La Calera, Guatavita, and Girardot, Colombia

Posted on 29. Jun, 2009 by Colin in colombia

I’ve visited three pueblos in three weeks. Jump to La Calera, Guatavita, or Girardot.

La Calera

I met Alejandro and Winston in AA. Friday night they mentioned the possibility of going to La Calera. Bogotanos‘ favorite recreational activity is leaving the city to visit pueblos.

La Calera is a nice little town on the other side of the mountains. Most go by bus but Alejandro and Winston walk. Friday night we made tentative plans for them to call Saturday. We couldn’t decide that night because they wanted to borrow dogs. Dogs? – I asked. They wanted to borrow a pitbull or rottweiler in case we ran into thieves on the trail. Oh, OK.

Alejandro called me around midnight Saturday and told me to be at his place at 6 am. Sounds good – I said – did he round up a dog? No, but he has a machete. Oh, OK.

When I met the guys Alejandro didn’t have a machete. We left with no dog, no machete.

Bogota is bordered to the east by mountains. Past those mountains is a large lake and reservoir that supplies Bogota with water. Next to the reservoir is La Calera. The town’s only a 20-minute bus ride from the city. We didn’t come across anybody else making the four hour hike. Any thieves on this trail wouldn’t make any money.

Or starting point near Calle 155 had since been fenced in with razor-wire. We squeezed through razor-wire fences 5 or 6 times throughout the hike. The path was ambiguous so we got lost a few times. At one point the path disappeared and we descended a hill through thick forest and brush.

All the climbing was at the start, where there were spectacular views of the city. After the city disappeared behind us, the views were of mountains, forest, and the lake.

We arrived at La Calera 4 hours after leaving Bogota. La Calera is a quaint, charming little town. We ate lunch – mondongo and a picada of chorizo, chicharron, morcilla, yuca, arepa, fried bananas, and potatoes.

All the tourist pueblos of Cundinamarca have homemade dessert markets. Formal and informal vendors set up shop with elaborate sweets featuring arequipe, arroz con leche, raspberry sauce, cakes, merengon, and more. We each had a dessert and coffee, then took a bus back to the city.

Guatavita with Gringos

I met some American girls who invited me to Guatavita the next day. An English guy and an Israeli joined us.

Guatavita is a lake 35 miles north of Bogota. After taking the TransMilenio to the northern-most point of the city, we took an intermunicipal bus one hour to Guatavita. Guatavita lake is believed to be formed inside a meteor crater. Every building in this tranquil town overlooking the lake is built of white adobe with orange shingles. It’s beautiful against the backdrop of green mountains and the huge lake.

There was a BMX race the day we went, so much of the city was roped off and we’d occasionally see a helmeted biker tearing down down a forest path. The finish line was at the edge of the lake. After having lunch, we took a boat tour. After the tour we ate the same desserts mentioned above. After desserts we had coffee on a beautiful patio in the center of the plaza.

Guatavita’s very quiet. I live in Chapinero, a noisier part of Bogota, so it was a nice change. Plus, I didn’t see any panhandlers or skanks. One of the girls said, “I don’t feel like I’m going to be attacked here.” I realized why most rolos leave the city when they can. Guatavita’s a great escape from the city.

See the Guatavita album on the Expat Chronicles FB page for easier viewing.

Fell Off the Wagon in Girardot

I met Oscar before I quit drinking. We talked about partying, so it was natural for him to invite me to Girardot for a weekend bender. An AA veteran told me that once I get some time under my belt I won’t put myself in those situations.

Oscar picked me up Saturday afternoon. Then we picked up his friend, William, and cousin, Guillermo, in South Bogota. Southern Bogota is generally where those who make less than average live. It looked like Peru. Oscar was born in South Bogota but grew up in Girardot. He and his family are what Americans would call ‘New Money’.

Oscar and his buddies offered me beers in the truck before leaving Bogota. The third offer came just outside of the city. On the fourth offer, about an hour out, I accepted. I kept drinking for the next 36 hours.

Bogota sits at about 2500 meters (8600 ft) above sea level. Girardot is only 300 meters. It’s a hot and humid river town, located at the intersection of the Magdalena and Bogota rivers. When I asked Oscar what’s in Girardot, he replied “piscinas.” Pools. Why would we drive three hours to go to a pool? Well, they’re not actually pools. The river goes through forest and rocks. In some places, the river goes so slow there’s virtually no current, creating shallow pools. Families barbecue, drink beer, and swim on holiday weekends. It’s a working class form of water-fun for Bogotanos.

Girardot has the atmosphere of a typical tourist trap. Every major city has an equivalent close by. Lake of the Ozarks is the Girardot for the St. Louis area. Camana for Arequipa, etc. There’s probably a small tourist destination near your city known as “the lake” or “the river.”  That’s Girardot. The only difference is Colombia doesn’t have seasons, so Girardot’s tourism isn’t seasonal.

