November 9th to 12th 2014

I wake up early eager to escape Medellin, a city where I’ve spent too long and done too little. Surprisingly the 5 Aussies who are also heading to Salento actually managed the 7 am wake up after a long night of partying.  I put my bags down and quickly check out of the black sheep before taking a seat outside and chatting briefly with the friendly if worse for wear travellers as we await out taxis to the southern bus terminal of Medellin (about 6000 COP from Poblado neighbourhood)

As our taxi takes off I feel a sinking surety in my gut that I’ve forgotten something, a minutes thought tells me it’s my tablet, which is more important than usual since I’ve been writing on it.  Sadly I bid the Australian’s farewell and head back to the hostel in search of my tablet.

I get back there after explaining to the taxi driver what we’re doing back where we started but sadly, as I re-enter the hostel, the tablet is nowhere to be found.  I decide it must be buried in my bags and head back to the bus terminal where a thorough search reveals nothing.  “Shit”

After a moment’s indecision the though of lost scenes pulls me back and I hop into one more taxi back to the hostel, decided that buses to Salento will have to wait.

The friendly owner helps me search but t no avail.  I feel sure I left it right near reception and so ask if we can watch the security tape just in case.  He agrees and the next twenty minutes are spent watching a grainy image of me tiredly checking out.  I leave my tablet by the computers, good thing it’s read otherwise we’d never have spotted it.

Before long I find myself wishing I’d just let it be as the video clearly shows one of the staff members sliding the tablet into his bag.  Undoubtedly he thought it would be a victimless crime.  The owner is understandably perturbed but handles the whole situation professionally.  We both agree to keep the police out of it and I try to think of a viable way to let the man keep his job. (It was my fault after all, I’d left it behind and for all he knew I wasn’t coming back)

He’s gone by now of course and he’s just changed phones so I’m left with little choice but to head to Salento where I’ll meet up with a Canadian friend from Guatape, and hope that the owner is as good as his word to send the tablet down to Salento the next day with another guest.  He kindly gives me money to cover my countless taxi rides and soon I”m back on my way to the southern bus station.

I walk past a few windows offering transport to Perreira a necessary stop on the way to Salento.  I hear offers of 37-33- and 30 CoP for big buses though I think 25 might be possible with the right haggling technique.  The big buses leave every hour on the half hour and take about 6-7 hours though they”ll tell you they take 5.  Try to make sure they are going to the Bus Terminal in Perreira as I was let off on the main highway, though I managed to catch a taxi with four locals to minimize cost. (3,000)

Friendly locals bound for Cali help me find the right bus and we strike up a conversation until the bus driver appears and loads our luggage.

The bus ride through the rolling green mountains of southern Colombia is breath taking, but I’ve not slept enough and spend most of the ride dozing in and out of sleep.  We make a half hour stop for lunch about 90 minutes before reaching Perreira where I enjoy a quick if slightly cold empanada, too cheap and not hungry enough to pay for the fresh chorizo.

As we reach a crest in the mountains revealing the valley which holds Perreira light breaks through the clouds and shines in shimmering streams down on the sizeable city.  Enough to make me curse myself for not having my camera out.

We pull over on the side of the main thoroughfare and after inquiring with the driver and and 4 Colombians climb out of the bus and hail a taxi to the main bus terminal of Perreira.  From there it’s the simple matter of finding the one ticket window that says Salento on it and purchasing a ticket for 6.000 COP.  The buses to Salento are somewhat intermittent during the week and I believe there are a few in the morning and then at 1:30 and 4:30  but that schedule does seem somewhat subject to change.  For example my 4:30 bus pulled out of the station at 3:56, not before a teenager with what looked like bad halloween make up approached me to ask for money.  I respected her courage with the obviously fake scabs plastered over her body and her smartphone in her hand that I gave her a few hundred peso’s anyway.

The green of Colombia only gets greener as you go south and as the narrow paved roads cut in wide sweeping curves through the mountains I once again feel myself getting lost in a whole new world, and one I will inhabit all too briefly.  You see, The Galapagos Islands are calling.

I hop out of the bus on a whim at the Salento fire station and wander in towards the main square looking for signs to my hostel where I’m meeting up with a friend.  After a block or two without signs I ask a local man who happily points me in the right direction and therefore is a little confused when I duck into a building the other way.

Back near the beginning of my stay in Medellin I bought some peanut butter.  Over the next few days I ate that peanut butter.  But what’s the connection?

Well someone saw me eating that peanut butter and was kind enough to tell me not to miss the peanut butter brownie at a restaurant called Brunch.   That very restaurant’s sign has just caught the corner of my eye.

I duck in and find a warm welcome from the american owner and an american teacher who works nearby.  They convince me not to get that brownie to go, a wise decision since eating it there includes homemade iceream and a oven warmed brownie for 7000 COP.  Not cheap but worth every Peso.

Brunch is one of those restaurants, much like Donde Sam in Guatape, that despite my best intentions, manages to keep me from exploring other eateries in the area.  It’s just hard not to eat every meal there.

[ngg src=”galleries” ids=”3″ display=”basic_imagebrowser”]Hunger Sated, I set off up a road out of town towards LA Floresta hostel, which ominously enough is located right bedsdie the local graveyard.  It looks like a tiny hole in the wall with a fresh coat of pain from the outside, but inside I find warm smiles and a surprisingly spacious common area with two full kitchens, lots of chairs, a great hammock area and a big dining room table.  Even better I’m led to the 6 bed dorm (20,000COP)  and get to pick a bottom bunk that is almost the size of a double bed.  That’s the height of luxury for a backpacker.

Out on one of the balconies I meet a rarity, a man actually from Bradford England.  Since leaving Bradford 17 months ago I’ve asked every british traveller I’ve met where they’re from in England.  Wesley in Salento was the first one to answer Bradford though he and his lovely girlfriend Lauren no longer live there..  It was neat reminiscing and talking about Bradford with a bit of love and a bit of loathing all at once.

Sonya emerges from her room before long and I’m pleased to see her again and also to get my bathing suit, which i forgot in Guatape, back in my possession before heading to the Galapagos.  We spend the late afternoon and early evening all getting to know each other before heading back to Brunch for Dinner.

The burgers are almost as good as the peanut butter brownies, though they prove too filling to be paired with any sort of desert this time around.

It’s a relatively early night for most of us and I relish the feeling of falling asleep under a much needed warm blanket.

The next morning after an hour or so relaxing in the hammock I receive word that my tablet is on the way and that It will be left at the reception of La Serrana Hostel, by a mystery traveller named Larissa in the late afternoon.

That looked after I head out for a walk though town and before long find myself at brunch enjoying a peanut butter- banana-and  bacon waffle before following the owner’s advice and heading up out of town towards the mirador.

The walk is mercifully short and well worth it once I reach the top and look down on one of Colombia’s countless impressive valley’s a small river cutting through the endless green, dotted only by the occasional farm house below.