Wednesday 31 October 2012

Salamina? Fugetaboutit! Manizales

The road north was another washing machine ride which prevented anything more strenuous than listening to the iPod and staring out the window - at least you can trust the view to keep you captivated in these parts. The intent was to travel north through Manizales to Salamina to checkout the old colonial town before arriving in Medellin for a day and a bit, however a rain storm from hell arrived mid way from Periera to Manizales which make the 2 hr journey 3.5 hrs and no hope of reaching Salamina before nightfall (all year round it gets dark at 5.30pm here - that may explain the high levels of low level criminality such as street muggings and general disobedience), so just moments before the colectivo taxi pulled away I hit the ejector button, much to the disgust of the driver, and headed into Manizales to make the best use of the day, if the rain gives that is. Manizales is an odd city, high on the crest of a mountain top, one particular view not unlike the Machu Picchu terrain. Making the most of the 2 or so hours I had I headed straight downtown, which was remarkably easy as there is a bus every few seconds (the guide book says 30 seconds but the longest I waited was 10 seconds - its like a Canadian freight train with the punctuality of a European passenger train, but without the tracks or the price tag). After a scout around town, exploring a cathedral make with reinforced concrete (and it looks like it, although the aesthetic was a bit sullen and shoddy looking on the outside, it worked on the inside) the light was failing so I headed back to the hostel, a bite to eat and watching the Colombian version of The Voice with the very appreciative hostel proprietor and someone who I couldnt work out if it was her son or a guest. Also there was an odd fellow in a leather hooded jacket, track pants, big black hair and a thick beard, wearing plastic framed milk bottle bottom glasses, hands in pockets wandering around the lounge, sitting on the balcony, still with hands in pockets and without saying a word - he looked a bit like a hipster Rabbi who had done too much acid in his new age attempts to get closer to god - I never did figure out if he was a guest or a resident. Manizales being high atop a mountain its not all that warm here at night. The hostel rooms are arranged around a nice lounge area, with comfy sofas, a glass dining table a telly and some nicknacks, that wouldn't be unfamiliar in any western home, however the kitchen had a glass roof that was open on two sides and the back of the corridor of rooms was also open to the environment, so while sitting in the living room at night it was necessary to wear an extra layer or two, or as the proprietor does, a nice parker complete with fur on the hood (for animal overs everywhere, it wasn't real, definitely polyester). The beds had unusually thick blankets and a thin quilted throw though so I was toasty warm all night - unusual even for the tropical climate of Tyrone. Back to cold showers though, which in this climate was even harder to tolerate, but being the man that I am I sucked it up and took the dive. There was some kind of heater contraption on the shower head but I couldn't get it to heat the water any more than luke warm to the hand, which was cold all the same when you took the dive - attempts to manipulate the device lever while the water was running resulted in a nice electric shock which added another not so welcome dimension to a cold shower. In the morning I was awoken by the cook and ordered to breakfast least I start the day with an empty belly - this is more like a home for waifs and strays and a home for some serious motherly love, than a hostel. I should tell you about the mainstay diet here in Colombia - Breadfast; always includes fruit, eggs, arepa (a cross between a pancake and a flatbread, perfectly round but comes in sizes from 2 inches across to jumbo ones that fill the plate, and they splits like a pita bread), hot chocolate is also a mainstay of breakfast and the quality varies by location (the best was definately at the Hacienda Guyabal) - if you dont get to sit down for breakfast the trade in ceviche (fried crispy pancakes filled with meat or chicken with rice or potato or potato and cheese). Lunch: always includes something fried, whether its a ceviche, fried plantain (sticky, crispy thick, crispy thin etc but always with salsa) or fries (they like fries here, they come with everything) - but there is always a lump of meat to accompany the healthy fried veggies - oh and don't forget the arepas. Dinner is whatever you like, as long as its meat, fried plantain or a local delicacy specific to the Zona Cafetera and known far and wide - a small potato like thing fried, its the Colombian homefries. All this washed down with copious amounts of hot chocolate, milo (cold chocolate milk) or postobon (very very very very very sweek soda). Its a wonder with all this sugar and fried food I haven't put on any weight, as it happens I actually think I have stuck with my usual pattern of losing about 5 pounds on this trip... its only because I have escaped travellers tummy (apart for about 2 days of being more than regular, but no other symptoms to speak of) that I haven't lost any more weight - nothing will beat my Syria record of 12 lbs weightloss - thats about 5.5 kgs in 3 weeks! I caught myself in the hostel bathroom mirror post cold shower and the turtle is definitely looking endangered. Medellin bound and my first couchsurfing experience to come... I know, I picked an interesting country to start staying in strangers homes but balls the wall and all that... or is it blindfold with a gun to the head? Getting a bit tierd of hostels though so would be good to experience the wholesome confines of a real home for a night or two - even if I do get kidnapped, raped, tortured or sold into slavery at least I would have made more Colombian friends :)

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