a weekend off
This friday at the University’s routine punk rock gathering on campus I encountered some friends who informed me that the following day they were off to Pico de Loro, an imposing jungle coated mountain that overlooks the city. Mildly enticed by the idea after an undoubtedly exciting yet nevertheless two straight months now of sitting in front of a computer screen, I tentatively agreed to the trip on the basis that we would talk later in Tintin Deo a small and well frequented Salsa Club on the Calle Quinta. After passing the evening at the uni in inescapable yet fascinating discussions with a old bohemian outdoor go playing philosophy professor and his graduate groupies, I headed for the club. Tintin Deo is somewhat of an salsa institution in Cali, it has housed the old greats and plays their music and is packed every friday with people you know. Unlike in the UK (alcohol culture at least) where beer or mixed drinks prevail that serve to lengthen the drinking experience, so as have something to do while seated at the table, here, a bottle of rum or aguardiente is purchased for the table and a shot knocked back in between dancing. Despite popular rumours it is thankfully not the case that all Latinos can dance i have learned, unfortunately unlike the tourists it is only those that can that do. either way i’m learning.
Walking home at five in the morning, the mountain trip in four hours time, as we had agreed at the club, seemed improbable. Nevertheless, when i got up at ten thirty and called them they weren’t ready so i headed down there. The crew, consisted of Marino a man of geography teacher cross zen sailor material, Andrea an insomniac social work graduate and the excursion’s organiser, Hal, an intrepid and hilarious good humoured English Gap year student, Jorge a joker of Hal’s calibre but on the pessimistic flipside and myself ..................... [fill in as appropriate].
The weather was comfortingly homely, constant rain, but with the tropical twist of thick humidity. We examined the shabby piece of tent at our disposal, an aged inner sheet of a two person tent un accompanied by pegs ropes or poles. By the time we had brought the necessary plastic sheets, rope and food for the trip it was going on three so we ate a good meal on the basis that we’d already wasted so much time that an extra half hour to get well fed wouldn't make any difference. The rain had thickened as we ate turning the streets into a complex river network so we sheltered under a restaurant awning to wait fro the bus. We advised that we had just missed it by ten minutes and the next would be along an hour. After an hour and fifteen minutes later, already wet and aware of the darkening sky, we resolved to wait ten more minutes before admitting early defeat on the basis that we would be insane to start such a hike in the dark. The bus, packed with people, promptly pulled to halt behind a tidal wave of back road water assaulting the pavement. We grabbed our bags and jumped on board pushing our way through the passengers to get inside. In the cramped steamy conditions i began falling asleep standing up to be repetitively jolted back into conscience by a pothole in the road or the manic cries of the driver to move to the back of the bus followed by the desperate passenger’s proclamations of its impossibility.
After an hour of travel disguised as a year by discomfort we pulled up to the last stop, a small settlement consisting of a central crossroads adorned with low grubby whitewashed buildings and dispersed houses spreading out from there. Hal was immediately spotted by some pissheads in a small bar, eager to initiate him into the delights of Aguardiente, the chapest spirit available made from Sugar Cane, he was dragged inside to join them. It was almost dark but the rain had paused so we rescued Hal who had made himself at home and headed up a dirt track guided by Marino. The rich smell of the freshly fallen rain was still thick in the air and with a flavour completely foreign to that of the city from which we had come. The musical night shift was starting and the crickets had taken their positions, the rhythm beginning to gain pace. After no more than fifteen minutes trekking up we encountered a ramshackle house by the side of the pregnant river, its overflowing vines and flower baskets camouflaging it into the increasingly junglistic surroundings. Maino happened to know the artisan inhabitant and no sooner had we asked him of where we might camp than he had in invited to sleep in his workshop. We quelled our irrational doubts emerging from the recognition that our meticulous plastic sheet purchases had been in vain and graciously took up the offer of a real roof as the rain resumed its rhythm. The workshop was serving as an impromptu breeding ground for viscous mosquitos too numerous to bother attempting to kill. I spent the night on the floor attempting to ignore the pulsating bites on my face which i had foolishly left uncovered to aid breathing.
In the morning we awoke early and leaving our bags in the workshop headed down to river to shock us into life. The rain had stopped and patchy mist wafted through the valley clinging in places to the rich jungle covering the severe mountains and melting in in places multiplying the infinite shades of green. The river had subsided since the night before and the rapid waters ran clearer though tinted tannin by rich fertile soil. Bathed and fed on the fruit we had brought and augmented with a cup of sweet weak colombian coffee courtesy of our host we set off. The path began as a dirt track navigable by vehicle and evolved into a narrow steepening track, in places completely roofed by vegetation creating dark cool tunnels. After a steep climb we emerged into a meadow opening a view of the green mountains ahead and the valley from where we had begun. A small rugged wooden house sat in the centre and as we approached we were met by a motley crew of dogs of various sizes and a young inhabitant. The house had been abandoned and since occupied by a group of friends who are now renovating it. We left our heaviest belongings with them, ate some chocolate and headed upwards.
