An 8-hour bus ride, past rolling green hills that turned into rolling green mountains, transported us from Bogota to San Gil. Suddenly it was hot and humid - exactly what we were expecting for a tropical country, and what we were missing in Bogota. We had visions of arriving in a sleepy, picturesque town, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. The narrow streets were congested with vehicles, the crowded footpaths were barely wide enough for a single person, and the noise was deafening. Both Danny and I instantly felt like we had been transported back to Vietnam.
Thankfully our hostel was a haven of relief, with few guests, quiet common areas and happy hour at the bar. We also appreciated the shared kitchen, making use of it to cook dinner for ourselves for the first time on our holiday. Luckily for us the manager spoke perfect English, and he sat down with me for a long time to explain the variety of tours available here, the adventure capital of Colombia. With the vast number of activities on offer, I could have stayed in San Gil for a week.
Our first adventure was hydrospeeding, something I had never heard of until I started researching San Gil. Donned with fins, helmet and a life vest, we lay down on our plastic boards and held on for dear life as we went hurtling down the rapids in the local river. It took me all of 30 seconds to crash into a wave that was well above my head and be flipped off the board. We later learnt that the first series of rapids were the most extreme of the day, which is not what you want when you have no idea what you're doing. There were plenty more rapids to contend with, but at least I stayed on my board for the rest of the journey. Even though my fins were too tight, the water was freezing, my calves cramped from all the kicking we had to do and I smashed my knee into a submerged rock, I had a blast. Danny had been sceptical about joining the tour initially, but in the end I think he had more fun than I did.
After a quick walk to a lookout over town (up the steepest streets I had ever seen in my life) and a fantastic Mexican lunch, we were off on our second tour of the day: canyoning. Danny was not at all enthusiastic about this tour and was basically only going to accompany me. First stop was a giant swing over the canyon, which Danny took one look at and said 'nope'. I happily jumped in the chair where I was strapped in, winched up far higher than expected and then let go without warning. I hadn't felt that falling sensation in a long time, and the scream that came from my mouth attested to that. Once my stomach had stopped lurching, it turned out to be quite peaceful. Nearby were 2 ziplines, both 500-600 metres long, which were nowhere near as frightening. I enjoyed a tranquil, scenic journey across the vast canyon while Danny again watched from the sidelines.
Finally, the canyoning section started, where we hiked, abseiled, scrambled up and down boulders, balanced along tightropes, crossed precarious bridges, and tackled metal and rope ladders. Most of the obstacles we traversed bounced wildly, increasing the difficulty. We were lucky the water levels were low and the waterfalls weren't gushing, making the bouldering and abseiling easier. It was a great experience but over relatively quickly.
The adventure didn't stop there. After dinner we immersed ourselves in 2 traditional Colombian games, tejo and bolo, which are usually only played by the working class. We were taken out to a dedicated venue for these sports, where they were free to play as long as you bought a drink (this was mandatory). We were the only tourists, and I was the sole female out of a couple of dozen men. Tejo involved throwing a hefty iron puck (the tejo) at a board filled with clay and small packets of gunpowder. The aim was to hit the gunpowder with your tejo, creating a small but violent explosion. I managed to hit one on my second attempt, then missed the next 30 or so shots. Danny hit 3 by the end, which was better than our instructor who didn't hit any. Bolo, also known as Colombian bowling, originated in the San Gil area. Grapefruit-sized aluminium balls are thrown underarm towards 3 wooden posts, lined up one behind the other, about 20 or so metres away (with a handy backboard behind them). Obviously the aim was to knock the posts down. Danny again reigned supreme, reaching the target score of15 before I even had half that number. It took us an extremely long time to finish the game.
