Into Columbia
Just over a week into Colombia and I'm sitting in a jungle hostel with no wifi and my legs barely work. It's been a hectic week, and it's time for some downtime (and to catch up on things like this blog).
I departed Auckland packed like a sardine into the middle seat of the middle aisle of one of LATAM airlines' 787s. The Kiwi assistant at the check-in counter insisted that I needed to have an exit ticket out of Columbia before I could board the flight. Explaining that I was planning to depart the country via a land border, and with no time to book a flight I could cancel (I was checking in pretty last minute), she spent a few worrisome minutes discussing my options with her colleagues. In the end we came to a compromise - she would take my credit card details in case Columbian immigration decided to book a flight for me. I had gone through a whole load of hassle to get my American Express "just in case" card (it's bloody difficult to get a credit card in the Netherlands). The "just in case" case had arrived before I'd even made it to South America. Thank fuck I persisted with getting it.
A pretty uneventful night with an average overpriced meal in an airport hotel was not how I imagined my first night on the continent, but a cancelled flight consigned me to that fate. After the eventual early morning flight that I mostly slept through, I arrived in the far north of the country: I was in Santa Marta on the Caribbean coast.
In terms of colonial history, Santa Marta is the perfect place to start - it's the oldest Colombian settlement established by the Spanish that's still standing. It's also a good place to start geographically, being almost as northern as you can get on the continent. I wasn't sure what to expect before I landed. I certainly didn't expect the strange feeling of familiarity - the people look different, but the buildings, signage, state of the roads and the footpaths reminded me greatly of south east Asia, of Vietnam in particular (where I've spent a lot of time both travelling and working). The blast of humidity upon emerging from arrivals only added to this.
Once I got into the old centre, I started to notice the differences. Some of the buildings here were built by the Spanish as far back as the 16th century - well before the oldest colonial buildings in south east Asia were erected. The Spanish were here a long time before the French meddled in Indochina, and the Spanish influence is strong going by first impressions.
The Irish influence was strong in my Santa Marta hostel reception. I booked it specifically because the guide book said it was Irish owned, and I was hoping for some sound Irish advice about this new country. According to the Colombian staff, the owners are a couple of brothers Fleming, though I didn't get to meet them unfortunately. After my luck with meeting people in New Zealand hostel dorms, I had my pick of the beds in this one - there was no-one else staying in the room that night. With a big four day trek in the jungle ahead of me the next day, and feeling pretty exhausted after a hectic three days in New Zealand and traversing the Pacific, a quiet night alone was not such a bad proposition on this occasion.
I departed Auckland packed like a sardine into the middle seat of the middle aisle of one of LATAM airlines' 787s. The Kiwi assistant at the check-in counter insisted that I needed to have an exit ticket out of Columbia before I could board the flight. Explaining that I was planning to depart the country via a land border, and with no time to book a flight I could cancel (I was checking in pretty last minute), she spent a few worrisome minutes discussing my options with her colleagues. In the end we came to a compromise - she would take my credit card details in case Columbian immigration decided to book a flight for me. I had gone through a whole load of hassle to get my American Express "just in case" card (it's bloody difficult to get a credit card in the Netherlands). The "just in case" case had arrived before I'd even made it to South America. Thank fuck I persisted with getting it.
A pretty uneventful night with an average overpriced meal in an airport hotel was not how I imagined my first night on the continent, but a cancelled flight consigned me to that fate. After the eventual early morning flight that I mostly slept through, I arrived in the far north of the country: I was in Santa Marta on the Caribbean coast.
In terms of colonial history, Santa Marta is the perfect place to start - it's the oldest Colombian settlement established by the Spanish that's still standing. It's also a good place to start geographically, being almost as northern as you can get on the continent. I wasn't sure what to expect before I landed. I certainly didn't expect the strange feeling of familiarity - the people look different, but the buildings, signage, state of the roads and the footpaths reminded me greatly of south east Asia, of Vietnam in particular (where I've spent a lot of time both travelling and working). The blast of humidity upon emerging from arrivals only added to this.
Once I got into the old centre, I started to notice the differences. Some of the buildings here were built by the Spanish as far back as the 16th century - well before the oldest colonial buildings in south east Asia were erected. The Spanish were here a long time before the French meddled in Indochina, and the Spanish influence is strong going by first impressions.
The Irish influence was strong in my Santa Marta hostel reception. I booked it specifically because the guide book said it was Irish owned, and I was hoping for some sound Irish advice about this new country. According to the Colombian staff, the owners are a couple of brothers Fleming, though I didn't get to meet them unfortunately. After my luck with meeting people in New Zealand hostel dorms, I had my pick of the beds in this one - there was no-one else staying in the room that night. With a big four day trek in the jungle ahead of me the next day, and feeling pretty exhausted after a hectic three days in New Zealand and traversing the Pacific, a quiet night alone was not such a bad proposition on this occasion.
Comments
Post a Comment