The 'bus stop' for Minca, in the nearest large town, Santa Marta
So, after a trouble-free, but hot shuttle bus journey from Cartagena, with 4 other travellers, we reached the workaday town of Santa Marta to pick up the bus to Minca. The shuttle bus driver dropped us off, gesturing vaguely along the dusty, chaotic street when we asked where to pick up the bus. Anna was desperate for the bathroom, but the only restaurant in the street was closed, and no public toilets, so legs crossed, we hunted for the bus station, before finally, after asking several locals, we realised that the 'bus station' was a snack stall with music blaring at 10 000 decibels where the collectivo vans stop, setting off only when they are crammed with passengers. The decrepit van arrived, painted signs on the side boasting wi-fi, air-con, refreshments, world peace (well, that's just as unrealistic)..... When we laughingly queried these claims with the driver, at the top of our voices over the ear-shattering music, he pointed to the van's open windows: 'aire' (air-con), he guffawed.
Street corner opposite the 'bus station'
At 600m, in the Sierra Nevada above Santa Marta, Minca is a small, but fast-growing village in the mountains, formerly known for its organic coffee and clean mountain air, but now for its hiking and biking opportunities and fun hostel scene. The village centre is crowded, dusty and bustling and on arrival travellers are besieged by moto-taxi drivers offering rides up the mountain to the highly popular hostels perched high above the village. It was a bit of a shock, having read the description in the guide books of this quiet, idyllic little village which provides a welcome break from the road. But, repeating our mantra 'never judge a place on arrival' we hiked up a dusty path to our reserved, recommended hostel, El Colibri, two other travellers in hot pursuit. We had wanted to stay in one of the hostels in the mountains, but they were all fully booked, so we planned 2 days in town, followed by a few days in the mountains when there was hostel availability. This is testament to the rapid growth in popularity among backpackers of little Minca, which seems to be struggling to retain its identity in the midst of it all.
Beautiful tropical flowers for sale outside the village church
Arriving at our hostel, one of the travellers hiking up the hill with us nearly knocked Anna over in an attempt to reach the hostel ahead of us to secure a room. They were turned away as there was no availability. We felt not a little smug as we declared 'Tenemos una reservacion' (We have a reservation).
The walls of our room consisted of bamboo sticks with big gaps between and one wall was shared with the communal bathroom - we closed our ears and averted our eyes every time another traveller paid a visit and whistled loudly when we did!
We found this little local cafe for breakfast
Avoiding the gringo haunts, we ate in this local cafe, frequented by workers who added their bills to their tabs, to the consternation of the funny, feisty woman who ran the cafe, who implored them to pay up! It must have been a novelty to serve a) gringos and b) people who pay immediately! The food was great, as was the locally grown hot chocolate. Alan had coffee and she refused to let him have it without sugar, it was just not allowed - it's not healthy, she said! She was also most concerned that we don't eat meat, so gave us lashings of cheese to compensate.
Local policeman tucking into his breakfast
Bet they don't pay up, either
Our stay in Minca village coincided with the weekend. The village partied hard - little sleep was had on either night; traditional music blasting from every home, restaurant and bar, joined at random intervals, it seemed, by church bells, plus the incredibly loud, high-pitched monotone of the cicadas. It was like the loudest feedback ever and went on all day, intensifying at night. Everyone had to shout to make themselves heard above the din. Cicadas usually make a nice chirruping noise, don't they?!
Two days later, we took the hair-raising motorbike taxi ride up the precipitous mountain track to our next hostel, the lovely, friendly La Fuente. On separate bikes, without helmets, backpacks on our backs, affecting our balance, up dusty, rocky tracks, our sweaty hands kept slipping from the handles at the back of the saddle, losing our grip. We don't scare easily, but OMG. Alan, in front, appeared calm, but it was apparently an illusion! I (Anna) pleaded with the driver on several occasions 'mas despacio, por favor!' (slower please!) and finally 'Tengo miedo!' (I'm scared!) to which he replied 'Esta bien, señora' (it's fine, madam') 'NO esta bien' (it's NOT fine!) as I almost fell off.... Finally we arrived at La Fuente, to a lovely volunteer offering us a drink (water or juice, unfortunately, I could have done with something much stronger), our knees shaking as we dismounted. We vowed then and there that we would hike back to Minca when we leave, or stay on the mountain forever! The stunning setting and a delicious taco lunch, cooked with love by the Finnish chef, Jussi, revived us and almost made it worth the ordeal.
Jussi , a true one-off, creating deliciousness in the kitchen
La Fuente is a small hostel, with a couple of private rooms, and several tents, set mostly along the banks of the picturesque river which runs through the grounds. The tree and flower-filled gardens are beautiful and birds abound. At night we walked down to the river and gazed at the stars above and the glow worms below, like reflections. Magical.
Alan in the river valley near the hostel
Wasps' nest near the river
The flower of the maracuya, or passionfruit, one of several fruits growing at the hostel
Just to remind us that, although this seemed like paradise, it was the jungle after all, with the attendant critters and bugs. Very soon after arriving, our feet and legs were covered in angry, itchy red marks, and some tiny spots of blood, though we hadn't seen any mosquitoes and it was still daytime. What exotic creatures could be attacking us? Sandflies, we were told, invisible, numerous and resistant to most insect repellents. We bought some hardcore stuff in the form of a soap from the hostel owner, which did the trick. No more bites.