Girardot embodies most gringos’ stereotype of Latin America. A steamy little town with palm trees. Women dressed in skimpy clothes. Outside of every corner store sits a group of shirtless Latinos at a table covered with empty beer bottles. There are beautiful women in Girardot but it seemed like every one was either pregnant or dragging around a kid. At night, entire families drink beer on the sidewalks and streets.

We went to one of Oscar’s cousin’s house, where all the men were watching soccer. We drank there for a few hours, then went to Oscar’s uncle’s apartment complex. The uncle brought his stereo and two 10-inch speakers out to the pool. There we listened to blaring salsa drinking beer and rum until 3 am. I learned the police came soon after our group left.

In America, only teenagers a few months into their first apartment lease would pull a stunt like that – blasting music until police come. Oscar’s uncle has probably lived in that apartment for ten years, and he has two teenage kids. I don’t think his neighbors called the police. There was an on-premise security guard, and he never said anything. The police were probably driving past by coincidence and decided to take the initiative.

We all slept at Oscar’s grandmother’s house in downtown Girardot. After getting devoured by mosquitoes all night long, we ate breakfast and resumed drinking. Then we left for the river.

People party under the shade of the forest next to the brown river. The water passes through slow rapids and there are parts where the current almost slows to a stop; the depth is around 5 feet. Families set up camp next to a particular pool – barbecuing, drinking beer, and swimming. Thatched-roof huts sell beer, cigarrettes, and snacks. We drank and swam. Oscar is fat and, true to Latin culture, was called Free Willy all day long.

Our group of 20 had lunch at two long tables at a mom-and-pop operation by the river. We were served barbecued chickens, potatoes, and yuca. When the sun fell, everybody went back to Oscar’s grandmother’s house. We drank in the street for a few hours.

At one point, I was drinking and talking shit when a couple of beggar-women passed. One noticed me and decided to single me out. She waited until I was done with whatever story I was telling. She asked if I wanted to buy one of her cheap candies. I didn’t. Then she said, “¿Viene a Colombia y no regala plata?” You come to Colombia and you don’t give away money? Everybody on the sidewalk erupted with laughter and told her to fuck off.

After drinking at the river all day, only Oscar’s friend, William, wanted to keep drinking with me. Having been wasted for over 24 hours, my drunk logic rationalized that I should bang a whore. I had decided to quit banging whores and kept to it for a few months. But I was already drunk despite quitting drinking, so I might as well bang a whore too. I’d go back to quitting in Bogota.

Oscar showed me the best place in town on the main strip of bars. In Girardot’s Zona Rosa, William and I went to a bar that sells those huge fiberglass pitchers with draft beer spouts. The server told me it costs 25,000 pesos. When I asked William for his half, he said he didn’t have any money. What the fuck?

One of the least-tolerated kinds of people in gringo countries is a freeloader. It may be different in Colombia. But if someone’s broke and you’re about to go out, that person should disclose his brokeness before leaving. I don’t think it’s a gringo thing. This never happened in Peru.

This soured my night. I wondered if William ever had money since the start of the weekend. All the money I had put in for beer, rum, food, etc. – had I been subsidizing this loser?

The server sensed something awry and offered the huge pitcher for 20,000 pesos. I paid. William and I drank the beer, talking little. Then we went to La Candela, a brothel in Girardot’s Zona Rosa. A caretaker showed us to a table. I had earlier mentioned aguardiente, so William asked our caretaker about a bottle of aguardiente. However, I mentioned aguardiente when I was under the impression this deadbeat had money. I told the caretaker we only needed two cans of beer while I surveyed the field.

The girls were very hot. Any one of them would suffice. The first one that approached me was nails. Slim with a big, shapely butt. She asked if I like to party. I said I prefer sex. She asked if I wanted to have sex with her. I did. She told me 80,000 pesos. I countered 60,000. She agreed.

We left William to wait at the table with his can of beer. Upstairs I asked her if her butt was fake. I’d heard butt implants were common in Colombia – especially Medellin. She said it wasn’t and, after taking off her dress, put it in my face and told me to inspect it. I squeezed, rubbed, and massaged it until I was convinced it was real. It wasn’t firm enough to be fake. Then we did it.

The next day we all returned to Bogota. I felt like shit. It’s now been two weeks without a drink so I’m starting to feel better.

It’s a shame I didn’t bring my camera. Girardot’s surrounding countryside looks like the movies that have names like “Delta Force” with buff military gringos battling cocaine cartels. Beautiful country.

The Wikipedia entries for some of these little pueblos are pretty funny because of the bad English and shitty writing. At the time of this writing, the last paragraph of the Girardot article reads:

Girardot main economy is based on Tourism, it has many resorts and Hotels and clubs, and since it’s only a short drive from Bogota (about 2hrs) is a popular weekend hangout. Girardot has many clubs and restaurants such as El Penon, El Bachue, Hotel Tocarema etc. I know this because I lived there for many years.

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Tags: bogota, debauchery, food, mountains, pictures, pueblos, tourism