I ended up having lunch with one of the guys. He took me to a tiny little hole in the wall, tucked upstairs in somewhat of a motorcycle mall. One of my favorite meals of the trip.



The few rides I took through Bogota on the motorbike were always interesting. The first time, I ended up riding in circle trying to get back to the Candaleria, even though it was less then 20 or so blocks. However, between the garage and the hotel was the central downtown/ financial district and the main government buildings, including the capital and the president’s home. Lot’s of one way and dead end streets. I ended up on a narrow street filled with vendors and tons of people. I can see lots of people staring and can hear a few gringo comments. Cars weren’t moving and I was feeling a bit vulnerable with all these people around and no way out.





At one point, I’m trying to squeeze through a parked truck and a line of traffic and I hear a loud noise and feel a jolt on the bike. I realize I misjudged the how wide the big aluminum boxes on the bike were and they hit the truck. The guy in the truck looks back to see what happened, I take off as fast as I can and make sure I lose him in traffic.

I finally find my way through downtown and am heading by the president’s house. A cop on a bike pulls up next to me and starts asking me where my vest is. In Colombia, everyone on a motorcycle needs to where a bright vest with the license plate number, as well as the number on their helmet. This is because in the days of la violencia, motorcycles were a common mode of transportation for hit men and drive by shootings. Anyway, I don’t have a vest, nor a registration or valid insurance. So I just start telling him what kind of bike I’m riding, how big it is, whre I'm from, etc... I just act like I think he’s asking me about the bike and just wants to chat. The light turns green and I’m on the throttle.

I end up getting to like Bogota, despite it’s industrial feel and the sketchiness of being mugged. Parts of it, particularly in the north, reminded me of NYC. Beautiful urban parks, lots of distinct neighborhoods. Very cosmopolitan. And I also really like the bohemian vibe of the Candalaeria.