My bike collapses

I exited the city at the place I wanted and still had to pedal uphill for some time. There was a 10km tunnel I was approaching with the bike. Everybody was telling me that I couldn’t go through there but still I was riding on. I had my bike repaired (again) in Medellin. The rear rack had been welded and was finally sturdy and stable. Problem solved in my eyes. When I was one km from the tunnel entrance, climbing on the road and thinking about how passing the mountain through the tunnel must feel like when uddenly I heard a metallically sound. Was it the bike? Everything was looking good. I drove on. 15 meters after that my rear rack was askew after a screw had decided to loosen and quit. I had to weld it for 1,50€ and the mechanic didn’t even manage to tighten the screw right. Fucking shit. So I removed a screw from my selfmade packs to fix the rack temporarily. But for sure I would need a proper repair. That was about to happen in the next village. Before that I had a very steep descent to finish. And long, steep descents mean a lot of adrenaline for me, when Iḿ threatened, that my bike will collapse at any moment.

And I wasn’t through this unpassable tunnel yet. Next obstacle. When coming closer a security was already nervously running towards the road who thought I must have missed the “cycling prohibited” sign. No possible passage here. So I had to switch back to hitchhiking, with a truck. Worked well. I also survived the descent. More or less. My improvised bike packs had been fastened on the rack with hangers (Model Double-Hanger). Two hangers for each box. One had already broken and the second side I lost on this descent. Me, again, improvising. A string will do it. The motorcycle workshop fixed the lost screw for free. Well equipped to continue. The broken packing box was to be dealt with later. Is there anything working on this bike? I couldn’t care less, had to move on.

Sweltering heat, I had again arrived in the jungle. Antiquia, provincial capital. As I exited the town I considered buying something to drink. I was thirsty. But to much on edge to stop. I decided to continue first and get something to drink on one of the many shops alongside the road. There were so many shops in the past everywhere, should not be a problem.

Dying of thirst

The problem was I had no proper map. The one I carried had no elevation lines. Otherwhise I would have figured that in front of me was one of the worst ascents of my whole route waiting for me. I climbed up the mountain for some time. It was hot, and strangely there was nothing here. Plain nothing. Usually each mountain had some shops or something, but here – nothing. At some point I was done driving and continued by pushing my bike. I was quite fast like that to be honest. I am not the specialist for ascents, especially with this shitty bike and 20kg of stuff on my rear end.

Even pushing started to be quite exhausting after some time and I had to stop for a break. All over with sweat, completely overheated in the middle of the dead-zone. Where the hell is that beverage kiosk?!? I felt like cold ice tea and started fantasizing about all the awesome, cold drinks I could have. But that didn’t help and I had to continue to push. My mouth was getting dry, my spit failed to materialize. My head had to be purple by now. Since about two hours pushing and even after the next curve no sign of civilisation of consumerism. Everywhere next to the road I was seeing empty cups and bottles. Carelessly thrown out and I really considered stopping and sipping the rest of one of those bottles. That was the level of my thirst. Had I only bought something in the city. Going back was no option. Not two times that same road. I rather die of thirst.

At some point I passed a door with a Moto-Taxi in front of it. Behind it a path led into nowhere. I couldn’t recognise anything, no house, no doorbell. But the moto-taxi was open. I saw my chance, checked the cabin and there I saw it: A transparent plastic bottle. Not sure whats inside. Opening, checking the smell… chloride … well, water smells like chloride in Colombia, that could be it. A first sip, yes, it was water. Lukewarm water. I drank 4/5th of the bottle and put it back. My salvation. I was so glad and greedy drinking that I swallowed up and had t spit some water out again, while coughing. At least some water. It improved my overall situation. After that my suffering continued, the mountain seemed without end.

Darkness was approaching and I decided to stop a car to get out of that area. Didn’t take long and I had my pick up. Funny, here in Colombia hitchhiking with a bike seemed to be easier than without. We continued for another 10 km uphill, I was so happy not to be walking there on that continuing ascent but to be inside that car. He dropped me in the next village. Lightening covered the sky and a thunderstorm approached. I got me some bottles to drink, yeah lots of bottles with different, cold delicious liquids and then I checked in at the next hotel. Camping with that weather was not amusing and after being crushed by that day so much I was longing for some calmness.

Dear Colombia, you don’t only break me, but my bike as well

The next day started with light ascents on the high plains until I reached another descent two hours later. The broken bike pack had been provisionally fixed at the hotel. They didn’t even have a screwdriver so I had to tighten the screws by hand. It was quite ok since I was using locknuts. Pity that the condition of the road was getting worse. Gravel track. That was all I needed. I was more slow going down then going up because I had to be extremely careful not to drop into road holes or kill my rims on the sharp stones. I heard that 2 people from Chile were cycling the same path one day behind me. Maybe we will meet.

At some point going downhill as the road was better again a truck passed me and again I heard that strange, metallic sound. Was it me? Soon I realized: Yes, it was me. Of course. The second hanger of the already damaged box had left the team. Again improvising. I carried that sailing rope and with that I tied the box to the bike on both sides. A little unstable but good for now. I had no idea on how to really fix that. I finally went until Turbo like that. Looked like shit but was sturdy. Like running a marathon with a broken leg and only one shoe, but still making it through the finishing line.

It was 4 pm and I stopped to enjoy a malt drink. It was all over Colombia, called “Malta”. Some kind of malt beer. Lot’s of sugar, good energy. The high mountains were behind me and I was riding along a river for quite some time now. Short chit-chat in the next village on how to continue? Will it will stay flat? Nah, nah, only small hills, but pretty much a flat road. 40km to the next village. One of the younger ones tried to articulate that it would rise a little in between and then down to the village. Steep rising? No, no, the granny at the shop assured me. Plano, plano ‘till the next village. No problem with the bike. So I was calm since steep ascents were the last thing that I wanted to fight that day. I started bikng biking.

