Bikeless - in Bogota!
It had to happen - another of my precious, dwindling supply of days lost.
I had stood in the check-in queue in Tocumen airport (Panama) for over an hour, shuffling slowly forward, every now and again. The flight over to Colombia was pretty good, and Bogota is HUGE when seen from above, although well laid out, and an amazing number of big, wide, freeways running through the city and suburbs. I even identified the road on which I'll (eventually) leave Bogota for Ecuador. Then there was another hour and a half in the queue for Migracion.
It was finally my turn. Uh, oh! I got hauled off to the Supervisor's desk, passport transported there by the officer, and the other documents still in my hand. The Migracion officer had been having trouble getting my passport to "read". I think this may be a result of it getting a bit wet, during some of the downpours in Central America! The supervisor eventually got around to me, and he did something with the passport and another "reader", sufficient to get me into the country, at least. I was now officially in Colombia
It was hot, and I didn't feel like walking, with laptop, helmet and backpack, all the way to Carga, so got a taxi. Shame about the misunderstanding about where I wanted to go, though. As we drove past, I was pointing off to the right, saying "Girag, carga" I could see where I should be going, but he went further and turned back on a side road, then delivered me to the domestic airport!! "No, no, carga, carga", pointing in the direction of the cargo terminal we'd just passed. Back we went to near the main terminal, then down the frontage road, but he couldn't work out how to get into the cargo area, so I just stopped him and clambered out and walked through the gap in the fence, and over to the Girag area.
Found someone who understood me and who spoke a little English (it turns out he is the boss!), gave him the waybill, and he came back shaking his head. No bike! It wasn't there. But they promised me, I said. So he rang Girag in Panama and had a long chat with them. The bike was still there, and would be coming over tonight. BUGGER! Another lost day, and I now had to find accommodation. While doing the loop in the taxi, we'd passed a hotel. The Girag manager rang them, telling me on the side that they were "expensive". I didn't care, I just wanted a decent night's sleep, preferably in close proximity to Cargo, so that I could pick up the bike at 8am tomorrow and leave town immediately. He was right - it was bloody expensive, but, what the heck, it's only for one night - I hope!
CONTINUED:
As it turned out, it was only for one night. When I got to Girag in the morning, there was the bike, waiting for me! Did the paperwork at Girag, then walked about a km to DIAN (Customs) for their bit. But then the very nice middle aged lady said she had to have 2 copies of everything. She couldn't copy them, so I had to walk all the way to the airport proper, spend ages trying to find somewhere to copy them, then all the way back to DIAN. But the paperwork was finally finished, so back I went to Girag, and the DIAN lady also came across to check the VIN number. OK, paperwork was completed to everyone's satisfaction, and it was time to get the bike.
Problem was, they had to move about 10 pallet loads of Plasma TVs so that they could open the double doors to the office area, so that the bike could go out that way, into the security foyer where it was dragged round 90deg, down 6 steps to another level, then down another 2 steps - and it was on Colombian soil, at last! But I wussed out on riding it down the steps. It was quite steep, and I had a vision of losing my balance and falling into the concrete wall, breaking more of my poor old bones. A lanky employee rode it slowly down for me, with 2 others manhandling the rear end.
Of course, it was the centre of attention, while I reassembled my tankbag and tank panniers, and repacked everything as it should be. But I soon had it set up correctly, and at 10.50am I was off - to the nearest servo, for fuel, and air in the tyres, as they felt a bit soft. For a city of 18,000,000 people, Bogota was surprisingly easy to get out of, with just one small "veering off" boo-boo which I soon rectified, and I was back onto the PanAmerican Highway, heading south. I managed 320km that day, which was pretty good, considering.
I motelled it - in one of THOSE motels, coz it was all I could find at the time!! And the bike was shut away in the room's own garage. But it was clean, and I was tired, so it was good enough. An early start saw me heading further south, into the mist and rain, and the twisty roads, and the traffic.
Colombia is beautiful! It is a stunning country, and I'll spend much more time here on the way back. The scenery is incredible, every corner brings a new delight. Unfortunately, again there were very few opportuities to stop safely and take photos. The lushness of the vegetation; the amazing range of species; the colours of the flowers; the sizes, shapes and textures of leaves; the steepness of the mountains; the rock formations; the many waterfalls, falling a long, long way down the rockface; the endless rain and mist; and the people, always the friendly people, always willing to help a confused foreigner as required. Mountains, mountains and still more mountains. Mountains everywhere. So it was fairly slow going, for quite long periods, sometimes. Not much in the way of straight roads in Colombia, that's for sure.
Away from the cities, the locals would display their lovely handcrafts outside their homes beside the road. Woven baskets, chairs, lounge suits, rocking horses, boxes, plant holders - you name it, they made/wove it. I'd really love to bring some things home, but it's all just a bit too big to carry on the bike, even for a short distance.
If you ever get half a chance to go to Colombia - take it! You won't regret it. Don't ever believe all the rubbish they toss at us in the media - it's boloney! I can't wait to get back there, and explore more of the country, and possibly even some of the cities, as there is a rich tradition of history to many of the cities. Yes, there are lots of military and policia checkpoints on the roads, but one is safer because they are there. I usually got waved through, and only had to stop at one military checkpoint in Colombia. They were very polite and just had a quick look at my papers and the Permiso for the bike before sending me on my way with a polite Adios.
Like in Guatemala, it was fun riding past the long lines of traffic piled up at construction areas in the mountains. Sometimes the "pucker factor" soars rapidly, like when rounding a bend on the wrong side, and there is a semi coming! Oops! Coz the semis don't generally stop for anyone, altho they will occasionally move right over to let me in when things are a bit "tight". Actually, the traffic is pretty good about letting overtaking vehicles back into the queue to avoid head-ons. The drivers are very keen on using their horns, in all sorts of situations. And I am surprised at how few accidents I have seen so far, all things considered, as there are some pretty crazy drivers over here, even worse than in Oz.
Nicaragua has power blackouts, so too Colombia, apparently, although it may have been just the area where I chose to stop for the night. The hostess didn't tell me until after I'd paid that there was no power! Oh well, dinner by candle light. I'm still curious about my dinner - I think she had someone somewhere else cook it and deliver it to the hotel for me! My torch provided more light than the single candle she produced, so I declined the candle when I went upstairs to bed. For the second morning in a row, I chose to not have a COLD shower, as the nights had been particularly cold, and there was no hot water at all, a not uncommon occurrence in most of these countries.
While waiting at the head of the queue at one of the construction areas, I heard the familiar sound of a Boxer motor coming down the mountain. Yep, a white sidecar appeared, so I waved as he passed. He did a screaming u-ey and came back, having recognised that I was a traveller, not just another of the myriads of (little) bike riders in every country. It was Hubert Kriegler, a native of New York, and 3 years into his 10 years RTW trip. His website: www.thetimelessride.com He is travelling with a chap on a KTM950, who appeared a couple minutes later. We swapped cards, of course, and Hubert has very nicely put a photo and some comments about me on his site.
It's really strange how the scenery immediately changes when one enters another country. This happened as I crossed the frontier into Ecuador. Colombia is a wild, natural, untamed beauty whereas Ecuador is a more cultured, cultivated beauty, although each are beautiful in their own unique way. As a border crossing, this one was sooooooo easy, nothing like the Central American ones, with people milling around harassing everyone. I was done in about an hour, most of that time spent waiting in queues or for the copier lady to come back from lunch. All very civilised, in fact.
I was now into Ecuador, my second South American country.