San Gil and the Camino Real
Colombia
THE CAMINO REAL
It was a short bus ride through the countryside to Barichara, claimed to be one of the most beautiful towns in Colombia. I'm not sure if that's true, but it was definitely more beautiful than San Gil. We drove down cobbled streets lined with short, white buildings, each fronted by a green, brown or blue wooden door. It felt almost deserted in the morning, with only the odd car going past and a handful of pokey cafes open. There was nothing that really stood out as spectacular, but I could imagine later in the day it would be livelier and the charm would become more apparent. For us, the highlight was the lookout from the edge of town, staring straight down over an enormous canyon. That's where we were headed.
The Camino Real is an ancient stone pathway connecting villages in the region. It is now a popular hike that leads to the impressive Chicamocha Canyon, said to be one of the biggest canyons in the world. Hikers can stop in any village, but we planned to go all the way to Los Santos, approximately 35 km away. The beginning of the trek led us directly down a stone pathway, which was easy to follow but a nightmare for looking around at the scenery - one wrong foot placement and that was an ankle done. If it wasn't for the oppressive heat and the towering mountains, we could have been in the English countryside, with lush greenery on all sides and short hedges and fences lining the trail. Other than 3 small groups of people trekking up to Barichara and a herd of a dozen cows that tested our wits, we had the trail to ourselves.
Six kilometres later we arrived in Guane, a more compact and even quieter version of Barichara. We found one restaurant open, where two other groups of hikers were already eating. There was no menu, just a plato tipico (rice, beans, salad, yuca, plantain) plus a choice of meat for Danny. Along with a fruit juice made of local fruits we had never heard of, it was sensational.
The trek after lunch began in much the same way, on uneven rocks through dense foliage, only this time we were going uphill. With an extreme gradient and the sun beating down, we turned into pools of sweat almost immediately. There was little talking as we trudged up the mountain. After almost 2 km we arrived at a gravel road, and for the next hour or so the going was slightly easier due to the comparatively stable surface, although the incline didn't level off. Only now and then were we afforded glimpses of the canyon, seen from a different angle to this morning. It seemed to run on forever, much like the sweat down our bodies.
Eventually we reached the summit, where we could see our destination, Villanueva, far below. There was no canyon on this side of the mountain, just undulating green hills dotted with houses and farmland. The otherwise well-signed path became difficult to follow here, requiring a 'best guess' approach, until we noticed there were coloured ribbons tied to branches. Two kilometres later we entered Villanueva, a town that was nowhere near as picturesque as Barichara or Guane. The wide, deserted roads felt like the set of a Western movie, and I wouldn't have been surprised if a cowboy came riding past. As far as we could tell, there were no other tourists here. We found a cheap hotel near the centre square and didn't care that the shower was just a cold water faucet. Once we were somewhat cleaned up, we wandered around town but there was nothing to see or do. Dinner, hydration, bed.
Camino Real, day 2. No one was awake in Villanueva at 6.30 a.m., including the woman we had to pay for our room. By 7 a.m. we found her, settled the bill and set off from town. The first 6 km were along a gently inclining dirt road, passing by hilly farmland with cloud-dotted mountains in the distance. The sun was hidden and the weather was perfect.
At the rim of the Chicamocha canyon we expected to see out-of-this-world views. In reality we couldn't see much of anything other than the top of the other side of the canyon. The trail slowly led us down to a narrow track, which was where the fun began. From here the path turned precipitous, a steep decline filled with loose rocks of all sizes. One misstep meant we were flying off the edge or into the surrounding cacti - I’m not sure which would have been worse. As we descended, the depth and breadth of the canyon was gradually exposed to us. It stretched out for an eternity to both the left and right, and the Chicamocha River carved a narrow path through the valley. We could just make out our next stop way down below us. Black vultures circled overhead, making us wonder what food they were eyeing off. When we weren't watching our feet, we were awestruck by the scenery.
Finally we reached the bottom, where a butterfly-filled dirt road led us to the tiny town of Jordan. The heat and humidity had increased exponentially over the day, but down here it was stifling. There was absolutely nothing to see or do in Jordan, but thankfully there was one tiny store open on the centre square. We stocked up on fluids and carbs and prepared ourselves for the final push: climbing out of the canyon.