Marco Pantani Memorial Event

And so they dismissed me towards the steepest ascent that you will find between Medellin and Turbo. 2200 meters I had to climb, straight over a mountain pass as I was about to figure out. Not only the last day climbing was still aching in my bones but it was getting late and I was tired. Luckily not knowing what was in front of me. That’s always better. So I rolled, the road left the riverbed and the altitude slowly rising.

Actually this was the moment when I really learned how to climb steep roads with the bike. The strategy is very simple. Reduce speed a little in between, to take rest while climbing, but always stay in the seat. 15-20km I was pedaling, without a break, straight through. I entered the clouds at some point and it started to rain. It was moist. On the pass the road was winding on the same level for some kilometers before the long descent started. It was marvellous to stand on the highest point. I knew it would nly go down from here. And I made it without pushing half of the way! Beast mode! I was proud of myself.

Those exertions were rewarded with a hotel, at half the price of the one the day before. About 5 €. The nights in the hotels were terrible. Somehow, the South American hotels are frequented 24/7 by people what I conceive as very exhausting. Chatter all the time, doorbell amidst the night, people enter and exit and the TVs of my neighbours are constantly on maximum volume. TVs became my number one enemy. Shows only shit and is always noisy. But there was an internet connection. Where I checked the upcoming route and figured that the following day would have two terrible high mountains waiting for me. I had been nowhere near through the Cordillera, as i hoped to be after those two days of suffering.

What rainforest feels like

But then relieve! Ha! The website that I had used was flawed. The next day was hilly but the last mountain I had definitely crested the day before. My constantly present companion would from now on be the rain. And it’s not called rainforest for nothing. It was no real rain but constant drizzle. Relentless drizzle. From that day on I was constantly wet. Not wet enough for the moisture to go through my backpack but enough to evaporate steam during the water breaks. Still it was a rather relaxed day with an early evening approaching at the end as I was about to enter a thunderstorm that was in front of me.

I decided to eat out at a fancy restaurant and pitch my tent. I was happy to find a wooden structure with roof. The whole night was full of thunderstorm and rain and the shelter very much appreciated. On the next day there were only 100km left to Turbo. Mostly flat. No ascents. Wonderful. I really enjoyed cycling there. Although it was raining all the time. The first 40 km I had covered in about 2 hours. Breakfast. Destiny put me in a restaurant where the Tour de France was streamed on TV, the final 40km steep ascent. They were twice as fast as I had been and they cycled through the Pyrenees, full of super-steep ascents and dangerous downhill roads. When the winner was clear I saddled my bike again. Here I come world! Touring through Colombia.

The last kilometers to Turbo had the potential to make up for a lot that had happened on that tour. But no, of course not. About 25km before the city several huge construction works had decided to hang around on the road and together with the rain it created a lot of mud. A feast of mud. And trucks rushing past me throwing mud in all directions. My bike and I received a covering of mud. Mud madness. Thank you Colombia. Always up for some pleasure. I also really enjoyed cicyling with you!

But still I had made it. What came later you might already know. Cleaning the bike, selling the bike. Trading my Colombia Bike Outfit for a boat ride. Going towards Panama. Cycling is definitely off my “ToDo”-List. And next time I will use a more stable bike, better equipment and easier gears. I would cycle relaxed alongside a river instead fighting through the colombian mountain ranges. It was donkey work but epic! Been there, done that. Checkmark. Get up from the puddle of mud and continue.

Der Beitrag By bicycle through Colombia (3) – Last stage to Turbo erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

I went back to the village. Wanted to hitch to the street and had spotted a nice bar where I could imagine having a beer. It would be two beers. And sausages. In the end it was quite a gathering around me. All the possible specialists inspected my bike. At some point the bus passed. The swarm intelligence occured and escalated quickly. The bus was stopped and negotiations started. Taking bike okay? “Descarga”, disassembled. Before I could have said “Hi” the people had chopped up my bike and stuffed the bus with it. The stress nearly made me forget to pay my 2 beers and the sausages. So we’re riding the bus to the next bike workshop. It’s an emergency and officially I am not hitchhiking. That’s me, whitewashing it.

Well, I enjoy riding busses. I do not do it often and to me it is the peak of comfort. I was kind of happy and satisfied. But didn’t hold for long. After 15 minutes one of our tires blew up. Seems like kismet had to catch up on something with my life. 25 years without blown tires. Now it was coming for me. I couldn’t explain this. It was the 4th accident of that kind within the last 3 months. Story of my life at this point. Switching the tire was adventurous since some blasting idiot had screwed a female screw of wrong size on one of the screws. And we didn’t have a fitting tool for that. We had to stop a helpful trucker. After that we could fix the tire and continue.

In the bike shop in the nearby town the boys changed my tire for roughly 1€. There was no new rim, but we could at least analyze the problem. I had had a big hit on the rim and now it had the shape of an egg instead it being round. But: the bike was working. And I was finally in some flat lands. Behind the first of the three mountain ranges that I would pass here in Colombia.

