I'm in South America at last, Medellin in Colombia to be precise. Two golden rules were broken to get here though, riding at night in Colombia and swearing at other drivers ;) More on that in a moment.
I'd had an uneventful flight from Panama City to Bogota, it only takes an hour and a half and by the time lunch and drinks were served we were on approach :) I had no trouble at all with customs and immigration, and I was reminded just how easy it is to enter a country by plane, instead of crossing land borders with a bike. I'd kind of forgotten.
I got pounced on as soon as I left the arrivals lounge by people touting for hotel business, which actually suited me as I felt like staying somewhere decent and didn't have a clue where there might BE somewhere decent. Planning... I had even forgotten to check what sort of rate of exchange I should expect for Pesos, as Panama utilises the US Dollar I'd got used to just carrying just dollars surprisingly quickly. I picked a hotel guy and went to change some money for the cab. The hotel turned out to be really nice and not hyper expensive like some of the big name hotels in Central America. I booked two nights which would allow me to return to the airport to try to collect the bike the following day.
After I'd said goodbye to the bike on the previous Friday, talking to it like it was a basketball and I was Tom Hanks in the movie Castaway, I'd kind of worried what sort of state it would arrive in Bogota. After a decent night's sleep I decided I would make sure I was back at the airport at a reasonable time so as not to catch everyone at lunch. Again. The hotel offered a free shuttle to the airport, but I think if the poor driver knew what he was letting himself in for he'd have run a mile at the sight of the cheerful English chap dressed in his bike gear.
Instead he ran me out to the airport's cargo terminal, then we found the Girag warehouse at the second attempt (there are two, on opposite sides of the road). Rather than dump me and run, the driver stayed and waited whilst I got the bike forms from Girag, just as well as I then had to run them over to Customs, again the other side of the main road, maybe a half a mile as the crow flies. Arriving at customs, having a Spanish speaking friend proved to be fortuitous. The driver spoke no English, but he did speak Spanish really slowly (used to tourists!) and he knew what I was trying to achieve. So he went to town to make sure someone would help me out.
Unfortunately it turned out that someone was not in the office yet. It was around 10am. I was trying to ask if the person was at breakfast, but no one seemed to know. The answer that kept coming back was just that we should wait. Two hours went past, and my driver friend was fretting and looking at his watch. "Mucho tiempo" he kept saying, shaking his head in disgust. But he stayed. Eventually the relevant woman strolled in like she had all the time in the world, aside from me there were a half dozen people, all of whom arrived after me, that she needed to sort out. There was a bit of queue jumping going on and a couple of people got in front of me, then the lady took a call on her cellphone, and had a little chat about bug repellant with her colleague whilst we all waited. She was easily the least efficient person I've ever met.
Meantime I'd struck up a friendship with a Colombian chap in the queue who wanted to know all about London. He spoke good English and was planning on visiting Europe next month to demo a new type of self-pasting toothbrush, which he insisted on showing me. He was about the most enthusiastic and friendly guy I've ever met, and I wished him a lot of luck.
After finally getting the forms signed it was back to Girag to find the bike. Much form signing and ID producing later, and a pat down for guns at the door (which happens at every public building in Bogota it seems) and Red5 and I were reunited. The bike wouldn't start after I reconnected the battery, but it just seemed to have stuck in gear and that was easily sorted. Other than that all looked well. Then came trying to get the bike out of the warehouse... which was a raised platform with no way down. The staff opened up the office area doors and the front door to the building, so I rode through office corridors and down the front steps to get out! A few months ago I couldn't have done that, I guess my bike handling is improving.
