Nazca lines in Peru and north to Colombia

We ponder the enigmatic Nazca Lines before heading to Escobar’s home area near Medellin, Colombia

There is a place somewhere in South America, that supplies all hotels with very small, once white, well-worn towels. No matter the rating of the hotel, the towel situation remains consistent. Somewhat comforting I guess.

We parted ways not long after Machu Picchu. Kaelin and Nik headed back to cold, hard reality (albeit loaded with enough coffee and chocolate to offset the worst of it). Grace ventured forth to a farm-house somewhere in Peru, sans her luggage. Airport fiascos appear quite common in this part of the globe. We stood by helplessly as she spent her entire last week attempting to retrieve said bag, only to have it turn up the day before she left for home.

 The three remaining travellers (Tony, Riley and myself) jumped aboard a bus and headed down to visit the enigmatic Nazca Lines (large, ancient images drawn in the desert that can only be fully appreciated from the air - flight being something we are quite sure the creators were not able to achieve). The accommodation was, shall we say, not what we had become used to. There was no breakfast, but you could buy condoms at the bar. Riley had to choke back the gag reflex upon opening her bath towel to be showered in someone else's trimmed hair. Nothing like grey sheets worn to holes to keep it real. So we made up for it by hooning around in beach buggies and boogie boarding down the largest sand dunes in South America. Downing a cocktail at sunset, from a rooftop bar in a stunning desert oasis, is a definite bucket list tick.

Enroute, we encountered a PhD. student from Texas A & E University, who was doing her thesis on the lines. Intrigued at the mystery, we peppered her with astute questions and intelligent and carefully constructed 'maybe's'. She had not a clue beyond that which can be read in an Arthur C. Clark novel (science fiction writer from yesteryear) and had concluded, in her thesis, that nobody knew for sure. Note to self, potential university for my PhD.

Nasca Lines ticked off and onto Colombia.

Tony has been driving and got into the swing of things with frightening speed. We gave our poor wee rental 'a bit of a work-out' by taking the roads less travelled, and it is now sans one mirror and with slightly worn shock absorbers. The mirror was taken out by rogue sugar cane leaning in from the side of the road - as Becca* pointed out, just another example of sugar's malign behaviour. The stuff is truly evil.

Our plan to overnight in the scenic town of Jardin was thwarted by a road wash-out, so we drove for several hours following some circuitous and seriously dodgy instructions from a non-English speaking road worker. We did not make it to Jardin, we did however, make it to the resort town of Guatapé, a popular local holiday spot.

Guatapé is famously the haunt of Pablo Escobar, one of Colombia's best known drug lords and the subject of the TV series Narcos. At the height of his reign, he supplied 80% of the cocaine used in the US. Apparently he killed over 4000 people, including police and judges, and is said to have spent US$2500 per month on rubber bands to hold his money together! These days you can rent out one of his local lake-front mansions for what must be the king of all paintball games. Awesome.

Colombia is noticeably wealthier than Peru. Homes are decorated with baskets of hanging flowers and tidy gardens, and the cars are newer and in much better condition. It is stunningly green and strikingly steep. So steep in fact, I swear they must have to belay folks down the mountain sides to harvest the coffee. Perversely, you can only get instant coffee from the little cafes perched on the hillsides, overlooking the coffee plantations. The roads are windy beyond belief, and those that have seal, are plagued by thousands of large trucks. Farm animals munch amusedly on the side of the road as the metal megaliths play chicken with one another (Kenworths v Scania), and swarms of lycra-wearing cyclists whizz around blind corners and across double yellow lines. As if to add to the fun, road signs warn of wildlife crossing - jaguar, armadillos and anteaters. It's a riot.

Colombian people are wonderfully friendly - to the point where Riley is constantly accosted by men if we dare to venture out without our male keeper. No one speaks a word of English, so our deeply limited Spanish is now well enhanced with mime. It's been great, and quite the contrast to Lima, (Peru) which was unhealthily dodgy and in need of a good wash.

Like Peru, this country is overrun with refugees from Venezuela. It is so sad to see them try to sell their bundles of useless currency to folks sitting at restaurants or through car windows. Under Maduro's regime roughly a third of the population has left Venezuela, and from all accounts it appears to be deteriorating further into a proxy war between Russia and the USA.  This global right-wing ascendency is deeply troubling - not the least of which has been the rise of the other blonde idiot in the UK. A British Tweedle-Dee to the USA's Tweedle-Dum!

Medellin is a lovely city with an extremely colourful past. The rougher barrios (neighbourhoods) were once terrifying places for the inhabitants. Perched upon steep hillsides, they were controlled by ruthless gangs. From about the age of 10, folks were no longer allowed to move freely between gang territories. They could neither go to far up the hill, nor down. In some cases, this meant they could no longer attend school. Areas were flanked by armed soldiers and non-residents were stopped from entering. These days, those places have been enriched with stunning street-art and are connected to the rest of the city by a system of gondolas (just like the ski ones) and covered escalators. There is an enormous armed police and military presence all over Colombia, so tourists are safe to visit this area by day, but it is still not recommended after dark.

The Medellin artist Botero is famous for his 'gordito' (fatty-bumb-bada) style. His sculptures and paintings are everywhere, and really are a true representation of the population - although they do skim over the outstanding panty-lines and back-fat rolls proudly displayed by the actual people. It was one of Botero's bronze sculptures that was stuffed with explosives by the left-wing radical group, FARC.  The explosion killed many in the main square and has been left in its destroyed state as a reminder.

FARC started as a left-wing group established to fight the right-wing government, but according to the locals, they rapidly deteriorated into a violent anti-any government group, who took over areas of the countryside and had farmers convert to growing coca. There are still battles between FARC and the military, hence the heavily armed military presence.

T and I are currently in-transit back into the jungle - deep into recently reclaimed FARC territory - having said a teary goodbye to Riley early this morning. It has been an amazing adventure for our whole family, and I think I speak for all when I say we each have left a little richer.

* Riley's beaux and peddler of sugar products