Me, like a bird with tailwind

I rode. With tail winds. In the evening sun. Along the highway. 10km, 20km, … dusk arose. I was cycling into an ecstasy at the end of this breakdown day on this flat, beautiful road in the nice evening atmosphere. Warm wind blowing around my nose. Thomas D. – Rückenwind was sounding in my ears through invisible headphones. Pure serotonin gluttony. I was so happy and had an awesome drive. Satisfied from being “on the move”. I made 35km until I found myself at some kind of service station where I had an opulent dinner from my last coins whilst watching Copa Americana (Chile – Uruguay, nice game, many red cards and entertaining escalation at the end of the game). In the end it was a superb day. All in all I had done 90 km. Only that sleeping seemed to be a problem still. I was awake. 3 days of cycling and no sign of exhaustion. My organism was super active. Like after my Pilates lessons. So this should be a good sign….

Next morning, searching for an ATM. Since I never carried more than 20€ with me I had to get money every day. I started around 8 and it was still cold. That would change soon. Additionally I was going straight for the next mountain range. That again meant: Promising crispy ascents and mountain tops. And pushing. A lot of pushing. Taking a break. Drinking. Pushing further. In between I was hating this shit trip and decided that I should arrive in Medellin the upcoming day. Not another day of this donkeywork. Then I continued pushing.

Contribution to general mental enfeeblement

Somewhere inside a small shop on an ascent I was having a break drinking Coca-Cola whilst the news were on the TV. “News” do – in Colombia – not really deserve that name. It’s more a reality soap. Here a robbery, there a drug lord caught, a crying mom next to a picture to her kidnapped daughter and at the end everything repeating. They don’t show other things here. Quite contrary, each story, as uninteresting as possible, is squeezed until it’s flat. Feeding myself all day with that shit I am, of course, under the impression, that this country is incredibly dangerous. I felt a little like laughing because the news were so cheaply made. But also sad since it had nothing in common with reality. Another episode to the downfall of watching TV and its contribution to public stupidity. Cheers.

Upcoming terrain: “rather flat”

During the next robbery on TV I took the chance to ask around about the upcoming road. It should be 15 minutes uphill, a short descent, up again at some point continuing “rather flat”. I decided to continue pushing to enjoy the flat part afterwards. And then hitchhiking. It wasn’t far but about 25km ascent to more than 2000 meters of height. I was very seldom so much without motivation. But I want step back, not that cheap. That’s why I am torturing up the two last ascents. The way down led me to a bridge, sincerely guarded by the local military recommended as a safe point in the guerilla jungle.

After a worker told me that there will not be ” any flat” but only hilly terrain I unsaddled. Finito! Fuck that shit! Now: Back to good old Hitchhiking. Good decision. A closer inspection of my rear brake showed it had loosened. And that didn’t increase the anyway poor safetyness of my bike. The brake was working but was hanging towards exodus trying to stealthily get off the bike. It took only 15 minutes and a Pickup stopped. Where headed? Medellin. Hitchhiking with the bike: nice and easy. He even had a special platform for transporting bikes where I mounted my front wheel.

His name was Juan, he owned several fruit farms and was producing juice. A young man, had his first daughter born 12 days before, spoke English quite well and was impressed from the journey I had behind and in front of me. I enjoyed the ride in the evening sun with my brain promising me a shower and a bed. 4 days of cycling, sweating, same clothes, that was too much, even for me.

As we entered Medellin the first thing to recognize was size, it is a big city. Also it is within a valley surrounded by mountains and steep ascents. To my surprise many sporting cyclists were fighting their way up here as we arrived in the city in the evening. Juan dropped me at one of the steep roads down to the city. I just had to roll down the mountain. Well…just roll down…. My rear light had been lost since its first use in Bogota. But light is overrated anyway. Compared to brakes. Of which I had only one left. When I realized that, my enthusiasm to ride down there dropped even steeper than that road.

I had to make 2 breaks on my way to the city, cooling the rims. I got lost at first but then I realized, that I didn’t even have a plan where I wanted to go (maybe a hostel?). Tried to find an internet cafe but no chance. I had a burger at a street food snack bar. Something I really enjoyed was that I could cycle anywhere with my bike, to any part of the city without thinking about distance. I liked it to be that flexible. At a restaurant above a car workshop I found a cheap room. I was the only guest. I only checked in because there was a Jazz-Session going on one block further and I hadn’t had live jazz since more than nine months. I was whacked from the tour but still not tired. Because cycling is like doing Pilates and youre so fucking active and it is for sure good for the body…….Or rather, I was so tired, that I wasn’t tired anymore. The only thing left to do here: drinking and smoking. With Live-Jazz in the background I slowly sedated myself until drop into bed at some point. It worked.

Der Beitrag Cycling through Colombia (2) – For the sake of variety flat tire erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

First problem was the route. While dropping into fixing the bike I completely forgot to get a decent bike map and check out a passable path. There are several tools on the web to do that, bikemaps.com, openstreetmaps.org or other programs, especially for cycling tours. Especially figuring out steep ascents is useful for a good planning. I had tried to check that out. But I failed. Well, in the end I didn’t give a shit and just took of. I checked google maps on how to get out of Bogota, wrote down the first 6 Villages to pass, jumped on the bike and *puff *I had become a touring cyclist. What a feeling. Pure freedom. Not relying on anyones kindness. Just ready to go whereever I want. That was the first impression.

The catastrophic planning cost me my first day. Not only that I left without a map but also trying to purchase one on my way out of Bogota were both no good decisions. I managed to get that map somehow but at the same time I had completely lost my orientation. After approx. 30 min discussing at a police station I had an average of an idea and started leaving the city on the slip road. Dusk had approached as I finally left crossed the city boundary. Checking for a place to sleep. I found out quickly: On the bike you are pretty free in movement but you can’t just jump over a fence and sleep in someones backyard. More movement, less flexibility. In the evening it is more easy on foot. Still I found a spot on a small hill next to the road. Since I had no lock I had to find a spot where nobody would zapzerap my new randonneur.

