Colombia: not the place you think it is

We entered South America with this in mind, but as we met travellers heading in the opposite direction, it appears that this misconception is highly outdated.

We decided to find out for ourselves so headed from Quito to the border on yet another, highly erratic bus journey.

We presumed that the border would be complicated, so we stayed at the border town on the Ecuadorian side in order to pass through refreshed the following morning.

We arrived in Tulcan early evening without a reservation for a room. We entered a building opposite the bus station with the word ´hotel´ written in bright lights. The outside sign was the only thing that shined in this strange establishment.

In the reception, the boss had a microphone that he would mumble inaudible short sentences every now and then that could be heard throughout the entire building.

It made us laugh and fortunately our TV (a luxury) could drown this out. This was nothing compared with the following morning when a distant echo of Latin Pop seemed to be drifting from the walls and creeping through the corridors.

As we reached the reception we realised that the boss had wired his mobile phone to the microphone in order to create this beautiful ambiance.

The process of the border crossing turned out to be a simple and straight forward breeze. We got our Ecuadorian exit stamps and crossed the bridge that separates the two countries.

Stood on the bridge was a tiny, elderly nun dressed in pure white collecting money.

I smiled at her and face cracked with a grin. She looked at my long hair and beard and shouted ´Jesus!´ A nickname I have become quite accustomed to in South America.

Tori and the nun thoroughly enjoyed this laughing at me, but I took it as a great introduction to the Colombian people.

Our first destination in Colombia is Popayan. It is a typical colonial town with a main plaza flanked by a cathedral, banks and cafes while roads head off from every corner in grids.

The buildings are white washed to such an extent that it is necessary to wear sunglasses even when it is cloudy. I look a bit of a plonker in shades on the beach, but when it is overcast I really look the part.

Still, it had to be done in order to appreciate this beautiful place. From Popayan we endure a bouncy, bumpy bus ride to San Agustin.

Here, dozens of statues are scattered around the countryside. As with much of pre conquistador South American history, not much is known about these archaeological sites.

The information I gather is that they date back to a somewhat vague period of time between the 6th and 14th centuries and mark burial sites.

The main bulk of the statues are located in an archaeological park. We spend an afternoon strolling around before the rain sets in.

It is a bus ride away from the town where we spend a couple of nights in a farmhouse turned hostel with a friendly, homely vibe.

The elderly lady that runs the place demonstrates Colombian hospitality by taking us under her wing and knocking up sauces made from ingredients from the garden to accompany our meals.

After the statues of ancient Colombian culture, a far more contemporary slice of Colombian culture awaits us in Cali. Salsa music. We take the bumpy road back to Popayan to meet the Pan American highway.

The whole day is taken up by travel so we arrive in Cali about 10pm. We have nowhere booked so head to one of the few budget places in the city, Calidad House. We are scowled at when we arrive by the worker and this continues for the duration of our time here.

We notice that it is not just us, but all the guests. The member of staff is most put out every time the doorbell rings and he has to drag himself from his position on the sofa to answer the door.

He is so rude that it turns into a comedy. It is a bit of a shames as apart from this one guy, the hostel is clean, has a good kitchen that guests can use and is a good spot to meet people.

Cali is the home of salsa. I cannot dance the dance but the locals can. After a few songs I decide that salsa music all sounds the same to me and I quickly lose interest. It is a completely narrow minded view of mine but after several months I am missing the music and live gigs of back home and I am finding it harder to give any time to Latin American music.

So what am I doing in the world´s capital of salsa? Many people would love to be in this position. It appears that I am in the corner with some friendly locals all to willing to educate me in another aspect of contemporary Colombian culture. Aguardente.

Aguardente is a sugar cane made liquor that Colombian´s seem to drink by the bottle. As my terrible dancing strongly hints that I am not a local, people are keen to ask me where I am from and to thank me for visiting their country.

This is usually accompanied by a straight shot or two of the strong liquor. It does not taste very good but the more you drink, the more appealing it seems.

Unfortunately, it also makes me believe that I can dance salsa and provides me with the worst hangovers that this continent has dealt me.

The city of Cali is fairly uninspiring until we find the bohemian district of Lomo Del Cruz. Hipsters hang around as the usual crafts are sold. There is a great view over the city and a relaxing vibe.

As we head back to our friendly man at the hostel, Tori notices vinyls through a door. Hundreds of vinyls line the walls as we feel as though we have stepped into a smoky jazz bar with a speakeasy vibe.

The five foot tall owner is so excited that we have come in that he starts jumping up and down on the spot before pouring our drinks and then spinning his favourite vinyls for us.

Hearing these original versions of jazz, blues and motown makes me the happiest I have felt whilst listening to music for a very long time.

We return the following night after watching Deportivo Cali v Tolima on the first day of the Colombian league.

We turn up at the jazz bar eight and stay until closing. In that time a handful of couples come to dance to some hits form the forties.

The bar is a great discovery and a welcome break from the repetitive pop that is played almost everywhere else.

After a few hectic days in Cali, we leave on a night bus bound for Bogota. Already our opinions of Colombia are very different than the ones we arrived with.