Friday morning, I book out of the hotel in Medellin, and pack the bike in the secure parking area. The security guy comes out of his office to watch me and try to speak. Next to my bike is a machine I do not recognise, but can tell it is a small V Twin. It is painted in Honda colours, but its not a Honda. The security guy tells me it is Chinese 250cc V Twin, and I realise that what I saw in in the Amazonia, Peru, dressed up in Ducati colours, was one of these bikes. Cheeky blighters! It fooled me. Leaving the hotel, I got mixed up In a lot of traffic in the city centre, and rather than cut across the traffic, I went with the flow, guessing I was heading south, rather than north. At the first opportunity, I pulled up next to a Police motorcyclist who confirmed that I needed to head in the opposite direction. I managed to negotiate the heavy morning rush hour traffic traffic to turn round, rode back, past the large plaza with the bronze statues, and the Cathedral, and through numerous traffic lights, then asked a bystander which was north. Luckily, he understood, and told me to go over a bridge, go right onto the Auto Pista and keep right after a couple of kilometres. This took me on the main road, heading north, towards Cartagena, a historic coastal city on the Caribbean Sea, although oddly, it was signed for Costa Atlantico. Cartagena is north of the Gulf of Darien, the gulf that straddles the border between Colombia and Panama, and where the Pan American Highway finishes and is replaced with dense jungle and swamps. There is no road between these countries, the jungle area is off limits, patrolled by Army Units and used by drug smugglers and the FARC terrorist organisation. The only method of transport between South America and Central America, and the North, is by boat or plane, bypassing the area known as The Darien Gap. Leaving Medellin behind me, and bypassing Bello, I started the climb out of the valley, zig zagging up the mountain sides, caught up in convoys of large, slow moving trucks, finding it almost impossible to overtake between corners, slow moving trucks, and fast moving cars coming in the opposite direction. Reaching the top, the barren landscape changed to one of hilly green pasture land and forest, with herds of milking cows grazing peacefully, the air cool and fresh, the road became a series of sweeping bends, enabling me to make better progress. Some miles on it changed dramatically again, rounding a sweeping bend, a massive valley opened up before me, deep and wide, covered in Forrest and with waterfalls cascading to the valley floor and a river. The road became a series of tight bends as it followed the contours of the valley side, the surface deteriorating from the result of land slips, sudden ramped two foot drops between surface levels, large six inch deep potholes and the ever present road works with the red PARE sign. It least it gave me and the dozens of small motorcycles the opportunity of getting to the front of a long queue of traffic, and then having a relative easy ride for the next few miles. Dropping down onto the valley floor, it became hotter and humid, the vegetation changing to tropical, the brown muddy river rushing past besides me, crossing bridges that shook and vibrated at the heavy trucks passed over. On one bridge I stopped to take a photo, trucks coming from the opposite direction making the steel bridge, with concrete surface, shake so much I thought the bike would tip off its side stand. Coming out of the steep sided valley, the road ran through a wide flat area, numerous smaller rivers, swollen and muddy, joined the larger river, tropical vegetation, in abundance. Then suddenly the landscape changed again. Vast areas of hilly, fresh grassland, large trees, ponds with Egret and small lakes, herds of cattle and water buffalo, tracks and driveways running up to ranches, signs advertising the types of cattle on the ranch, one in particular caught my eye, a picture of two Aberdeen Angus bulls. I had only managed just over two hundred miles and the light was fading fast. There is no twilight, darkness comes very suddenly. I passed through Planeta Rica, then came to Sahagun, and spotted a hotel next to the busy road. There was no wifi, but there was air conditioning and a large fan, and that was more important. The cost was 35,000 pesto which was reasonable, the bike in an enclosed yard at the back, me showered and changed, and I walk into town. I sat in a pavement restaurant, had a piece of chicken, some boiled potatoes and a can of beer, watching the people and listening to the Caribbean influenced music blasting into the warm humid night. This was more Caribbean than the South America that I had experienced before, a very different mixture of people and culture, music and food, laughter and body language, attitude and action. I walked back to the hotel, and couldnt resist going into a bar, an outside covered area beside a small dwelling, the mens urinal open in the corner, a group of people shouting and laughing and drinking beer, and sweating. I was looking forward to the air conditioning as I made my way up the stairs in the hotel.
Posted on: Sun, 07 Sep 2014 14:54:21 +0000
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015