Bogota, coffee and the search for Caribbean beaches

This was the case for Tori and me as we visited the capital of Colombia, Bogota.

Maria was employed at Coriander Restaurant when studying English at one of Bournemouth´s language schools.

We kept in touch and a year later we find ourselves in her company, in her city. We meet in La Candeleria, the 470 year old historic centre where trendy cafes, boutique shops and buskers line the cobbled streets.

One of the first places we are taken to is the Botero museum. Colombia´s most famous artist is renowned for abnormally ballooned impressions. They blend humour with political messages.

Portraits and sculptures are displayed throughout a colonial mansion where it is easy to lose yourself for a few hours.

There are also works from other twentieth century artists on display such as Picasso.

We head to the main square. Plaza Bolivar is a place of protest. Dozens of police protect the cathedral; protestors sit peacefully though their faces are covered with scarves.

A passionate speech is being made on a stage on the far side.

We decide that we should not really be hanging around as it is Colombia´s independence day, so we move on.

Because of the independence day celebrations, a gastronomical festival is taking place at a park.

We come across hundreds of vendors selling food from around the world. We are pleased to learn that the biggest section is Colombian food.

We are recommended the La Lachone. Vegetarians would have to look away as we stand in front of whole pig that has been slow cooked.

The meat is then removed from the body, blended with rice and peas and then reinserted.

The dish is served with arepas, a corn based bread. We try some other equally excellent dishes and drink strong coffee.

We cannot buy beer at the gastronomical festival in the park and we have had a fill of food so we head to the pub.

We go to the Bogota Beer Company. It has a British pub feel with no gimmicks and a selection of different draft ales.

South American lager is okay when it is served ice cold but it has no real taste. I am completely overwhelmed by choice and the bar lady offers me samples of each one.

Great, free stuff! She comes back with small glasses of the seven ales served on a model of the Bogota Transmilenio bus.

We stay for a while and once again, the locals ask me where I am from, thank me for visiting Colombia and offer me agauardente.

Well, it would be rude to turn it down, so I make the same mistake as a few days before, drink far too much of it and wake up the next day feeling worse for wear.

High on top of a mountain is a church overlooking the city. We take a bus, walk past Simon Bolivar's former home and hop on a cable car that takes us to Monserrate.

It is a clear day and the views are incredible. The chilly air comes with the sunset and we are able to witness the transformation of the city from day to night as lightning can be seen beyond the volcanoes on the horizon.

A day trip from Bogota is the unremarkable town of Zipaquira. It would not be worth the excursion here if it was not for the small fact that there it is the location of a cathedral, built underground and made from salt.

We walk deep into the mine and see the fourteen stations of the cross that leads to a huge opening that is the made room of the cathedral.

Salt has been extracted from this site for hundreds of years and the cathedral was built in the 1950´s.

We head back into Bogota knowing all we ever needed to know about salt. It is the weekend so check out the night life of the city.

You know it has been a good night when you end up watching the sun rise over the city from a club on the thirtieth floor of one of the highest buildings in the city.

We did very little the next day but at the last moment the radio told us that kick off was approaching for a Millonarios football match.

The most popular team in Bogota are at home to Deportivo Cali so we head to Estadio El Campin.

The standard of the Colombian top flight is poor, the Cherries would be fine at this level.

But the real experience is produced by the supporters. After several matches in South America, the Millonarios fans seemed to be the most raucous. Several singing sections attempt to outdo one another.

One section, opposite to us, is broken up by the police and fighting brakes out for most of the first half.

The noise is deafening when the home side score the winner. Everybody around us runs to the fence separating the supporters and the pitch and begins to clim.

It seems like it could be a hospitable atmosphere for gringos, but everyone is so concerned about the football that no-one acknowledges our presence, which is fine by me.

It is sad to leave and say goodbye to Maria after an enjoyable week in Bogota. Tori and I along with our Californian travelling companion take a night bus to our next stop in the Coffee Region.

We stay on a coffee farm and drink an unhealthy amount of their merchadise as we learn how the production process works.

