This is a roadside cross. Colombians (and other Latin Americans) generally erect them in sites where people died in horrific, fiery accidents--ones that usually involve buses full of people plunging hundreds of feet down into deep canyons. In the interest of full disclosure this picture actually comes from Bolivia's infamous "Death Road" (thank you Google Images), but it was a familiar site on the road leading up Chicamocha canyon. We knew that if we died there wouldn't be enough money to erect a cross for us. We are too poor.
Haley and I arose early in Bucaramanga to pack up and have breakfast, then headed down to Papi Quiero Pina (Daddy I want pineapple--yes, this is a real place) to catch our bus down to Panachi, otherwise known as Chicamocha national park.
Colombian buses are interesting beasts. Sure, there are public buses that are clean, well-maintained, and easily identifiable. Then there are the thousands and thousands of private buses that zip around town, driving faster than motorcycles as their forty-year-old diesel engines belch fumes. It can sometimes be an adventure to get on such buses, as the drivers like to drive while simultaneously accepting payment. That means counting change while shifting into third and slamming on their brakes. These buses are always uniquely decorated--they usually feature some image of the virgin or Christ, as well as huge curtains and drapes that cover nearly half of the front windshield. Today's bus was actually fairly clean and uncrowded, though the curtains and Christ were still present. Whew!
Crazy stuff happens on buses. People like to hop on and try to sell stuff--usually drinks and snacks. Sometimes, however, you get treated to some real great stuff, like the one guy in Santa Marta who jumped on the bus to peddle herbal remedies for hepatitis and hemorrhoids. We were treated to some nice pictures of, *ahem*, a very hemorrhoid-afflicted bum. Good times.
Anyways, the bus ride carved its way through the Colombian state of Santander before suddenly beginning a very steep climb. This was Chicamocha canyon, one of the larger canyons in the world. It's over 2,000 meters deep (over a mile), and the road likes to wind its way along the very edge.
Granted, the road is paved. But there are really no fences, walls, or other ways to stop an out of control vehicle. The speed limit is posted at 30 Km/hour (pretty slow), but people like to fly up it at a much faster speed, zipping in and out of traffic as they try to pass the next guy in front. Thankfully our bus driver was only mildly crazy, and we only almost died once or twice. Like I said at the beginning, however, the crosses are plentiful.
We made it alive. At the top of one of the canyon's rims lies the national park, known as Panachi by local residents. It was clean, pretty, and boasted some pretty incredible views, as well as an interesting monument to a farmer's revolution that took place here back in the 1700's. It did not, however, boast free toilet paper. We're starting to get used to walking around literally everywhere we go with toilet paper stuffed in our pants just in case.
I almost convinced Haley to buy a pack of giant fried ants (hormigas culonas) while we were up there, but she claimed that she "wasn't that hungry." I actually ate these on my mission--they're not too bad. They taste like peanuts or popcorn.
After the national park we headed towards San Gil, Colombia's extreme sports destination. We actually caught a ride with a bunch of para-gliders who had just finished up a flight.
San Gil was great. We wandered around the colonial streets, explored the centuries-old cathedral, and enjoyed the steep streets. We also started noticing an interesting phenomenon--the men here are shamelessly checking out Haley. Even Haley (who is usually oblivious to how drop-dead-gorgeous she is) asked why everyone was looking at her legs and butt. I can't say I blame them.
We worked up quite the appetite--one that could only be satisfied by--heavy, greasy, gringo food. Lucky for us, San Gil had just to locale for us: Gringo Mike's!
Gringo Mike's is a local restaurant owned by a real, living American named Michael Anderson. There we enjoyed french fries, blue cheese bacon burgers, and fresh squeezed tropical juices. It was a welcome respite from the mounds and mounds of rice that we've been fed the past week or so.
In spite of how full we were after dinner, I made sure to have Hay try a granadilla, another typical Colombian fruit. This fruit has a hard outer shell and is filled with goop-coated seeds. It kind of looks like snot, and you have to suck it out (or eat it with a spoon), but it's delicious.
Now we're back in our hostel getting settled and ready for bed. Lucky for us we have a hot shower to look forward to, courtesy of the whirring ball of electricity that will instantly heat the water as it passes through the shower head. Yes, that is electric wiring going into the shower head.
Konner & Haley
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