Ups and downs of a journey

It was a cold night. Still on 2000m altitude. What I knew: It was raining. Thick, dark clouds welcomed me in the morning. My second day of cycling. I didn’t know, that there was a steep ascent for the upcoming 3 kilometers. Starting the day with a pleassureful climb. I had no breakfast. I had no idea of the ascent either and had started cycling into the blue. I had to get off the bike and push at some places. Sporty cyclists were passing me. Without any luggage. I wished to be able to be that light. Never travelled with a packed bike. It is a very different experience. On the “mountain”top there was a small restaurant and I enjoyed some fried eggs – sunny side up – chocolate cake and coffee. Then downhill.

And downhill. And downhill. And further downhill. All in all 40 km! I`d never stop to go downhill. I was rolling towards the center of the globe. I wasn’t too happy about it, to be honest, since I could figure that any meter downhill would be another meter uphill somewhere. On the way from Bogota to Medellin you have to pass two mountain ranges. Down the one, up the other. The descent wasn’t really “back down from the mountain ridge”-tour but rather a “down in between – fun HAHA and now fuck yourself”-descent with an upfollowing “Marco Pantani-Memorial”-ascent.

Pieces of trash…

Going down I had my first troubles with the equipment. The start of a long series of problems. My pannier rack was groaning from carrying 20kg and got loose. It obviously had to check in at the next bike workshop. Also my rims got hot. Pretty hot!  But I had to brake. It led to several stops in between waiting for them to cool down. For the first time in my life I understood what disk brakes where for.

I found a bike workshop. For 2€ they fixed the rack, filled my tires with air and removed a bump from one wheel. I had those bumps in my wheel. You could call it deformities. It felt like cycling on eggs. My handlebar felt like a sedated jackhammer after the descent. The problems in the front wheels were fixed, the ones in the back had the same problem but could be ignored. Further down.

At some point the fun was over. The profile changed and where I was rolling smoothly down before became an abnormally steep ascent. Soon my batteries were empty and I had to start pushing the bike… for approx. 4 hours. Later I checked the road on Google Maps – the ascent was for about 20 km and conquered about 1000 meters in height. Pure hate and impossible to cross with this parody of a touring-bike. Maybe I was just a lazy rag and to weak. I had finally realized that I was in the middle of the mountains. And probably I wouldn’t manage to have the “great country for cycling”-Experience.

Following, another descent. It was just going up and down all the time. After 15km of splendid rolling it was getting dark and I had to check for the next sleeping place. I had spotted a nice meadow and asked some people if I could stay there. They didn’t know where the owner was but said it would be ok. The easy way. Neighbor decides what happens on your property. The last 3€ were spent for something sweet, orange juice and 2 liters of water and then I went to bed. When you go by bike, you get fucking hungry and need a lot of energy. Being on a budget at the same time is very stupid. I would need some time to find that out.

Terrorising Trucks

This night was probably my worst night. On my whole journey. My tent sat three meters next to the main transit road between Medellin and Bogota. Trucks were rolling 24/7 past me. The floor vibrating, the engine brakes roaring. Especially the older trucks manage to make as much noise as a starting airplane. Hold me awake the whole night. At some point I used toilet paper as earplugs but it helped only little. In general I am not so demanding when it comes to sleeping spots and noise levels. But there is a difference between sleeping besides an annoying Helene Fischer concert and sleeping directly inside the Mosh Pit.

Besides I made another discovery. Even after 10 hours of cycling I was anything but sleepy or tired. My whole body was glowing from the blood rushing between heart and muscles. The pump was working well. But I couldn’t relax a bit. I know that from at home when I was doing my every monday Pilates training. The same excitement. That can just be a good sign. Doing well body, hey?

Day 3 starts. I finish the final 5km of the descent and find myself within a sunny colonial town called Guaduas. Holiday was in the air, the sun was happily shining and the surroundings called for fresh pressed orange juice or cool beer. Rice and beef with coffee. I called it breakfast. My relaxing-me took the chance to have a 30 minute break before my ambitions and nervosity were able to convince everybody to continue. Just after another Coke. Sun was burning already that morning.

I had two options and consulted the local intelligence to make up for the missing map. Finally I decided for the road with fewer ascents. Still, at the city boundary, a short but hefty asshole-ascent was waiting for me. It was already 11am. Sun showed itself from its best side. I was sweating with maximum fluid loss and in between it was so hot that I was freezing. “Like sauna Stefan, like Sauna”, I tried to calm myself over the wonder about the bodily reaction. Really weird experience. It was so unbelievably hot. But it it was at least going downhill after that.

I was always careful going down because I couldn’t trust my bike. I knew it was shit from the first few meters I did with it. I was prepared for everything. Blowing tires, loosening of the rack with subsequent destruction of my rear spokes, breaking of the frame or just the classical accident with deadly head injuries. So I braked busily going down. I thought about checking the rims but it should be fine, yesterday they withstood a much longer descent. Well, another day another descent. At some point a bang and rear tire went farewell. To my surprise the bike kept stable on the rim and I managed to brake. No accident, still lucky, but tire broken. Here the tour came to a first stop. Although the day had started so promising. I was in the middle of nowhere with a blown tire, had a repairing kit but no air pump. So I went back to hitchhiking…

Der Beitrag By bycicle through Colombia (1) – The Mosh Pit erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

Stats

Hitchhiked distance: 943 kilometer

Number of lifts: 17

Average waiting time: 48 minutes 03 seconds

Waiting time total: 13 hours 37 minutes

Log you can find Log Colcombia.

My Route

I came through the border near Pasto during the night and had a direct lift towards th city. From there I should have went „only to Bogota“. I did the route, but it took me two days for 900 km and this was the main highway in Colombia.

