Ecuador: Quito and Banos.

As I had my bike officially imported into Ecuador, I asked about temporary motorbike insurance; "we don't have that in Ecuador" came the reply. Best not crash then I suppose. The first notable thing about riding in Ecuador is that, unlike in Colombia, bikes are charged at the Peage (road tolls). It is only US$ 0.20, but still, it's the principle.
The second notable thing is the absolutely spectacular scenery; lush mountains peppered with the odd volcano. Combined with perfect weather is making for great riding.

With an alarming reputation for violence, I was unsure whether to go to Quito or not. But to come all this way and miss it would be dumb, so I booked a hostel in the Mariscal district and headed south. At some point I crossed the equator, but failed to realise this at the time; the sublime landscape was just too diverting. I approached Quito with some trepidation, managing to find a bizarre back road into the city proper. It wound its cobbled way up a narrow valley, over rickety bridges towards the tower blocks visible on the ridge above. Then into the city, surprisingly little traffic, to find the hostel at the third attempt (damn these "una via"/ one way streets!).
The hostel was gated off with barbed wire across the top of the walls; a couple of druggies sprawled in the street outside didn't inspire confidence. With the bike safely behind the barbed wire, I ventured out to nearby Foch Plaza. Lots of police on motorbikes around for security as this is where gringoes and locals alike come to drink and dance. To be honest, it felt perfectly safe, the scariest thing was the prices some of the bars were trying to charge for a pint (£6!!!! You're not in Singapore people!). Other bars were more reasonably priced; took some trial and error to find them though.
I survived the evening without being mugged, although my budget took a beating.

Next day was tourist time. Wandered down to the Historico Centrico (UNESCO world heritage status, no less). It was impressive, the colonial Spaniards knew how to build. The highlight was the Basilica del Voto Nacional; if only for the great views over Quito. Another clear day showing the city at its beautiful best.

Could have spent longer in Quito, but the pull of the road was too strong and I continued south the next day towards Banos. The road climbed out of the city to give great views of snow capped volcanoes. Cotopaxi was still belching gas from its recent eruption. This blew across the Pan-Am for a lot of miles; the people living there having to wear masks. Once I was out of the ash zone, the view of Cotopaxi, half its dome still snow covered, the other just a cloud of ash, were stunning. Even the locals were stopping to take photographs of this awesome display of natures power.

The road continued, now a 4 lane highway in places. The turn off from the main road to Banos dropped through increasingly lush countryside as this was where the Andes begin to give way to the Amazon basin. Banos sits perched between the two, surrounded by volcanoes. A beautiful spot, where all the pubs were closed (I arrived on a Sunday), probably no bad thing. Spent the next couple of days doing the tourist thing: looking at waterfalls, hiking up mountains and I even rode down into the Amazon basin proper for a look. Did I mention how stunning this country is?

 



Pan American highway south to Ecuador.

After the worst "Chinese" food I have ever had, a couple of Immodium were necessary before I could head south. Fortunately, I had no destination in mind and all day to get there. This was the first time I was on the Pan American proper. No dual carriage-way here; just beautiful sinuous curves over and around the Cordillera. Slow moving trucks made for some exhilarating overtakes. I was fortunate in that there was a section of road-works which had southbound traffic stopped and queued. I rode to the front where the other bikes were waiting. Then a few bikers appeared going north; one of which gave me the "no need to wait" nod (at least that is what I took it to mean; don't you just love bikers??), so off I went past the road-works, leaving the queuing trafficbehind and had lovely clear roads for the next hour or so. Great riding day, lush valleys alternating with arid semi-desert sections.

Should have stopped for lunch, but I was having too much fun. Before I knew it, I was at Pasto. So a quick stop for fuel and back to the twistys. The "advice" I'd come across, recommended not stopping between Pasto and the border. Probably paranoia, but there was a noticeable change in the locals driving in this stretch to the Ecuadorian border. Much more aggressive, fast and reckless. A quick detour to see the dramatic Las Lajas church near Ipiales at the border and I was early enough to attempt the crossing into Ecuador.

Leaving Colombia was very easy (once I was pointed in the direction of customs; which I had ridden straight past), they just collected my temporary import documents and weren't bothered with even looking at the bike. Ecuador customs was more time consuming as the one person dealing with temporary bike imports was also dealing with the many Ecuadorians bringing in flats-screen TVs from Colombia who had to pay import duty (I presume??). But, just as dusk was falling, I was in. Ecuador!! Got a hotel in the border town of Tulcan; and the obligatory meal of meat and potatoes. I would kill for a good curry.
A short film of the road between Pasto and the border:

The "road" to Popayan.

Technically, the road from San Agustin over the Cordillera to Popayan was in an area that the British Foreign Office warn against "all but essential travel"; the region being under threat from bandits, drug cartels and FARC. The locals thought the road was quite safe though. The only other option would be to backtrack north and cross the Cordillera in a "safer" area before heading south to Popayan: at least a 2 day detour. Not liking to go back on myself, and from the best local knowledge, I took the direct route through bandit country.
The road started spectacularly out of San Agustin, snaking its way over beautiful valleys on perfect tarmac. I was making good time in covering the mere 80 odd miles to the other side. Then a bad stretch of unsurfaced road appeared, all good, I'd read somewhere that the whole route was now tarmac, so this must be one final bit the road builders hadn't got around to yet? It only lasted a few miles before the nice smooth stuff returned. Again making great time and seeing nobody, I ploughed on.
Then an army checkpoint appeared, the first one at which I was compelled to stop. They checked my papers and I asked in my best Spanish "es el camino seguro?" (is the road safe?). "Si,si" came the reply. They even laughed at my suggestions of "bandidos". Feeling greatly reassured I carried on. But the tarmac abruptly ended to be replaced by many tens of miles of various hard packed dirt, sharp rocks, mud, sand and most of all pot-holes in all conceivable shapes and sizes. A lot of trucks also appeared fighting for room on this "road". Progress was slow and all my attention and energy was on not dropping the bike. This went on for what seemed like hours. The tarmac didn't reappear until well on to the west side of the Cordillera, and even then it turned to crap again occasionally before I finally pulled into Popayan.

