Annnnnyway, a couple of years back, on my trip to Colombia, my friends and I rappelled down into a big hole in the ground. It was sixty meters deep and lead to a cavern full of bats, stalactites, and stalagmites.
The well-farmed (but lovely) countryside surrounding Villa de Lleyva, where we went rappelling
This is a big hole! I think I will lower myself down into it with only a rope to hold onto. *Good ideas*
Our very sweet colombiano guide
I was naturally the first one down (so excited!)
But the others also made it safely (although not without some tears from my sister, who was frightened)
“You ‘might’ trip over a stalagmite!”
Felipe! It was too dark for many photos…and my camera was getting covered in mud, as you can tell.
I was the last one out…
My sister is pretty in pink!
I thought this climb was super fun, but my sister had different opinions. (Later, at a family gathering, she told everyone that she had “nearly died”. I snorted, and had to pretend to be choking on my drink.)
Nonetheless, the climb out was the hardest climb I’ve ever done. Most of the cliff face was sheer, slick mud with no purchase, so it was just rope climbing until you reached the roots, which helped a lot. When we got to the top, we all lay around in a sweaty, panting pile for a little while.
This is a horse show I saw a couple of years back at a small finca theme park called Panaca near Bogota. The photos are not very good because a) they are old and I was even worse at photography than I am now b) I had a cheap camera and c) it was rainy. Still, I thought it would be fun to share today.
When we were traveling in Colombia, we wanted to hike up to Lago Iguaque, a lake at the top of a 3,600 m mountain in a national park. (See this post for photos of the hike)
We were staying at Hostal Renacer in Villa de Lleyva (by the way, one of the nicest backpackers that I have ever stayed at…and I have stayed at a few!) that offered a guide and a ride up to the mountain. So we crammed the five of us (a driver, our guide, and us three turistas) into a tiny Jeep and chatted as we bounced along on the rough roads for 45 minutes.
We enjoyed our lovely hike and, at the end of the day we returned to the bottom of the mountain to await our ride home. As we waited, four other hikers desperately raced up to us. “Help!” they pleaded, “We missed the last bus back to Villa de Lleyva, and we’ll be stuck on the mountain unless you can give us a ride back.”
My companions and I exchanged glances. It had been crowded with only three of us in the back of that little vehicle. How would we fit four more people? We were even more alarmed when it arrived and we saw that the driver had brought a friend to fill the front seat. But what could we do? We could not leave these poor hikers on the mountain. We had to find a way to fit eight people into a space designed for two.
On the way back, we were (all of us sweaty from hiking all day, and covered in barro (mud) from the mountain) crammed so tightly that I could move nothing but my right arm from the elbow down. Someone I did not know was sitting rather apologetically on my left knee and was packed tightly in against my shoulder, effectively immobilising that side of my body.
Our driver, a Spaniard, rather enjoyed the groans and grunts of pain that echoed from the mass of backpacker flesh as he hit every pothole. Of course, we were wiling to laugh at ourselves as well. It was a ridiculous situation, after all.
After the painfully long 45 minute ride back, the driver opened the back of the car and we came spilling out in a tangle of stiff arms and legs. As we lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, I couldn’t help but say, “I really feel, guys, that I have gotten to know you all quite well.”
Zipaquirá is a small town north of Bogotá in Colombia.
It is a pretty little town, even when cloudy.
Another view of the town.
Zipaquirá is mostly a tourist town for Colombians that are making the pilgrimage to la Catedral Sal, or the Salt Cathedral. Many travel to Zipaquirá by train and although we traveled by bus from Bogotá, we had to get touristy photos in front of it.
My older sister and Felipe, our colombiano friend in front of the train.
La Catedral Sal was originally a salt mine, used even by the pre-Columbus Muisca culture. In the early 1800′s, it was one of the biggest salt mines in the world. The original cathedral was built by the miners for their own use, but was unsafe because of structural problems. It was revamped in the 1990′s. The mine is no longer active, and the cathedral lacks a bishop (therefore not an official cathedral in the Catholic church), so it is primarily a tourist attraction.
My sister standing at the entrance to the cathedral.
Most of the tourists were Colombians. I think is a cultural and spiritual trip for them. The cathedral certainly is a beautiful and mystical place.
One of the smaller inner chapels.
Salt patterns in the walls. This actually might be the ceililng, but I can’t remember.
Felipe under the cross in the main chapel. It is lit from below and throws a cross shadow on the ceiling. I like the random person standing in the cross, photobombing.
Iguaque national park is a beautiful natural area set high in the Andes mountains in the departmento Boyacá of Colombia. It is north and just a tad east of Bogotá, near Villa de Leyva.
Bogota (red star) and Iguaque (green star) in Colombia
The national park was founded to protect the Lake (Lago Iguaque), which is a sacred site. According to Muisca legends, Iguaque was where the goddess Bachué came down to create mankind. It is sometimes called the cradle of the gods.
The lake is also a pretty special ecological site. The park protects the entire mountain, which starts with rainforest
The classic rainforest creek. I have a similar photo from every rainforest I have visited.
and works its way into cloud forest
Finally, above about 3,000 m (9,842 ft), the forest gives way to a grassy páramo. Also, the most diverse alpine meadow I have ever seen.
But, as lovely as these botanical things are, the lake at 3600 m (11,800 ft) is really the prize to behold, nestled as it is in a breathtaking Andes vista.
Lago Iguaque, 3,600 m
Where would I be without my good colombiano friend?
I’m allergic to photographs of myself. It’s true, when I see a camera pointed at me, I often have a violent allergic reaction and have to remove myself from the proximity of the camera for the near future. This has resulted in a number of photographs of my friends with their arms around the open air, a biking photograph with everyone standing next to their bicycle and…my bicycle standing by itself, and a lab photo with one empty chair, etc.
I could go into the reasons behind this allergy, but that’s not the point of this post. The point is that my feet are not allergic to photos (or anything that I know of, given that I run barefoot), and so one of my favorite things to do is take what I fondly call “boot shots”. Essentially, a photograph of my foot, in a boot (very loosely applied, often) in an interesting location. The purpose of this is not only to prove that I was in the numerous locations I mention in my stories, but also to give some context for the site. I don’t really know when or why I started doing this, and goodness knows I haven’t been consistent about it, so there are many mountains that I have climbed that you will just have to take my word for (remember, Scout’s honor!).
But I thought I’d keep a running (pun intended!) gallery here of boot shots for your (potential?) enjoyment. Here they are, in no particular order:
Mount Maroon, Queensland, Australia
Pikes Peak, Colorado Springs, CO, USA
Fire Tower, Spruce Gap, Pennsylvania, USA
With my sister's boot and the Andes mountains, Iguaque, Colombia
Spelunking down a 60 meter hole, near Villa de Leyva, Colombia
Lady Slipper orchid in Black Moshannon State Park, Pennyslvania, USA
Mount Wellington, Tasmania, Australia
With a very tolerant friend, Laurel Run, Pennsylvania, USA
Same friend, less patience, Golden Eagle, Pennsylvania, USA