People

I got to say, from all the different people in South America I kind of liked the Colobians the most. Very warn hearted, open people, especially the males are, like all South Americans, a little bit macho, but all in all super friendly. In other party of the country I perceived the male population as a bit arrogant and annoying. Colombia is very tranquil in this case. Furthermore I got to say, that the Colombians are definitely the best dressed people on the whole continent. Maybe this also goes along with the stereotype, that Colombians are so beautiful.
For me being in Colombia felt like the people are very close to each other, without being pushy. Already when I passed the border in the night, the fun began. Some took fotos with me, laughing, shaking, super relaxed and comfortable encounters.

Roads

I thought Chile had not much keeping area. After Ecuador I thought it would not get worser. But Colombia is a class of its own in this case. Especially along the mountains, in the South as well as through the Cordilleras in direction Medellin. Many steep roads and the people drive like maniacs. Beside the missing keeping area you also encounter sometime a missing side-walk. And fast traffic. Many roads are not hitchable there. Just impossible.

The missing keeping area is encountered in almost all the country. You got very few roundabout traffics, some Toll-Stations (which aren’t very promising as well for hitchhiking), many police controls and some Aduanas, where the trucks have to get in, to get their load checked.

The roads are surprisingly slow, at least till Bogota. It is possible, that you will need 8 hours for 200km, because the road is winding up and down through the mountains and you are confronted with slow Trucks.

Tactics

I tried a lot. Walking. No advantage. Normal positioning. No one stops. Aggressive communication, humble body language, with thumb, with hand, waving, static. No success. People just don stop. Or lets say, it takes time.

How you get through Colombia the best? Talking. All my longer lifts I found while asking them. If you get in touch with the people, they are often friendly and open. I wouldn’t recommend „normal“ hitchhiking here. But if you want to hitchhike, there is a secret weapon on your side: Police controls. Whenever I was standing behind a police control, I got a ride relatively fast. It is really the best advice I can give. Also in many discussions with locals, while waiting at the side of the road, they recommended me, to wait near police controls. Of course I rated this as senseless advice in the beginning and tried my normal repertoire of hitchhiking strategies. But it really felt like it made the difference.

Beside that positioning might help at places, where the traffic is reaaaaallly slow. Like walking speed. I had the feeling, that through the guerilla conflicts and the violent history of the country the people are very protective, if they see someone standing at the side of the road. I never waited as long as in Colombia. In no other country. Even if you should take my statistics with cautious, but there is a reason why Colombia took the leading position in the average waiting time. With a lot of space to the second placed country.

Pictures

Specifics

The landscape of Colombia is fantastic. A dream. I really can recommend this country to travel in, if you are not planning to hitchhike, of course. The south has beautiful mountains, fields and a lot of fruits. Colombia is a very rich country in case of agriculture and has a lot of good food (although the typical Rice and Beans and Meat and Salad-dish get a little boring after a while). I ate the best papaya of my life there.

Don leave the official roads without caution, because they have some landmines here and there and in general the surrounding nature is taken by the Guerilla. This conflict is usually not affecting the tourist and through the actual peace agreement, which hopeful comes up, the situation will change completely. And the landmines will disappear. Hopefully.

Coffee. Yes, they have coffee. Real coffee. After I encountered in the rest of the continent mostly brown water. They are a world-class coffee producer and you should make use of this, while you are there. In the morning, midday and evening!

Beside the actual Miss-South-America Colombia also the female BMX-World-Champion as well as some really good cyclists among their folks. Cycling is a big thing in Colombia. If you cross the country on a bike, you get welcomed everywhere. I crossed Colombia for 800 km on a bike. The mountains are horrible. But it was a good experience. With pleasure and torture!

There is no road between Panama and Colombia but the infamous Darien Gap. It is very difficult to hitchhike this passage. I was very lucky and crossed this region on a cargo boat.

Der Beitrag Hitchhiking in… (14) Colombia erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

Unionized mosquito swarms

Although the flowering vegetation and the fauna-rich area I was surprised to not being bothered by a single mosquito that night. A welcomed change, to see that they have strict working periods here. I had been unbelievably lying in my tent for several minutes with my head lamp trying to find insects. There were none. The other side of the coin showed its terrible face at 5:45. Start of work. All mosquitoes to the time clock. So whilst I was deconstructing the tent I had mosquitoes all over me like bees sticking on their honeycomb.

But I made my first goal for the day. To wake up early. Since my possible lift was about to leave at some time. I waited at the army office for somebody from the boat to drop by. And the young guy from the day before with whom I had a nice chat came over. Today a little grumpy. I greeted nicely and sticked to his heels on the way to the boat. The whole crew was already working. They unloaded masses of booze for the duty free shop and lowered washing machines, fridges, freezers and other electronic stuff from the roof. Several of the packages had a rough landing. The whole process, including also 800 packages of water bottles and 250 units of 24 packs of coke, took several hours.

At some point I turned around to join the group of younger people to have some chit chat. The guy from the day before was with them and I realized that he wasn’t even part of the crew. And also, he was rather grumpy. “Do you have a lighter? It might take some time there.” “Where would you go?” “Puerto Obaldia, with the cargo ship.” “Not possible. No passengers allowed. You have to take a Lancha. My friend can drive you.” What a bold lie. Very bold since the same guy who had told me the day before that it wouldn’t be a problem to go with the boat now said “No puede (Not possible).” And even more cheeky since the military and the captain had already given their ok. Damn bloodsuckers!