Ouch! Alan's foot - nothing usually bites him, but those pesky sandflies are not particular...
Little bees in the hostel grounds, using their wings to create an airflow and regulate the temperature inside the hive
One of next door's very free-range chickens strutting around the hostel
Days were spent hiking to the nearby waterfall, Marinka, and to the natural pools, where tourists, gringo and Colombian, dared each other to jump from the top of the waterfall into the chilly water below. Marinka was so close that we hiked there every day, once very early to be there alone and witness the beauty without others around. However, we had not accounted for the fact that early mornings and evenings are quite fresh and it was far too cold to swim, especially as the sun had not reached it yet! The very friendly staff, who were getting to know us by that time, thought it was hilarious and made us a cup of delicious local coffee to warm our cockles.
Pozo azul, a sacred indigenous site of the Kogi people
Giant endemic bamboo, guadua, by the mountain path, growing to 19 metres tall
Stunning flower on the way to the waterfall
Go on - get in, you wuss!
The impressive and beautiful Marinka waterfall
Candela, one of the hostel dogs who accompanied us on our short hikes
Between them, the owners of La Fuente, a Colombian woman, Lady, and her British husband, Duncan, have a wealth of knowledge about the flora, fauna, geography and politics of Colombia. Duncan leads 3-4 day bushcraft tours where the participants learn to survive in the jungle. A kind of Colombian-based Ray Mears. We quizzed them on so many aspects of Colombian life, nature and politics and they were happy to share what they know. They shed some light on the incredible sound produced by the male cicadas. These particular insects, it seems, spend 17 years underground and when they emerge, have 2-3 days to live and procreate, before dying. I think I'd make a bloody racket, too!
Huge cicada - make the most of it - time is short (our philosophy exactly!)
Cicada wings - their corpses and wings are everywhere
That explained why there were hundreds of them on the ground dead or dying. The delightful, but ruthless hostel kitten, Minnie, caught several of the hapless creatures, each buzzing frantically in her little jaws as they tried to escape. Cruel, but very funny to witness.
Minnie, looking as if butter wouldn't melt.... Exhausted by all that cicada hunting
One day we did the 5-6 hour circular hike up to the very popular hostel. Casa Elemento, further up the mountain, then up to Los Pinos, a view point way above, then down through coffee farms and gorgeously scenic countryside. A great day.
Giant hammock at Casa Elemento
Us on the immense hammock, with fantastic views of the Sierra Nevada
The other La Fuente hostel dog, who accompanied us on all our hikes
He waited for us while we ate lunch and guided us on the way down when the path became indistinct. Gracias, lovely perro.
Los pinos (the pine trees) viewpoint, at 1600 metres
The nearest big town of Santa Marta just visible (right) on the horizon
Exhausted hostel dog after our hike - guiding gringos is hard work
The volunteers at La Fuente were all so friendly and inclusive. Many hostels are staffed mostly by volunteers and they can make or break a hostel experience. One evening some of the guests, the owners and volunteers ventured down the mountain path, illuminated by our headtorches, to go to a local festival. The local band who played wild, percussive, African influenced music on traditional instruments, was fantastic. The open air venue was packed with locals, ex-pats, children, travellers and more hippies than we'd seen for ages. Almost everyone danced and, over in the corner, we spotted Ingrid, a local woman who does all kinds of jobs around the hostel, in a big group, dancing up a storm with a young man. Wow, can she dance! Elegant older men were dancing with young fashionistas, gringos with locals, every combination; it was bloody brilliant. I had a go, attempting to copy the steps of all the amazing dancers, but chickened out when a Colombian guy who could throw some serious shapes asked me to dance with him! The infectious, mesmeric music, we learned later, was gaita, literally 'pipe' named after the didgeridoo-like main instrument. After much dancing and beer, we and the owners shared a jeep taxi back up the mountain. The volunteers, though, stayed till 4.30am and it was still going strong.
Sweet 'rain'
Every time we ventured out for hikes, despite a clear blue sky, we were rained on, often, and just for a few seconds. Puzzled, we asked Duncan what it was and, though he'd noticed it too, he had no idea what caused it. We postulated: sap falling from the trees (unlikely), transpiration dripping from the leaves, or... Fly pee? Duncan set his mind to investigating this phenomenon. Returning thirsty from a hike one day we headed for the bar and he triumphantly pulled out his phone and showed us this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXrZRsoItf8&sns=em
Yep, it was cicada pee! Those big guys mentioned above! Yuk. Apparently, it tastes sweet, as it's sap consumed by the cicadas from the trees they live in, but we declined to test this out and, luckily we didn't get a mouthful of it as we looked skyward to investigate.
We had a great time in Minca: friendly hostel serving delicious food, jungle, hikes, birds, dogs and cats, insect urine precipitation, massive hammocks, crazy music and dancing and... I had my first gin and tonic (at the hostel) for 9 months! Now, that's what I call a good time.
Next post: Beach, belly bugs and blistering heat: Santa Marta coast and Valledupar (Colombia)
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