November 12th 2014

I arrive in Ipiales very tired though also quite pleased with how the 14 turned 17 hour night bus from Armenia has gone. Sure it took some extra time, but the safety of this route is somewhat questionable and my worry was piqued when a local family asked me to keep an eye on their mother who was travelling on the bus with me. As with most things though it was less dangerous than the internet would have you believe and passed smoothly. I even had two seats to myself and so managed to get some good sleep.

Ipiales itself is a border town with limited appeal, but those in the know are sure to give it at least half a day to visit Las lajas sanctuary, a truly awe inspiring church spanning a gorge surrounded by waterfalls. Beyond that I find that both the people and the bakeries are be excellent. I’ve decided to spend a night in Ipiales to break up the journey.

Stretching sore extremities I step out of the bus in the early morning and am called to by taxi drivers offering to options, the border or the sanctuary. Right now though I’m burdened with both my bags and have another goal in mind, finding place to stay.

At first I set off walking towards the center of town, but the distance is deceptive and after a little thought and a lengthy consultation with two extraordinarily friendly auto mechanics I head back the way I’ve come to choose one of a half dozen hotels surrounding the bus terminal. I end up in a big tall blue building for 25,000 COP a night with a private room with bathroom and street view. The wifi didn’t work but there was an internet café down the street which gave me my 10 minute wifi fix before I headed back out towards the bus station to find a collectivo to this legendary church.

I can’t remember the exact cost but it was somewhere around 2000 COP. I wait about 15 minutes for the car to fill up but the time whizzes by thanks to a Colombian baby and her father from Pasto who are waiting in the back seat with me. The 1 year old loves to play and grab at anything I extend and has a laugh that makes it impossible not to smile. Sorry, no pictures this time, you’ll just have to believe me when I say she was really cute.

Eventually the driver gets tired of waiting for a fourth passenger and decides to head off. The old car speeds through the roads on the outskirts of Ipiales and after maybe half an hour I find myself outside another small collection of buildings, saying goodbye to my new young friend and heading down a cobblestone street lined with pleasant enough souvenir shops.

I head down quickly as of yet resisting the urge to add to my overwhelming bracelet collection, but I do by a candle to light for my mother. As I descend in to the gorge though I see no sign of the church, I can hear the rushing river below and manage to catch a glimpse of one of several crashing cascades across the gorge.

As I continue to walk I notice plaques affixed firmly to the rock wall to my right. The further down I go the more plaques there are. Most but not all are in Spanish, left behind by former visitors of the church who prayed for a miracle here and got some piece of what they wanted. The prayers and plaques both are directed to the virgin Mary has the church is built on a sight where she once appeared. Perhaps the most impressive thing though is the church is built from donations from the local community.

I round a corner and come to the church, though the first view is somewhat underwhelming. I’m too close to appreciate the awe inspiring setting. But with a little walking along well maintained paths past the church and up the other side of the gorge that all changes and my jaw seems permanently pulled towards the bottom of the gorge. The entirety of the atmosphere around me feels as if it is leaping out of a fantasy novel and will certainly inspire a key setting somewhere in one of my books.

I wander for hours searching for different angles and losing myself in this insane place. Following my feet I end up behind a waterfall, atop the other side of the gorge up by a huge statue which pairs with the silver white of the church perfectly, down at the bottom of the gorge a few feet from the rushing river staring up at the endless church, and of course inside the building itself. Hours slip by quickly and though a headache is steadily growing inside my brain likely due to altitude I still feel utterly in awe at the power of this building in this beautiful natural place. The thousands of places affixed to rough hewn some walls only add to the power, and the separate chamber for candles of prayer at the far end of the bridge provide me with the perfect place to light a beacon to my mum.

I must confess after extensive travelling in Europe and Asia I thought I had seen the best monuments religion had to offer, well as I wander through this stunning natural gorge I am forced to reassess as within the pantheon of god inspired buildings this has to rank near the top of them. It is incredible the way the church blends with the nature while simultaneously standing out, and my many hours spent there are certainly a wonderful way to cap off my 11 weeks in Colombia.

As I explore each hidden corner of the sanctuary grounds I meet many people, though almost all of them are Colombian, somehow, las Lajas is still somewhat off the beaten trail for international tourists. As I continuously gawk at the wondrous statue I can’t help but wonder why. Maybe it’s Ipiales not being the most pretty town, maybe it the reputation of Southern Colombia for violence and danger, but either way I think it’s foolish. Almost anyone who crosses the land border between Colombia and Ecuador passes through Ipiales, and there isn’t a world in existence where a place like this isn’t worth at least a few hours spent wandering around.

Eventually, the ever growing pulsing getting the best of me, I climb back up the way I’ve come, my vision blurry and out of focus but the pain still manageable. I buy a second drink near the top and down it quickly, feeling a little better as I climb into a collective headed back to Ipiales. I am offered a front seat but then give it up to an elderly nun who clearly needs the space more than I do, she is far more grateful than needed and I quickly make friends with everyone in the car. They offer to have dinner with me at a restaurant but with my headache starting to crescendo I explain I need some rest.

The rest of the night is a weird pattern of sleep and waking up in searing pain wishing warfarin didn’t interact with Tylenol aspirin and advil. I end up sleeping near on 16 hours, drinking as much as I can. Maybe it was the altitude or maybe it was just my mind protesting my intention to leave Colombia which has proved to be one of the most enthralling and varied countries I have ever visited. Either way the night is far from pleasant but around 8 am I come to fully, the headache mostly gone.

I quickly pack up my bags and check out of the hotel and walk back to the bus station hopping into another collective border bound for 1600 COP. The ride passes quickly and thanks to some lovely friends back in Canada who gifted me some US dollars I’m able to say no thanks to all the money changers at the border.

I follow simple instructions getting my exit stamp before walking across a bridge spanning another beautiful river, filling in a brief Ecuadorian arrival card and getting my passport stamped for a 90 day entry visa free of charge. I’m quickly hustled into a taxi to the closest bus station for 3 USD and before you know it I’m hopping into the first bus bound for Quito which is pulling out of the station as I arrive. This border crossing gets a bad rap but for me it’s been a breeze and I’m safely into Ecuador heading towards Quito.

I get the bus driver to drop me off on the highway as close to the airport as possible and he is very kind in offering to arrange for a taxi to take me to my accommodation. The car waiting for me at the side of the highway certainly isn’t a licensed taxi but the man inside is very friendly and though he doesn’t know where my hosteria san carlos actually is he promises to find it.

We spend almost an hour and a half driving around into the various little townships around the airport searching for the hosteria, asking dozens of people and getting very mixed answers. Some don’t know it exists, some give precise directions, but one thing remains the same. We can’t find it.

Eventually I give up and tell my friend Pedro I will just spend the night in the airport. He won’t hear of it though and pulls into another small town asking a few people, this time, for the first time this whole voyage two people agree on directions. 5 minutes later I’m checking into an empty 10bed dorm in the oddly luxurious hosteria with an outdoor pool and ranch like grounds. It’s almost a shame it’s just a brief stop before my flight to the Galapagos the next morning. Still, I couldn’t be more excited, and trust me there’s more blogs to come.