All for the crew, all for the club

Since there was nothing else to do, I, at some point, joined the human feeder band and helped them for the next hours to unload the ship. The captain was amazed. He also was a nice comrade. Laughing all the time. A latino by the book, originally from Panama, always keeping his cool. Not even ruffled by the dropping gas refrigerators. A well trimmed schnauzer, short-trimmed hair and jug ears. A combination of Ernie from the Sesame Street and Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. A mediocre loud, authentic laughter that made you laugh as well and always up for a joke. But also he spoke fast and mumbling. I didn’t understand a word of his. Pity. Still, I liked him.

At noon we started towards Puerto Obaldia. 20 minutes of sailing and an immigration stamp were waiting for me. I even got lunch for my working aid. So friendly. Ready to enter the new country. My backpack was completely ripped apart by the next friendly commander. Immigration was closed and I had to wait 30 minutes. That really pissed me off since I had hoped to continue with the cargo ship. With my passport stamped I headed back for the ship as fast as possible.

A lift to Panama!

Let’s make it short. After some hassle and back and forth with the army and the captain, my name made it to the crew memberlist and I had my ride to the next road, passing the Darien Gap. Just as easy as that. Passage completed. From then on I was a worker on a cargo ship and it was a welcomed change from normal hitchhiking. The whole journey took us about a week. Together with Ernie L. Jackson and a crew consisting mostly of Kuna people, the indigenous people from the San Blas Islands.

The first night we stopped at one of these islands. After we had roped up the ship I went for an excursion to the island. It wasn’t much bigger than three football courts but from one edge to the other full with huts. It was the first real culture shock I remember. Not a single house made of stone, all the huts were traditionally covered with thatched roofs or Bamboo (I think). I strided through the streets and felt like in an ancient viking settlement.

In the big main building there was a ceremony going on. I joined them. In the middle two men sat in hammocks singing traditional Kuna songs. Sounded like indian Chantis. Very relaxing. As I made two pictures several people approached me taking me outside forcing me to delete the pictures from the camera. It was not allowed. I apologized. Still I wanted to restore them later with a special program (didn’t work though). After the surprisingly interesting walk I went back to the ship finding the whole crew drinking. Last evening. Next day we would be at the main Kuna island where the bigger part of the crew would be staying for two nights with their families.

The entertaining of an alcoholized crew

Kuna people can’t drink much. Was my feeling. Especially the older ones were drunk very fast. As I was already in bed, “fun” started. The second captain, a tall, disgusting person that could easily have made it to the Hells Angels, was quarreling with our chef, Pablo. I really like Pablo since he took really good care of me. With his head he nearly reached my belly button, he had a fluffy beard making him look like a Catfish and he was always equipped with a basecap of some Panamanian Schlager star. They were cursing at each other. I had no Idea why but the second captain always asked: “Dormiste, dormiste?”, “Did you sleep? Did you sleep?”. At some I could hear a smack when this bastard hit the poor, outgunned Pablo. The next day Pablo had a black eye.

Second act: I tried to sleep but above me, in his hammock, there was swinging “the snorer”. But it wasn’t really a snoring, rather a snotting. Snoring gets familiar as soon as you tap into the rhythm of the snorer. Not with the snotting. Isolated slime chunks that are – often but irregularly – pushed back and forth from the inhaled air inside the throat. And on the top of that: respiratory blackouts. Sometimes I thought he had died. Then I relaxed for a moment because I thought the snotting was over. Every time it continued with an even louder rattling inhale. Like Chinese water torture. You never know when the next drop will hit. The movie of the drunk crew continued. At some point two of the younger ones brought the old, fragile ship mechanic carrying him to his hammock at the end of the ship. I had seen before that he was totally drunk. Looks like he wasn’t even able to walk. At some point I left the hammock beneath the snotting guy and took over the hammock directly beneath the old mechanic.

At some point I opened my eyes. What was going on? Mr Mechanic was poking, clumsy as the old and tattering man he was, with his hand through the darkness. As if he wanted to reach a far distant object. He wanted to get out of his hammock but was extremely drunk and in general a little senile. I watched him for some time, in my head saying “You can do it, come on oldie!”, waiting for him to make some progress.
In the end I got up to help him out. In that moment he dropped out of the hammock like a newborn calf. I helped him to get up, he was shaking. Taking his hand I led him to a nearby barrel that he grabbed, stabilizing himself starting to urinating directly on board. As he was done he fumbled his way back to the hammock that I was already holding in preparation because I really didn’t want to pull him out of his own piss the next second. Skillful, the same way he had fallen out of the hammock, he fell back in and asleep.

About gas bottles and Kuna woman

The next day we stopped at the main Kuna island where we would be staying for the upcoming three days before we would go north. The daily routine on the ship was pretty exciting. We stopped at uncountable amount of small islands, loaded and unloaded fridges, boats, groceries, air conditioners and loads of gas bottles. Many gas bottles, sometimes over a hundred per island. Also, a young Kuna joined us because he needed a lift to Carti. It was also my own goal since there the first road was starting. So we went for several days from one island to another selling gas at Kunas.

It was so interesting for me, I really enjoy experiences like that way more than looking at some tourist attraction. Here there is business. Here is life. Buying, selling. Exciting harbourlife. Joking, haggling. Discovering how people challenge their everyday routine. When I am watching my crew members, how they deal with their relatives.

Especially the Kuna women were very fascinating for me. They are dressed in a short skirt and a colorful blouse, headscarf, nose piercing and some kind of curly leg warmers. They seemed very proud to me. They were the ones that were doing the business whilst the men were hanging around. I have no idea about the Kuna culture and am too lazy to read up on them, but that proudness and self confidence appeared very sexy to me.