Then Mr Toothbrush turned up to pick something up from Girag too, and we had a good laugh about my bike slalom to get out. We wished each other well and my driver friend then led the way back to customs one more time, to drop off form copies, before finally heading back to the hotel. It had taken a little under four hours, but the only cost was a big tip for the driver. Once I had the bike back I started to get a bit nervous about riding again, not helped by the English speaking reception girl "you will RIDE to Medellin?? That's craaaayzeee". I didn't want to ask why :)
Next morning it was tough to leave the nice hotel, knowing I had to find my way through a city of ten million people and find the road to Medellin. A check online had revealed that I had maybe 410km to do, which I thought I would knock off in six hours. So it was 10.30am when I left the hotel. The driver I'd been through so much with the previous day came over as I was preparing to leave with directions to Medellin. They turned out to be really useful as I got a bit lost in Bogota! The driving was collectively the worst I've encountered, shamefully I think bikes being the worst offenders. Cars stopped or broken down on the road, occasional horse and cart, no lane order, suicidal last second pulling out, and bikes constantly sitting in my blind spots (on both sides) had me twitching about, nervously trying to avoid everyone. The main road to Medellin started pretty well, a nice quiet stretch of road through some beautiful countryside, once I'd left the sprawl of Bogota. It then wound up into the mountains and the tight, twisty, potholed road combined with heavy lorry traffic crawling along meant that no one was going anywhere fast. It took me three hours to reach Honda, about 100Km away. During that part of the trip I had more near misses than I could count. It seems that lorries using your lane to overtake other lorries is an accepted part of life, and people frequently have to swerve, or stop to let it happen. Colombia is beautiful. Really lovely. It's just annoying not to be able to take your eyes off the road for a second to enjoy it!
Leaving Honda I was hot - Bogota had been cool enough to have me wearing a fleece for the first time in ages - but now I was lower down and the sun was out. Plus the going was far too slow to generate a cool breeze. I knew I was in trouble time wise if I wanted to make Medellin, so I stopped only once to get a drink. Military checkpoints near La Dorada congested everything to a standstill, and whilst following all the other bikes down the gutter I managed to drop the bike, whilst completely stationary and trying to climb the curb. So much for improved bike handling ;) The road north from there was better and I started to make time, but in my mind I knew it would be dark before I reached Medellin.
Taking a road west towards the city, I was shocked to see that as it climbed into the mountains there was a much heavier military presence - everywhere else the police were in evidence rather than the army. I passed a line of army bikes, with pillions carrying long rifles. At every bridge or small village there were a couple of sandbagged gun emplacements, but the soldiers were really friendly and a lot of them would nod or wave. Finally towards the summit I passed a tank in a gas station, maneuvering out onto the road. By this stage it was getting dark, and I kept trying to think happy thoughts rather than that I was riding after sunset in the wilds of Colombia. Too many Hollywood movies and gloomy news stories probably ;)
By the time I was within a few dozen kilometers of Medellin the road had turned into dual carriageway and was easier to ride, although roadworks still kept the speeds down. Vehicles were constantly jostling and trying to be where I was, and by this stage my frustration at being on the road for nine hours, added to probable dehydration meant that several drivers got a variety of fingers. I promised myself I wasn't going to do that on this trip... not only is it not clever but you never know who is carrying a gun (especially in the US) ;) For the first time in a long time though I could see the stars, and a sliver of moon. Then passing through a tunnel I got my first sight of Medellin, and it was almost worth the long day. I was several thousand meters up, and could just see all the lights of Medellin in the valley below, a view normally reserved for passengers on night flights.
The pitch dark didn't help riding around Medellin, I pulled over and asked a couple of military police where there was a decent hotel. They didn't really understand me (nor I them!) but when they asked where I was from and found out England, their mouths dropped open rather comically. They shook my hand and I headed off, still clueless. Eventually I paid a cabbie to lead me to "un grande hotel". It was 9.30pm when I finally got off the bike.
This morning I heard what sounded like gunfire across the valley, it could have been anything of course but shortly afterward there was a helicopter and some sirens. Medellin however seems nice enough - perhaps the surrounding area is a bit dodgy. I'm going to take a few days here and have a think about whether I really want to ride to Cartagena. I'm not relishing the thought of those roads!
Happy Halloween.
Frase.
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