The bike took the whole thing in its stride; even giving this rubbish rider the confidence to just attack the off road thing. What a machine! Below is a short film of the road before it turned bad:

Popayan itself is a pretty, old Spanish colonial town, with lots of churches and whitewashed buildings. It also has a bizarre number of photocopying shops. Spent a couple of nights here to soak it all in. There are also a few funky little bars cranking out salsa music. Not a bad place to be.

On the road in Colombia

Not long after leaving Bogotá; the altitude gradually drops making it noticeably warmer and easier to breath with each passing mile. As I made a late start, after liberating my bike from the customs; I didn't get too far the first day. Took a few attempts at finding a hotel (the first 3 or 4 were mysteriously full, when it was clear I couldn't speak Spanish. Fair enough, I'll need to learn the basics quickly). Ended up in the nice little town of Girardot with a decision to make: should I head west to hook up with the Pan-American highway before swinging south towards Cali, OR drop straight south towards Neiva (to see the Desierto de la Tatacoa) and on to San Agustin?

Passed several army checkpoints; I was never stopped and it seemed to be more a show of force to give a sense of security to the locals against FARC. The soldiers would be stood by the road with a gun in one hand whilst giving a thumbs up with the other. I presume this was to say "all's well in the area"; or maybe they were trying to hitch a ride?
When I set off the next day, I still wasn't sure of which way to go, but found the bike headed south on the road to San Agustin. Decision made then. This was an arrow straight road with little to see at first as it ran between two ranges of the Cordillera mountains which were just smudges on the horizon. The further south I rode, the better the scenery became as these two ranges began to converge.
I stopped briefly at the Desierto de la Tatacoa; which was good, and I should have spent the night; instead opting to try my luck instead in Neiva. Most "hotels" there seemed to charge by the hour, but it was too late to move on. I eventually found an OK truck-stop type place on the edge of town which was legit and served hot food and cold beer.

Onwards south again to see the archaeological wonders of San Agustin. The town itself wasn't very inspiring, but the ancient stone carvings and beautiful countryside were well worth the detour. I don't know why this place isn't better known. Spent a very pleasant day riding my (unladen) bike from site to site. As well as the interesting ancient statues; there was the gorge of the Rio Magdalena, which flows north to the Caribbean. At El Stretchio, it is forced into a channel only 2 metres wide. And I had the place to myself. Perfect.

Inspections, Insurance and Itchy feet.

I got the call on Thursday that the bike was waiting for it's customs inspection; I rushed to the shipping agents office and then on to the Bonded warehouse where my bike was being held hostage. The customs official arrived and decided that it was, indeed, a motorbike, but would only be released the next day following a police inspection. So, back to central Bogotá for more sightseeing: the Gold museum and a demonstration outside the Ministry for Agriculture with heavily armed soldiers in attendance along with riot police in full Robocop gear ready for action. Fortunately, it all passed off peacefully.

The next day; after the police inspection had confirmed that it was, indeed, a motorbike, I was free to go. The shipping agent had helped me arrange some temporary bike insurance the previous day. Nothing to stop me heading out; except I hadn't really tested my luggage before I left and it took a long time to work out how to get it all strapped to the bike; still a work in progress. Carrying way too much stuff: not really heavy, but too bulky. I'm sure it will be pared down as the journey continues.

Rather than head back into the traffic chaos of downtown Bogota, I filled up with cheap petrol and wobbled out from the airport to join the main road to the South West. Finally on the move.

 

Bogota, Colombia.

After a long, but not too traumatic, flight, I finally landed in Bogotá. A new town, a new country, a new continent. No real idea what to expect; it was evening time, already dark, so I just caught glimpses of this alien place on the cab ride from the airport to the old historic centre where I'd pre-booked some accommodation. The hotel was a bit hidden; the taxi driver unsure, but a local policeman pointed me in the right direction. Good place. I just dropped my bags, got my head together and headed out to find some food. A bar appeared first, so I ducked in to calm the nerves and decided I wasn't that hungry, just needed to slake the thirst. Several hours and beers later, the jet-lag was screaming at me. Bed.
My oft-tested strategy of getting a skin-full on the first night after a long flight served me well yet again. The next day, well rested, I headed out to explore Bogotá in the grey, drizzly morning. Wasn't too cold, but windy and a bit miserable. Eventually headed up to Montserrat on the funicular cable car for panoramic views over Bogotá before descending for a wander around the "Historico Centrico". Real nice, especially as the weather was co-operating with the sun out and temperatures rising. Heavily armed police/army on many of the street corners a reminder of "la violencia" of the not too distant past. Modern Bogotá feels very safe though (albeit in my limited exposure so far).
No concrete word on when I can get my bike back from the customs iron fist as yet. Friday seems to be the best case scenario; otherwise it'll be after the weekend. Not ideal. Diverted into the (ubiquitous) Irish bar in the afternoon for a quick pint which turned into 5. I need my bike quickly, if only for the sake of my liver.
More tourist stuff tomorrow (maybe even a dreaded museum), while I await word on the bike's fate. Bogotá is a good place; there are far worse places to be waiting.