At the end we arrived to Carti. The friendly captain and several others including me went off the ship. A Lancha was prepared that would bring us 3km to the coast, where the street was beginning. I had crossed the Darien Gap. The whole northern American continent in front of me. Ready to be explored. This was probably the second most difficult and second most important passage of my journey. Done! I can tick that. I was relieved and happy.

I started walking immediately. Several thousand kilometers of hitchhiking in front and in the back of me. I have to get to Guatemala and continue to Mexico from there.

Der Beitrag Hitchhiking with a Cargo boat to Panama erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

Finally back on a good old speed boat

After one hour the “boarding” started. The crowd became even denser. I aquired a big black plastic bag for my backpack for 1000 Pesos (around 30 Cent) in which I put my backpack. I entered the boarding zone as my name was called. As I was packing my stuff a friendly worker approached me. Took my backpack, weighed it and demanded 10.000 Pesos. I asked them, why? Well, it’s more than 10 kg. I was already on the boat. My Colombian seatmates signified that there was no such thing like overweight luggage. “No hay plata! No hay plata!” (No money!). I was close to grabbing my purse but stopped inconspicuously. My backpack was already loaded (at least I hoped so) and so I just ignored their demand for more money. It worked. Escaped the tourist trap properly. Damn scammers everywhere… really.

The boat was in a similar state as the one I rode from Trinidad to Venezuela. Just with better equipment. The benches were equipped with cushions and a seat back and it had three outboard engines that were real monsters. Still, the ride was as uncomfortable as the last time. An ongoing up and down through the waves. The one noticeable difference was, that the Colombians celebrated every splash, every hard bounce with cheering, laughing and applause. These people were going on holiday. The Venezuelans had been going home.

When I arrived in Carpugana I was in the middle of the Darien Gap. There were three more villages further from here: Sapzurro, La Miel and finally Puerto Obaldia. Between Sabruzzo and La Miel is the official border of Panama and Colombia. The immigration though was at Carpugana (Colombia) and Puerto Obaldia (Panama), meaning that I had to check out here before I could continue. Of course I had forgotten that. Very determined I went from the boat to the very first shop, packed myself with water, had a Sprite and started walking towards the jungle path. Somewhere already in the jungle I remembered about the stamp and had to walk all back to the immigration office again. But then I finally started.

Walking the Darien Gap

So I was heading to Puerto Obaldia on foot. I knew it would be around 2-3 hours between the first and the second village, and another 30 minutes crossing the border to La Miel (first village in Panama) and further from there some more hours to Porto Obaldia, although that last part I was the least sure about. Anyway, I wanted to do that the day after. That’s why i just started. The path was well made, there were even signs, but it was muddy. After a while I found myself to be in the deepest jungle. Jungle, incredibly moist and uphill. I was till wearing long trousers that were completely wet before I had even done the first half of the hill. Jungle is just the same as a vast Bio-Sauna. This short hike took a lot out of me.

The sign at the village boundary said 30 minutes. You have to cross a mountain. From the top of it, it was only 40 minutes to the next village. Okay. Someone wasn’t sure about the distance. It took me an hour to get there. As I arrived I had to take a bath in the ocean, get rid of my t-shirt and switch to short trousers. That made the situation more bearable. I had a fish for lunch and continued to La Miel. Further to Panama. It was a rather unexciting path. A lot of exhausting steps upwards and a lot of exhausting steps down again. A short conversation with one of the three military outposts, reassurance that I will come back (what I did definitely not had in mind) and then I was in Panama, Juchee!

And oh, how beautiful Panama is!

Well, it was ok. La Miel wasn’t the pearl that I expected and every step was controlled by the military. My question for the path to Puerto Obaldia was answered briefly with “No hay, no hay” (There is no path). But of course it was there. 2 hours on foot I was told by a local. Meaning 4-5 hours for me. I also understood that the military doesn’t want to see me in the jungle.

There comes a boat, oho!

I checked out the area. There was a duty free shop in La Miel where you could get primarily cheap whiskey. As I was just heading for the next beach to set up my tent I spotted a cargo ship. Should I try to hitchhike it or rather enjoy the paradise around? Of course I had to hitchhike! If there is a chance to get a ride I will not let it fly away.

It was a rusty, small cargo ship with around 10 crew members on board. I asked for the captain. A jung man showed me the guy. Where they were heading? To Colon. Oh my god! Colon. It was about double of the distance that I had to make to get to the next road. If I could join them? The captain was speaking very fast. I didn’t understand a word. Just that we would talk about it the next morning and that I need the approval of the military. Nothing more easy than that. I talked a little to my young contact and he assured me, that the captain would take me to the immigration in the next village.

So I had a talk with the secretary at the military office. No problems there. They wanted to see the departure stamp, sure, if I had 500$? 500… what? Nope. No money. I will not pay here. Oh, I need it for the immigration. In cash? Of course I didn’t have the money and who would be as stupid as to carry 500$ around?

Military dialogues

That’s how all the fun started. Since soldiers are not allowed to think he had to ask the commander. And of course that did not match the rules so I wasn’t allowed to leave the country. But I have the money, but not in cash. I just need internet to check that. No, not possible. No money, no continuing of the journey. I have to walk back to Colombia to get the cash from the ATM. That was some dilemma since the lift was already here. And the worst thing you can do to me is to sabotage my lift. So I didn’t accept without struggling.

Friends had told me that the commander was a cool person and just his soldiers were rather stupid and incompetent. So I just walked into the commander tent, found him sitting on his hammock and explained my situation. He showed understanding but was like “You can go there, but not from here”. A little naive I asked if it was possible then? He mumbled … yes. That must have been the unofficial sign that we are breaking the rules now. I went back to his soldiers and told them confidently and triumphantly that I was allowed to go. The commander came and confirmed and there was my official exit permit.