It was only a little over 5 km to the top, but they were some of the hottest kilometres of my life. It was the middle of the day, the sun had burst through the clouds, the gradient was between 15-25% the entire way and the humidity was through the roof. We could have filled a pool with our sweat. The only saving grace was that the rocks were now fixed, creating a stable stone pathway for us. Shelters appeared every now and then, which we gladly took advantage of as they were the only sources of shade we had. Occasionally we glimpsed views of the canyon, but they weren't as spectacular as they had been on the descent. We couldn’t speak to each other; all we could do was concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.
It was with sweaty relief that we reached Los Santos, our final destination. We dragged our soggy bodies through the somewhat lively town, choosing a restaurant (there were choices!) with the help of a local woman. Another plato tipico, different from yesterday's but just as satisfying. Using our broken Spanish, we worked out that the next bus was leaving in an hour, which wasn't what we wanted to hear. When a taxi miraculously pulled up and offered us a lift we eagerly jumped in, despite the exorbitant price the driver was asking.
Twenty minutes later we arrived at the Teleferico, a cable car that traverses a different section of the Chichamocha canyon to the one we just hiked through. It was absolutely stunning. I wasn’t sure if it was the high vantage point, the late time of day or just this specific part of the canyon, but we were both mesmerised by the views in all directions. At the other end we discovered a water park sitting on the edge of the next canyon, providing a jaw-dropping vista to anyone sitting in one of the pools or hurtling down the waterslides. We wished we had known this existed so we could have taken advantage of it (we had no time nor swimming gear with us). The imposing scenery continued to dazzle us on the bus all the way back to San Gil.
Back at our hostel, once we were clean and fed, I ordered a glass of wine from the bar. This clearly isn't a common request. The bartender searched out the back for a bottle of red before going on a hunt for a bottle opener. After watching him fail miserably to open the bottle for 5 minutes, I jumped in and offered to help. Within seconds I had the cork out. I guess he wasn’t experienced in wine serving, as he pulled out a gigantic wine glass and filled it almost to the top, which was half the bottle of wine. I acted like that was completely normal and gladly sat there drinking my oversized glass of wine. The second glass I ordered was similar, and I ended up finishing the entire bottle for cheaper than what it would have cost in a store. The perfect way to celebrate the end of our hike.
We couldn't leave San Gil without one more adventure activity. This time it was rappelling 70 metres down the fast-flowing Cascadas Juan Curi. From the main road we could already see the enormity of the waterfall, which increased our excitement/nervousness levels slightly. Once we had been geared up with a harness and helmet, we commenced our trek to the falls through a dense forest on a slippery track, climbing higher and higher on a steep incline.
The starting point for the rappel was a flat terrace in between sections of the falls. We could see the water crashing down high above us, but we had no idea just how far it continued over the edge. After a brief safety demonstration, which was more gestures than words, it was go time.
It only took seconds for us to be completely drenched. The wind, the force of the water and the slickness of the rocks meant our full concentration was required for each step. In the end I didn't even bother to lift my feet and just let them slide down the vertical wall. It wasn’t long before we hit the bottom, where we recovered at the natural pool underneath the falls. On reflection, it was a fantastic experience, but at the time I was focusing so intently on the task that I couldn't absorb how incredible it actually was.
Back in San Gil we ambled through Parque Gallineral, a green oasis located within the bustling town. Small rocky paths led us through a lush, jungle-like area, and a rushing river almost drowned out the sound of the traffic. It would have been lovely if the sun was shining, but dark clouds loomed overhead. The highlight of the park was a pair of red squirrels, as inquisitive of us as we were of them.
I could have easily spent another couple of days in San Gil, filling my days with numerous adventure tours. But it was time to see more of the country, and a 17-hour overnight bus to Cartagena awaited us.