SIGHTS: stars, mountains, clouds
SMELLS wet grass, rue, decomposing fruit
SOUNDS: fluttering wings, music, crested oropendolas
FEELS: ants, dirt, damp
TASTES: avocado, calzones, bananas
As I made my way down the long, rocky driveway, I noticed a child holding a water gun feet in front of me. He asked me a question in Spanish, but all I could understand was the word "agua" (water). I assumed he was asking if I wanted to get sprayed with his water gun in a generous effort to cool-down from the afternoon sun, and so I politely replied "No gracias," thinking about the cell phone in my pocket. He gave me a smile as I rounded the corner and turned onto the main street. As I looked up, I suddenly understood what the young boy had said to me...
What Came Next
Medellín was kind to me. It opened me up to the exaggerated proportioned-world of Fernando Botero; helped me practice my Spanish; showed me that I do have rhythm...I just need to work really, really hard to dance with it; slowly acclimated me to a life without some modern comforts, such as hot water and toilet paper; and guided me to the next cornerstones in my Colombian travels.
I spent my last day in the Antioquia Department chasing some lofty dreams...
...conquering my fear of heights. And what better way to do it than to soar thousands of
feet in the open air? That's right. I paraglided (ok, so apparently "paraglided" isn't a word...and neither is paraglode or paraglid...so I'm gonna go with: paraglew). I have many friends who have paraglew, and I've grown quite envious of their ability to literally fly in the air, and so I decided to conduct my own exposure therapy and book a paragliding tour with Ecoventure tour agency.
The experience was [pause for dramatic effect...] life changing. I hope to always remember how it felt to see the tree canopy beneath my feet, and the cascading waterfalls within grasp. My final day in the region had an epic start, which was followed by a gorgeous hike up the Piedra de Peñol, and ended with an endearing tour of Guatapé, a city known for their brightly painted buildings and intricate zocalos.
After leaving the Antioquia Department, I hopped over (and by that, I mean took a 12-hour bus ride) to Bogotá, where I met up with my friend Karen, who I know from the Bay Area and was so excited to see. As a traveller, you often engage in the same conversations with country-natives and fellow travelers (what's your name, where are you from, how long are you traveling, what's "zucchini" in your native language, etc.), and so having someone who knows you grants the opportunity for you to be your authentic, weird self!
Bogotá was dominated by engaging art and history museums, impressive architecture, enchanting street art, new plant and animal species for me to geek out about, and gorgeous views of the city cradled by the surrounding mountains.
After Bogotá, I continued my travels south and took a couple of days in Filandia, a small town in the country's coffee region in the Quindío Department. The town's name originates from the Latin route word "filia" meaning "daughter," and "Andia" from the bordering topography of the Andes, therefore, Filandia is the daughter of the Andes.
I originally anticipated my days in Filandia to be solitary, but was pleasantly surprised when I connected with other like-minded travelers along the way. I first met an Italian man on holiday from medical school. He's fluent in Spanish, and was an immense help as we traveled from Bogotá. When we arrived in Filandia, he opted for a nearby coffee farm tour, while I decided to explore the small town by foot. In my wandering, I stumbled upon a 9-story structure high up on a hill named the "Mirador Colina Iluminada" or the "Illuminated Hill Viewpoint." Each level of the viewpoint not only provides awe-inspiring panoramic views of the 12 municipalities of the Quindío Department, but also contains informational plaques about each municipality and the history of the indigenous Quimbaya people.
Once the Italian and I returned from our independent adventures, we decided to band together for a communal one: a hunt for an elusive, Filandian favorite waterfall. Although we were unsuccessful in our endeavors (some local gems are best kept secret), we did share a lovely walk and conversation.
The following day I ventured to the Valle de Cocora, a valley host to a large population of Colombia's national tree (and the tallest palm tree in the world): the Quindío wax palm.
This palm species is threatened mostly due to the deforestation of Andean forests in exchange for agricultural land (there was a period of time when Quindío wax palms were widely used for celebrating the Catholic tradition of Palm Sunday, however, that custom is hardly practiced anymore). The Colombian government has started efforts to protect the surviving trees, which is why the Valle de Cocora exists as a national park.
The towering truffula-esque trees immediately greeted me upon arrival to the valley. After quickly making my way through the Instagram photo shoot area (I'm guilty of it too...) I decided to take the 5-hour hike up the mountain and through the Andean cloud forest. Groves of giant horsetail (a "living fossil" and one of my favorite herbs), bromeliads over 8-feet tall and wide, and moss and ferns as far as the eye could see put me into my happy place.
Half-way through the hike, I met a group of misfit toys (some other solo travelers) and I was warmly welcomed into the internationally-mixed group. After fording a few streams and crossing several rope bridges, we stopped at a beautiful waterfall for a quick breather. Once our hike ended, we exchanged contact information and said our goodbyes, though another solo female traveler and I stayed together and hitched a ride back into town on the back of a Jeep. She is originally from Romania, though is a seasoned traveler and currently lives in Belgium. Her outpouring zealous for life and adventure immediately was refreshing, and I'm grateful to have gotten to know her on our way back to Salento.
