I love Java, I love tea

Cali was enjoyable simply because of the lovely French-Colombian couple who owned our hostel. They helped us with all manner of things and were always eager to chat about the country. The city itself had little to offer other than a thriving salsa-club scene that we were too hesistant to visit and usually too tired. Also, I didn't want to make the locals look like simpletons with my cutting-edge, nuevo-salsa steps.
After a few days, we jaunted up to Buenaventura in a steamy bus with loose seat-cushions and angular seats. Buenaventura boasts the highest murder-rate in Colombia because of its´importance in the inter-continental drug trade. The only reason we went to the city with a homicide rate 24-times higher than New York metro-area was to catch a bus to the beach town of Ladrilleros. Other than having a sleepless night, we had no problems in Buenaventura and caught the boat during a morning of heavy rains. Although well off the beaten path, Ladrilleros proved to be expensive because of its´blossoming courtship with tourism. The town was soaked daily with tropical rains and every building and structure was rotting from the inside-out with mildew. Our little hostel room had the distinctive odor of tinned cat food. We visited the lovely beach with big breakers and reggaetone and had another sleepless night because of the constant sounding of the night-shift workers in the shop below the hostel. It again rained heavily the next morning, but we decided to catch a small boat to the bay to catch glimpses of migrating whales, we were incredibly close to humpbacks.


After being thoroughly soaked by the boat ride and less than charmed by the Ladrilleros, we went back to Buenaventura and then bought tickets onward to Armenia - a city on the edge of Colombia's coffee growing region. The driver of our micro stopped incessantly during the journey to load up on streetside sweets and grilled meats and would then ferociously assault the road and its´plentiful curves in order to make up for lost time. We arrived late and were wearily greeted at our hostel door by gaunt prostitutes wearing loose-fitting jean shorts.
Deciding to move along the next day, we took a micro to the small town of Salento in the Valle Cocora.

This is the most beautiful place I´ve seen so far in all of this 5-month journey. Daily precipitation gives the area a tropical aura, but the waether is always cool and pleasant. The gentle, cultivated hills are plush with fruit trees, coffee plants, and (excuse the Texan in me) healthy, fat cows. The ambiance is intoxicating.

We went to the plaza and I ate a fried banana with cheese, mushrooms, and tomatoes while Pilar looked for an elusive money-changer named Juan Luis. We hiked into the valley the next day and the landscape continued to be stun us with its´ fertility, beauty, and variety. Ascending from a dense, tropical creek-bed we caught glimpses of hummingbirds as the landscape became alpine-esque. We had pipe-dreams about making a life here.




Our hostel had visiting arrangements with a local farm, so after walking down for about an hour along a dirt road we found the estancia of Don Elias. The Don showed us his plethora of fruit plants (pineapple, mandarin, raspbery, and banana) and coffee bushes and delighted in answering our questions with an old, toothless smile. He and his wife prepared us coffee from the farm. Wow!

Onward to Medellin tomorrow.