The vegetation thickened again and with it the air as we ascended in to the clouds of mist nestling in the jungle. The water we carried soon disappeared and we encountered a stream cascading down the side where we refilled and refreshed. The path became less a question of walking and more one of climbing up the array of protruding roots and rocks aided by the strong hanging vines from above. Its easy to forget how magical the jungle can be. The enchanting mist, the sounds and ridiculous wealth of visual stimuli can all be explained, recalled to memory to a certain extent, this i was prepared for but there is an atmosphere arising from the combination of these things that much time in cities had erased from my memory and which was truly refreshing to come back to. We climbed on steeply some three hours more and the vegetation thinned out as did the mist giving way to initially to fine bamboo then to tropical shrubbery and finally to rock and the summit well above the cloud covering the valley. Looking away from the valley revealed more Mountains protruding magnificently out of the mist which constantly changing would swell up in waves covering and then revealing again the lush green mountains. We ate and spent a the rest of the day sitting on the top fascinated by the panorama which would intermittently disappear completely as we were enveloped in cloud only to reappear seemingly all the more impressive.
The decent was actually more difficult in my view than the climb due to the combination steepness requiring deep concentration and fatigue, concentration’s arch rival. We adopted the running technique which while seemingly perverse given conditions and physical state, I am confident is the easiest way as it does not allow the mind to doubt the next step step and as such movement is more by reaction than conscious thought. Either way we made it down, collected our bags at the house and acquired one of the resident dogs though not by our choosing. The bus home was not till nine giving us an hour to eat street food and have celebratory beer before collapsing for the drive back.
I was sharply awoken at my stop and disembarked somewhat dazed but present and trekked up the final steep hill of the day to where im staying. No one was in and exhausted and relieved to make it back in one peace I removed my clothes and put on a towel to go shower. Feeling dehydrated I grabbed a glass of water in the kitchen which is out the back door and turned to re-enter the house as a gust of wind blew the door shut. It should not be possible for this door to self lock. It did. Shattered, standing in a towel and locked out in the high walled back yard I called to the neighbours for assistance and eventually a tired head poked over the upstairs balcony. There was only one thing for it: secure my towel and climb the drainpipe up to upstairs balcony. The dad of the family grabbed my arms as i reached the top and hauled me over. The next challenge was re-entering my flat from an inner balcony upstairs. The drop was about fifteen feet onto tile floor, not particularly appetising barefoot and hike beaten. After some deliberation with the neighbours, clearly amused by the invasion of a sunburnt-towel-wearing-dreadlocked-english youth i decided to attempt to climb down and then jump from a ladder suspended by the hands of the neighbours. It worked. I slept well.
Walking home at five in the morning, the mountain trip in four hours time, as we had agreed at the club, seemed improbable. Nevertheless, when i got up at ten thirty and called them they weren’t ready so i headed down there. The crew, consisted of Marino a man of geography teacher cross zen sailor material, Andrea an insomniac social work graduate and the excursion’s organiser, Hal, an intrepid and hilarious good humoured English Gap year student, Jorge a joker of Hal’s calibre but on the pessimistic flipside and myself ..................... [fill in as appropriate].
The weather was comfortingly homely, constant rain, but with the tropical twist of thick humidity. We examined the shabby piece of tent at our disposal, an aged inner sheet of a two person tent un accompanied by pegs ropes or poles. By the time we had brought the necessary plastic sheets, rope and food for the trip it was going on three so we ate a good meal on the basis that we’d already wasted so much time that an extra half hour to get well fed wouldn't make any difference. The rain had thickened as we ate turning the streets into a complex river network so we sheltered under a restaurant awning to wait fro the bus. We advised that we had just missed it by ten minutes and the next would be along an hour. After an hour and fifteen minutes later, already wet and aware of the darkening sky, we resolved to wait ten more minutes before admitting early defeat on the basis that we would be insane to start such a hike in the dark. The bus, packed with people, promptly pulled to halt behind a tidal wave of back road water assaulting the pavement. We grabbed our bags and jumped on board pushing our way through the passengers to get inside. In the cramped steamy conditions i began falling asleep standing up to be repetitively jolted back into conscience by a pothole in the road or the manic cries of the driver to move to the back of the bus followed by the desperate passenger’s proclamations of its impossibility.