Before I decided on Filandia, I was first tempted to visit Salento, a larger town that's closer to the Valle de Cocora. Luckily, I had a chance encounter with a Colombian who raved about Filandia and assured me that it attracted less tourists and held more authenticity. This sounded perfect after spending two weeks in major Colombian cities, and was completely validated by my positive experience in Filandia.
From Filandia, I continued by bus through the Quindío Department (where I engaged in a life-changing conversation with the person sitting next to me...but that's a story for another day), and eventually arrived in Putumayo Department's capital, Mocoa.
More of Mocoa
Mocoa isn't a destination for most people visiting Colombia. The main tourist attractions center around the beautiful lakes, rivers, lagoons, and waterfalls--the most popular of which is called "Fin del Mundo" or "End of the World." But that's not what brought me to Mocoa...
This year of travel is not a vacation. I hope to be intentional in my actions and use this year to grow (both as a person, and you know...grow things in the ground). I want to learn from and contribute to our world, and plan to do this by joining socially and sustainably responsible communities in each place I visit. There are amazing people doing incredible things all over the world and I feel extremely thankful to live in an age where we can easily connect through websites such as WorkAway...
...and that's what brought me to Mocoa.
A crowded bus station welcomed me after a sleepless night of travel, and my not-so-coherent-brain thought it would be a good idea to walk around town and shop for groceries before heading to my lodging.
Luckily a large produce market sits next to the bus station, and me and my very large pack walked through the narrow rows of fruits and vegetables, knocking some down as I confusedly turned in each direction. My image worsened when I was ready to make my purchases and nervously forgot how to speak a word of Spanish and resorted to exaggerated hand motions (that resulted in even more produce falls). Despite my awkward beginnings, everyone was gracious and patient with me and even remembered me when I returned to the market sans pack (apparently I left quite an impression).
There was an endless stream of offers, from helping me to find something to offering me a ride, my experiences with the people of Mocoa remained positive throughout my two weeks there, but the deepest connection I made was with my host and his family.
Ricardo, my host, practices ancestral plant medicine, and offers his area to volunteers to help with natural building projects and opportunities to learn about different plants and how they were traditionally used by indigenous tribes. The knowledge that Ricardo and his wife, Jimena, imparted to me remains sacred. As much as I want to share what I learned, I think the power and value of their lessons is held in those experiences of which I cherish, and will not translate in written word.
There were six other volunteers when I first arrived, and very quickly became a nurturing family of like-minded souls. On Christmas Eve we feasted on delicious pizza and calzones (there were literally two Italian chefs in the house), played cards in candlelight, and sang (mostly Beatles songs) accompanied by a small guitar. In the morning, the two girls from the Netherlands made pannenkoeken (pancakes) and another volunteer brilliantly crafted an archery bow to easily whip cream (after an hour of each of us furiously whisked the still liquid cream). It was the second Christmas I ever celebrated as a Jew, and it was perfect.
The other volunteers sadly left soon after Christmas, but we spent our last night together sleeping out under a cloudless, new moon sky and watching for shooting stars until we drifted into sleep. I spent the next three days alone on the farm after they left, with only the dogs, cats, and birds to keep me company...
Water We Doing, Again?
After a day and a half of no human interaction and lots of Spanish practice with my new friends (the dogs and cats), I was ready to venture into town. That's when I ran into the kid with the water gun.
On December 28th, residents of Mocoa celebrate "Dia de los Santos Inocentes," or "Holy Innocents Day." Despite the horrific history (of which I'll leave up to Wikipedia to explain), it's a holiday that is worshipped with lightheartedness and whimsy; an equivalent to April Fool's Day.
Dia de los Santos Inocentes is a day to make jokes and pull pranks, a tradition that originates in Spain and remains in most Spanish-speaking countries. The holiday is honored differently in each Latin country, and in the Putumayo Department of Colombia (where Mocoa is the capital), Dia de los Santos Inocentes has morphed into "Carnaval del Agua," or "The Carnival of Water."
For over 80 years, Mocoa residents spend each 28th of December standing outside their homes and throwing water at oncoming people on motorbike or foot. The center of town transforms into an epic battleground for extreme water fights, and the day ends with music and celebration well into the night.
I was not aware of this beautiful tradition when I began my hour-long walk into town on December 28th. In fact, the only thing that was on my mind as I left the house was: I think I'm going to beat the rain...
...and my main motivation for going into town was to buy more groceries, and so what better place to show up sopping wet and confused than the produce market?
It felt serendipitous to ignorantly walk into this tradition because it granted me the opportunity to learn about a unique part of Colombian that isn't found in most guidebooks (though it's is slightly more elaborated in the local newspaper). I wasn't able to stay in Mocoa for their true Carnaval celebration, but feel honored to have gotten a glimpse into this culture...and to have provided lots of satisfaction and smiles from Mocoan residents who got to throw a bucket of water onto an American.