The nearby Valle Del Cocora has wax trees that can reach to the impressive height of sixty metres. We spend a day taking a hike around the region.

Our next stop is Colombia's second biggest city, Medellin. We are here for the flower festival, though we see very little evidence of flowers as the whole event just seems to be an excuse for people to get drunk.

One day, we watch a parade of chivas, open sided wooden buses that are decorated in outrageous colours and bash out loud music.

We jump on one and are covered in flour and foam. It seems to be some kind of initiation as it seems after a sudden bombardment we are accepted and continue to ride through the city.

After a few days we head North in search of the perfect Caribbean beach. Cartagena is an old city with a new extension. The old city is surrounded by walls that were built to deter pirates.

A spit extends into the ocean that is a few blocks wide and is the location for hundreds of swanky high rise apartment blocks.

It may not be as attractive as the old town, but at least it is separate and the old town retains an elegant character.

The beach however, is very crowded pushy vendors hassle us despite us wanting to be left alone.

We head East to Santa Elana. It seems to be Colombian's favourite holiday destination, though we are at a loss to explain why.

The town is flanked by a port so the tiny piece of beach is dirty. We move on, to the small town of Tagana.

It is popular with backpackers so there is an abundance of mediocre restaurants, bad music blaring from clubs and police receiving bribes off stupid people being set up by drug dealers.

It is not too pleasant so we head off on a boat to Park Tayrona.

We have finally found the stereotypical image of a Caribbean beach.

Rainforest is separated from crystal blue waters by white sand and palm trees. Perfect for swimming, sunbathing and reading.

But this paradise comes at a price that is slightly out of our budget. After a few days of swinging in a hammock, we move on.

We head back to Cartagena as we have heard of beaches on islands that offer cheap hammock swinging space.

We book onto a boat and early signs suggest that this is not going to be a great trip. Reggaeton starts blaring out of speakers as we detour to an aquarium.

Several hours later, we arrive at the tourist attraction even though we do not want to be there.

We feel trapped, or as my Spanish friend wisely quipped, stuck in a tourist trap.

We board once again at arrive at Playa Blanca an hour or so later. After some lunch, we discover the beach is packed. We head to the furthest possible away accommodation and set up camp.

We are slightly disillusioned but soon realise that the large boats drop people off at the beach and then leave two hours later, taking most people with them. The beach suddenly seems deserted.

We only have to pay a few thousand Colombian pesos (two pounds) for a hammock. We eat good, fresh fish and admire the power of thunder and lightning at night.

We spend the remainder of our time here before our flight leaves to cross the Darien Gap from Cartagena to Panama City.

The Darien Gap separates South and Central America. There are no roads crossing this swamp. Excursions are offered on sail boats.

The four day trips take in some remote islands on the way but costs hundreds of dollars.

Also, Tori suffers from seasickness, so we decide against this option.

We arrive at Cartagena airport with plenty of time to spare. We check-in but evidence of onward travel is required for passengers entering Panama.

I have this, but the electronic ticket is buried deep in my emails. I head to the only internet café in the airport, but the printer is not working.

Plan b; I look for a memory stick so that the check-in man can print the information. This also ends in failure.

A light bulb pings above my head and I ask if I can mail the details. This would be easy. I head back to the internet café though both machines are taken.

I have to wait for a highly professional police man to finish checking his facebook before I can jump on the machine with just a few minutes spare.

It was close, but I was finally successful.

This was not the end of an eventful evening. After the passengers had passed through metal detectors and had hand luggage thoroughly searched we had to queue up once again. Each person entered a room individually where we had finger prints taken and a full body x-ray.

After this, half a dozen or so checked in bags had been selected for searching. Of course, mine was one of them. I chatted to the guys who were doing their job and they felt awkward about having to go through the whole procedure.

They joked that I would write about ´much security´ at Colombian airports. We can finally relax on our seats in the tiny propeller plane and take-off slightly behind schedule. The lights of South America disappear as we head into Central America.

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