After an hour of travel disguised as a year by discomfort we pulled up to the last stop, a small settlement consisting of a central crossroads adorned with low grubby whitewashed buildings and dispersed houses spreading out from there. Hal was immediately spotted by some pissheads in a small bar, eager to initiate him into the delights of Aguardiente, the chapest spirit available made from Sugar Cane, he was dragged inside to join them. It was almost dark but the rain had paused so we rescued Hal who had made himself at home and headed up a dirt track guided by Marino. The rich smell of the freshly fallen rain was still thick in the air and with a flavour completely foreign to that of the city from which we had come. The musical night shift was starting and the crickets had taken their positions, the rhythm beginning to gain pace. After no more than fifteen minutes trekking up we encountered a ramshackle house by the side of the pregnant river, its overflowing vines and flower baskets camouflaging it into the increasingly junglistic surroundings. Maino happened to know the artisan inhabitant and no sooner had we asked him of where we might camp than he had in invited to sleep in his workshop. We quelled our irrational doubts emerging from the recognition that our meticulous plastic sheet purchases had been in vain and graciously took up the offer of a real roof as the rain resumed its rhythm. The workshop was serving as an impromptu breeding ground for viscous mosquitos too numerous to bother attempting to kill. I spent the night on the floor attempting to ignore the pulsating bites on my face which i had foolishly left uncovered to aid breathing.
In the morning we awoke early and leaving our bags in the workshop headed down to river to shock us into life. The rain had stopped and patchy mist wafted through the valley clinging in places to the rich jungle covering the severe mountains and melting in in places multiplying the infinite shades of green. The river had subsided since the night before and the rapid waters ran clearer though tinted tannin by rich fertile soil. Bathed and fed on the fruit we had brought and augmented with a cup of sweet weak colombian coffee courtesy of our host we set off. The path began as a dirt track navigable by vehicle and evolved into a narrow steepening track, in places completely roofed by vegetation creating dark cool tunnels. After a steep climb we emerged into a meadow opening a view of the green mountains ahead and the valley from where we had begun. A small rugged wooden house sat in the centre and as we approached we were met by a motley crew of dogs of various sizes and a young inhabitant. The house had been abandoned and since occupied by a group of friends who are now renovating it. We left our heaviest belongings with them, ate some chocolate and headed upwards.
The vegetation thickened again and with it the air as we ascended in to the clouds of mist nestling in the jungle. The water we carried soon disappeared and we encountered a stream cascading down the side where we refilled and refreshed. The path became less a question of walking and more one of climbing up the array of protruding roots and rocks aided by the strong hanging vines from above. Its easy to forget how magical the jungle can be. The enchanting mist, the sounds and ridiculous wealth of visual stimuli can all be explained, recalled to memory to a certain extent, this i was prepared for but there is an atmosphere arising from the combination of these things that much time in cities had erased from my memory and which was truly refreshing to come back to. We climbed on steeply some three hours more and the vegetation thinned out as did the mist giving way to initially to fine bamboo then to tropical shrubbery and finally to rock and the summit well above the cloud covering the valley. Looking away from the valley revealed more Mountains protruding magnificently out of the mist which constantly changing would swell up in waves covering and then revealing again the lush green mountains. We ate and spent a the rest of the day sitting on the top fascinated by the panorama which would intermittently disappear completely as we were enveloped in cloud only to reappear seemingly all the more impressive.
The decent was actually more difficult in my view than the climb due to the combination steepness requiring deep concentration and fatigue, concentration’s arch rival. We adopted the running technique which while seemingly perverse given conditions and physical state, I am confident is the easiest way as it does not allow the mind to doubt the next step step and as such movement is more by reaction than conscious thought. Either way we made it down, collected our bags at the house and acquired one of the resident dogs though not by our choosing. The bus home was not till nine giving us an hour to eat street food and have celebratory beer before collapsing for the drive back.
I was sharply awoken at my stop and disembarked somewhat dazed but present and trekked up the final steep hill of the day to where im staying. No one was in and exhausted and relieved to make it back in one peace I removed my clothes and put on a towel to go shower. Feeling dehydrated I grabbed a glass of water in the kitchen which is out the back door and turned to re-enter the house as a gust of wind blew the door shut. It should not be possible for this door to self lock. It did. Shattered, standing in a towel and locked out in the high walled back yard I called to the neighbours for assistance and eventually a tired head poked over the upstairs balcony. There was only one thing for it: secure my towel and climb the drainpipe up to upstairs balcony. The dad of the family grabbed my arms as i reached the top and hauled me over. The next challenge was re-entering my flat from an inner balcony upstairs. The drop was about fifteen feet onto tile floor, not particularly appetising barefoot and hike beaten. After some deliberation with the neighbours, clearly amused by the invasion of a sunburnt-towel-wearing-dreadlocked-english youth i decided to attempt to climb down and then jump from a ladder suspended by the hands of the neighbours. It worked. I slept well.
