Jar Jar and the Uni-bomber are itching to hit the road and check out this volcano of mud that you can bathe in about 50 km northeast of Cartagena. Although it´s the opposite direction I am planning to head there are some touristy things I wanted to do out that direction including the Volcano, the beaches of Tagana, Tayrona park and the trek of Ciudad Perdida. The added bonus would be going with these guys and learning from bikers that have been very slowly making there way from Mexico City to Colombia over the past 7 months. Very slowly. To make it clear to everyone, I don´t have a clue about travelling on a bicycle, so i jumped at the chance to ride and camp with these guys.
They tell me more the merrier and we head off. Jar Jar has injured his knee so we want to ride slowly and they are not bringing much stuff with them except for camping equipment and supplies for a night, but I bring everything just incase I want to continue on solo after the Volcano.
We take our sweet time getting up, eating and loading the bikes which puts us at a departure time of 1.30 PM, the most bone-softening hot part of the day to do our biking. Pouring sweat we make great time to Volcano but decide to set up camp on the beach early, cook dinner and check out the Volcano the next day.
Jar Jar and the Uni-bomber don´t speak Spanish so I went around asking where the best and safest place to camp would be. The locals direct us to a spot and we end up camping on the beach of a very poor pueblo. Thirty children file in and, per usual, Jar Jar´s international fan club surrounds him and his bike. You have to appreciate what the pair, him and his neon green recumbant bike, looks like to the locals. To the kids in this pueblo it is like a circus has just arrived to town in a space ship from Pluto. While we bike down the steets of the pueblo it´s like ¨the wave¨ at a baseball game, the local woman selling food and juice on the side of the road erupt into a joyous shameless laughter and bend over clenching their stomaches in hysterica as we pass by.
¨Yep, we´re just blending with the locals. Nothing out of the ordinary here. We´re just like you guys,¨ we say to ourselves as we toot our horns and ring our bells and waving with plastic smiles.
Caption, ¨Colombia´s Carribian coast.¨They start in with the usual questions and we will answer them but after 30 minutes our patience wears out as they stand 1 foot from us, staring, while we write in our journals or read. We have found that stopping what you are doing and staring back at them, without blinking, usually gives them a clue and they get bored and go away.
The sea is rough from the hurricanes in the Carribian, but a skinny dipping is in need to take the heat off and wash away the salty sweat with salty sea water. Dinner pasta was served to hungry stomaches while we watched our TV, the setting sun over the ocean at 6.30PM. Darkness falls faster here for some reason and a fire is necessary to keep moral up and to provide entertainment.
While we are poking at coals and contemplating going to sleep a dark man appears from the darkness. A unanimous, ¨jesus christ¨ from the group and then introductions to the man that has no facial features standing infront of the black sea. I have found that ignorance is bliss. Since Jar Jar and the Uni-Bomber don´t speak Spanish they don´t understand it when the guy tells us, ¨ There are theives in the bushes surrounding you waiting for you to go to sleep so they can rob your things. I have place you can stay that is safe but you have to pay. ¨
I relay the message to the guys and they are unphased but this being my first night camping in Colombia (day 2) I was curious to know if this guy wanted to scare us into his living quarters for some money or if he was a good semaritan. The guy goes away and wishes us luck. I retire to my tent and try to get some sleep. I would say I got a good 20 min of sleep that night with the rest of it spent peering out the flaps to see if my bike tires were still there.
Morning comes and we´re still alive. Wow, it feels good to be alive and with your stuff. I´m quickly thinking in my head that camping alone will not be the best idea and that there is safety in numbers.
We have a quick breakfast at the local fry parlor. Jar Jar is surrounded by his International Fan Club per usual. Then we head over to El Volcán de Lodo (the volcano of mud) just up the road.
Caption: ¨Breakfast joint where all food is fried to your liking and The International Fan Club.¨As we are slowly making it up the loose rocky road we see the tour buses are leaving, so we´re delighted to find that we have the volcano to ourselves. Jar Jar doesn´t hesitate and goes right up the wooden staircase without paying the 2.50 USD entry fee, stripes down buck naked and jumps in the mud. That leaves the Uni-bomber and me to negotiate with the guy for the price, we pay for ourselves, strip down and jump on in to the most bizarre feeling your body has ever felt. The texture is a bouyant gray creamy custard. You can´t sink yourself if you wanted to. It´s such a refreshing skin massage as you writhe and wiggle about. Mud in your eyes, ears and all those other important parts. Oh, did I mention that no one goes in this volcano naked? Ya, we´re the only ones. We get out and are drying to get the full body mud mask treatment. There is nothing like mud drying to a nice hard shell on your nuts. The guys working there are fascinated that the three of us are naked.
Uni-bomber and I make our way down to the fresh water lake below to wash up and Jar Jar is as happy as a pig in shit playing in the volcano. He is parading around naked caked in mud infront of God and everybody. The old men are yelling at him cause there are kids around and he is saying in his best American accent, ¨Es natuRaLESA!¨ (it´s natural!). Oh, and I forgot to mention that both Jar Jar and and Uni-bomber are hung like Brontausaures. When not excited I´m hung like a pistachio.
Caption: ¨Jar Jar showing off natuRaLESA!¨After a good hour and a half Jar Jar is done playing. It´s great to see someone enjoy themselves in each moment of the day, at his own pace and this he does. No one is going to rush this guy and no one wants to rush him. We each let the other do what they feel at the moment. I sit back and let them set the pace, I mean, Jar Jar set the pace since it always defaults to the slowest speed. It makes you take time and enjoy yourself as well. There is nowhere to be but where we are. Sounds cheesey but you realize that it is a lovely luxury.
We decide not to bike back to Cartagena but instead find a new beach to camp on. This one is isolated and painfully beautiful.
Caption: ¨Tent and beach. Simple pleasures.¨You can´t see the bugs on the beach but they are there. We make a great dinner soup and wash it down with a couple handfuls of beers and listen to my portable iPod speakers, one of my luxury items on the trip and very necessary when travelling alone or with a special travel friend for the night.
That night we discussed going onward to Santa Marta and they were half-heartedly convinced to travel onward the next morning. We made it to Puerto de Colombia about another 60km from the Volcano. This was a quaint little city with no beach camping so we got a room. I have had many shitty rooms in my days, but this room takes the cake. It must have been a mosquito and insect breeding ground or have had a research camera in there to test how quickly one can lose their minds from being eaten by bugs. The mosquitos worked on any flesh left uncovered while the bed bugs worked on any part of the body under the covers. Factor in the temperature is near 100 at night and that the humidity was so intense it left me looking for a carrot peeler to remove my skin in hopes of getting some relief.
We all ended up abandoning the room and sleeping outside in our hammocks and tents in the garden. I had a good hour of sleep before the sweltering sun reappeared.
Caption:¨Quaint.¨
Caption, Jar Jar and his road kill on the way to Puerto de Colombia¨