Molasses and Mineral Salts
After a lot of time alone with my thoughts, I was thrilled when another volunteer arrived from Germany. I was so excited, in fact, that I stood at the gate waiting for him and Ricardo to drive-up...like a dog...
My socially-inept self wasn't too off-putting for the new volunteer, and we were able to celebrate New Years together (after I quickly hid the 2020 hats I made for the dogs and cats, originally thinking I was going to spend NYE alone...and wanted to celebrate like a person with friends...).
After New Years, Ricardo took us to the main farm that needs the most help about an hour outside of Mocoa. I watched the ecosystem change as we drove away from the main city and into the periphery of the Amazona region. More Crested oropendola nests hung from the trees (these birds are more commonly known as "mochileros"or "backpackers" due to their downward hanging nests that closely resembles a traveler's bindle), and the rivers widened as we increased our mileage.
Once we arrived at the finca, or farm, I first saw a small hut on the side of the road. Then my glance turned to the miles of grasslands that is stood on, but as I continued to look deeper, I saw the beginnings of the forest at the footstep of the Andes.
We entered the small hut and Ricardo told us that he has friends that live a short walk into the valley. He then pulled out a 5-gallon bucket of molasses, and started filling a small container with the sweet, tarry substance, explaining that it's a treat for his friends. He then filled a small bucket with mineral salts and told us that we were going to visit his friends.
I wasn't sure what to make of all of this, but my imagination ran wild. I pictured his friends living in the forest, after having days (or maybe weeks) of no electricity or internet. They probably grow their own food, and therefore molasses and mineral salts are the delicious flavor-blasts they look forward to receiving.
My excitement built as we walked further and further into the land. And without warning, Ricardo stopped and loudly said, "Mi amigo!" ("My friend!"). In front of him stood an almost all-white cow named Paloma. I then understood who Ricardo's friends are, and why they like molasses and mineral salts so much.
After a quick snack from a nearby guama tree, we spent the rest of the afternoon with machetes removing invasive plants and creating space for a future edible food forest.
I left Mocoa with a full heart and a very active brain. I had a lot of time to process my experiences on the first leg of my journey out of Colombia and into Ecuador, where I spent the first five hours in the bed of a pick-up truck, driving through the cloud-veiled mountains on the dirt road that's cute nick-name is The Trampoline of Death, due to how many lives it's claimed.
Checking My White Privilege
It's really interesting having my paradigm shift and becoming a minority in a population of people. I remained one of the few white women, and to my knowledge, one of the only American women in Mocoa. I'm uncomfortable with the attention I receive as I travel, but that remains an immense privilege I hold.
Most minority populations have been and continue to be marginalized and oppressed, which creates systemic prejudices and cycles of violence on these populations. My race, socioeconomic class, and native language greatly affected the education I received, which influenced the jobs I acquired, and allowed me to save enough money for this trip. It is a privilege that I'm able to choose to temporarily be an outsider.
There are a lot more thoughts and emotions in my head about this topic, and many articles from other white folks talking about privilege and guilt while traveling, but I don't think those are the voices that need to be heard--even though I just rambled on (ba dum chik) for a few paragraphs...
Dr. Anu Taranath is a facilitator and educator (among other things) who specializes in racial equity, social change, and issues of diversity. Her impassioned article for YES! Magazine
describes her experiences as a brown woman both in the U.S. and while traveling abroad. I want to quote each word she wrote, but in relation to white privilege, I found this to be the most relevant: "I’m American like these White men I’m traveling with, but I cringe at their unchecked privilege as they dismiss the rug salesmen. The next time Moroccan vendors ask where I’m from, I slink away, not knowing how to stand tall in my Brown difference amid what feels like White people’s racial anxiety of visibility."
Digital marketing consultant and writer, Shanika Hillocks writes, "Travel allowed me to feel emboldened by my identity as a black woman, and as my life opened up to the vast array of places I could go, I began to observe other women of color who were doing the same, challenging stereotypes and expectations about how they were supposed to travel," in her poignant article, "How Woman of Color Are Reimagining Their Travel Narrative."
Alyssa's blog, Ojos Extranjeros, eloquently documents her world travels as a Latina, and her post about "How Tourism Can Contribute to Ancestral Trauma" was extremely enlightening for me. "Not all trauma is felt firsthand, meaning a trauma does not necessarily have to happen directly to you, for you to be affected by it. Traumas like slavery, genocide, and war, for example, greatly impact a nation, its people, or certain cultures. Patterns of history that are not healed are going to impact future generations. These traumas subconsciously shape our interactions with other people and other cultures throughout generations."
Like I said, there's amazing people doing incredible things all around the world.
I tried my best to research more articles from women of color who travel and while I found a few, I would love to continue to learn from more--so if anyone has those resources, please send them my way!
תגובות