Next step was talking to the captain. He seemed to be fine with it and just mentioned tomorrow morning, tomorrow morning. A clear sign that it is not as safe as it seems. But what could I do? Anyway I was allowed/had to sleep next to the commander office.

Where is Walter?

Before hitting the bed I made an excursion to the opposite beach. La Miel has two beaches. One with the duty free and one full of garbage. And two houses. On of it was Jimmy’s, an American. The other one was Walter, a Colombian who wants to create something there. Jimmy wasn’t around (I expected that since two acquaintances had been living there some weeks before) but Walter was.

I have to give you lovely regards from Walter, I promised to mentioned this here. Walter lives there on the beach with two cats, a dog and a self-dug fishing pond with 13 islands, each populated by 1-3 palms. Looks like a small swamp. He had dug that monstrous pit all alone with a shovel. Also there was a horse and various unfinished projects.

So I was hanging around with Walter in a hammock and we had good conversation. At some point the rum made it into his hands (that’s good for chilling), a coconut was opened (he had a lot of them) including nearly a loss of one of his fingers through an overconfident use of the machete. While smearing blood everywhere he conjured a cocktail with fresh coconut milk. Sun was setting slowly and we had some fried Bananas, with Tuna, Mayonnaise and Ketchup. Sounds awkward, was very tasty.

Walter is a good-hearted person and I was told to tell the world that he is eager to meet people, has a lot of space and charity and a very lonely existence at the end of the world. I am sure he likes to host people, doesn’t want money, and if you need information write to me. I promised that to him and maybe I will go there again by myself. And to be honest: The guy deserves a woman. He’s an awesome and caring person.

Catchin da lift!

This corner of the world, within the Darien Gap, is definitely remote and beautiful. No cars but roaring subwoofers in all villages. Maybe some time ago a subwoofer agent came through and sold them all every second house superb overdimensioned sound systems. Each village seems to have a sound system to sonificate at least 5000 persons running all day long with 10-20 village-people in front of it drinking beer listening to Caribbean music. It’s interesting as long as you don’t have to sleep in front of it. Which I had. On my forced campsite next to the military office. It was hard to get some sleep. But: The next morning the cargo ship will leave. Fact. I planned on getting up at 6 to not miss that. And I had no alarm clock so I had the get up somehow before 6 to pack my stuff to get my next ride. That one was everything but guaranteed…

Der Beitrag Hitchhiking around the Darien Gap – Jungle Fever erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

General

Since 20th October 2014 i hitchhiked more than 36968,2 km. I had more than 405 Lifts, had to wait in average 23 minutes and 34 seconds and waited in total 182 hours and 39 minutes (which is about 7,5 days). I don´t wanna miss any of those minutes.

The Best

Is…Tenerife. 21 lifts i catched together with Hanna on this beautiful island. 8 minutes and 12 seconds we had to wait in average. I think Lanzarote was even better, but it was before i started with my documentation.
For South America the country with the best statistics is Ecudaor. 14 minutes and 30 seconds in average, till a car stopped and picked me up. 21 lifts in total and nearly 1000 km might not be that representative. But anyway.

The Positive Suprise

Brazil felt like Spain and Italy together. Totally shit. But the numbers speak another message. 15 minutes and 15 seconds average waiting time are close to the values of Ecuador. I catched 44 Lifts and did 6550 km through Brazil, which has definitely a higher represantation than Ecuador. Feelings might be wrong, numbers aren´t in this case. I don´t know how this can be so good, but during my Brazil crossing i felt like i had to walk at least one hour for every lift. Seems like i didn´t.

Mistaken

Totally overrated was Argentina on the other hand. For me one of the best country for hitchhiking in South America. Probably because of the Free WiFi in the gas stations and the comftable mix of warm roads, acceptable food, long ways and Internet. But the numbers are quite sobering. 34 minutes and 50 seconds average waiting time is the second worst for all my countries so far. I have to add, that i did alot of night hitchhiking in Argentina and this might have affected this value. With 8045 km it is also the country which i hitchhiked the biggest distance in. Also 84 lifts represent a big part of my catched cars so far.

The Worst

Definitely Colombia. Not even in the stats, but also how it felt. Don´t get me wrong, Colombia is a beautiful country, nice people, stunning landscape but moving here is just a pain in the ass. 48 minutes average waiting time. Can´t get worser. Allthough i had only in Venezuela less lifts than in Colombia. 943 km is the least distance i did from all countries in South America. But honestly, i doubt that this stast would get better if i make more distance here. Just a feeling. The reasons for this „hitchhiking-disaster“ im going to discuss in my „Hitchhiking in… – Colombia“ article.

My Secret Favourite…

…for hitchhiking in South America is not Chile…..but Uruguay. 88 Lifts: Its the country where i had the most cars and with 2689 km we find it in the upper midfield of the distances. The average waiting time was with 19 minutes and 42 seconds quite good. Even better if we take in account, that most of the time i was with Ralf together as a men/men team. Fucking good time, good job buddy. Also the country where i hitchhiked my first Cargo Train (hitchhiked and not hopped) and beside Syria the place where i got the most of my lovely Pick-Up rides. Unfortunately riding with Pick-Ups is freshly banned by the government, but let´s hope, that the Uruguayans take this law with the same „We don´t give a shit“-attitude as they take the rest of their lifes and still stop to pick up hitchhikers. Just so much fun there.

This table is fucking nice, isnt it?

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Der Beitrag Hitchhiking in South America – Statistically conclusions of my South America crossing erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.