A month after the WWI armistice was signed, the NSW State Library advertised their desire to purchase the diaries of returning officers from Australia, New Zealand, and the UK. The price was determined by the quality of the entries as well as the rank of the officer. Of the 500 strong collection, many diaries came from stretcher bearers. The highest paid diary set belonged to Major General Rosenthal. He received 75 pounds.

For the 100th anniversary of the Battle of Gallipoli, the NSW State Library hosted an event called Letters Home. Since most of the material in the collection is one-sided, three panelists were asked to craft their own response to a WWI letter of their choice.

The fourth and youngest member of the panel was an actor named Brandon McClelland from a show called Anzac Girls. I’ve never seen the show, but with his gorgeous voice I imagined his character cradling a dying nurse in his arms while whispering you’re going to make it- just hold on! He administers the last bit of medicine available, but it is the sound of his voice that guides her back to her senses.

Even the men were moved. Peter FitzSimons, a journalist for the Sydney Morning Herald, asked the audience of predominantly retired women, “who thinks Brandon had the best voice ever?” As people cheered Peter joked, “he could sell fly spray to housewives and they’d think they got sex.”

Peter is also a non-fiction author and he was just in the process of finishing up a book about WWI. When it was time for his response it felt both memorized and off-the-cuff at the same time. He leaned into the podium with an aggressive stance and tore into his monologue with white-hot rage.

Peter apologized to Langford Colley-Priest, the stretcher barer from Neutral Bay whom he was replying to, for the unnecessary carnage. The men who ordered the pointless military maneuvers that kept Priest’s stretchers filled round the clock were never held accountable. Five and a half thousand men died in one battle alone and not one yard was gained.

The last panelist to read her response was Jackie French, an award-winning children’s book author. She was a firecracker of a woman in a red poppy shirt and red lipstick and wasn’t afraid to cut to the chase. “Has anyone ever killed someone?” Jackie asked the crowd. “Has anyone ever had someone try to kill them?”

Many years ago she had been taken hostage by a Basque terrorist organization and had been in a very difficult situation in which she had not been able to save a three-year-old child. From this experience Jackie emphasized that these letters and diaries should not be read voyeuristically. The reader should enter the piece after having thought about what they would do in that situation. Would they be willing to make the same sacrifices that the soldiers did?

At the end of the evening we left with a taste of what it had been like to be a soldier on the frontlines and also with a piece of fruitcake burning our tongues and warming our bellies. Because it was prohibited to send bottles of alcohol, soldiers were often sent sticky soft fruitcakes laced with rum and brandy. You could smell the alcohol from a few feet away.

Jackie was the 6th generation in her family to have sent this cake to an overseas soldier. “Only have a small piece if you are driving!” Jackie called out from the podium.

In an ideal world, she would also be the last generation to have that opportunity and the cake would instead become what it was that evening- a little piece of history enjoyed in the comfort of a library.

About: The NSW State Library WWI letter collection

I knew it was the end when my foot dropped out from in front of me and I tumbled into the intersection. Not the end of my life, but the end of an era. I have this strange tendency to hurt my feet right before I leave somewhere. If I were more superstitious and less klutzy, I would probably consider it a sign that I shouldn’t leave.

My move to South Korea occurred after tripping over a cinder block at work. On the journey from Korea to New Zealand I angrily ran away from a taxi driver that was trying to add fees onto the metered rate. In my haste, I was thrown off balance by the weight of my backpack and skinned my knee and foot. Barret insisted on scrubbing the black gravel out of my wound and dousing the whole thing with hydrogen peroxide.

New Zealand was left with a flurry of blisters and Vanuatu was too. The only difference being the blisters from Vanuatu became infected and made my veins feel like glass tubes under my skin.

And so, during my last night in Sydney, I stepped right into a missing chunk of the sidewalk curb. My ankle twisted and the top of my foot scraped down the rough side of the concrete. I caught myself as I fell into the intersection and stumbled across the road just in time to catch the same train my friend was on.

By the time my friend and exited at St James Station, blood had begun pooling inside my shoe. I hobbled over to the station master’s office and took a seat while the first aid responder was called. It took about ten minutes to determine the best method for cleaning the wound. Then, while the benefits of Bandaids vs bandages were discussed, I began laughing because the situation was so ridiculous.

“It’s funny because I’m on my way to my goodbye dinner,” I explained to the employee who had won the most recent debate and was wrapping my foot with an entire bandage roll.

He smiled without knowing the recurrent connection between the two events and then asked, “Where are you going?”

“I’m moving to Colombia to teach English.”

“Oh.” He replied. “Hey, next time your back I’ll be better at this first aid thing.”

“No worries,” I smiled. “I hope someday to be back in Sydney and when I hurt my foot, I’ll know which station to go to.”

Lahaina is lush but also arid- red dirt and hibiscus.

Front Street, the epicenter of the town, runs parallel to the coast. It is filled with tourists, restaurants, and shops. From Front Street the land makes a parabolic rise up into the shrouded West Maui Mountains.

It was around 2:30 in the afternoon when a troop of yellow school buses honked their way through Lahaina. The kids from Kamehameha III Elementary were celebrating their last day of school by sliding out of view and waving their hands out the windows.

At the south end of town, near the school, a massive banyan tree canopied a public square. Families sat in the shade and a backpacker rubbed ointment onto his tanned foot. Barret and I strolled down the street, past a stand of parrots that squawked aloha, and had lunch overlooking the waterfront.

To the south and north of Lahaina, all along Honoapiilani Highway, the coastal side of the road was filled with cars. The charcoal grills were hot and the ocean was filled with people and boards. Everyone knows Hawaii is famous for surfing, but it is still surprising to see so many people out in the water at all times of the day. It makes you wonder when and if they ever work.

The Twin Falls Farmstand is on the eastern end of Maui, which is the side that receives all the rain. The little stand sells smoothies, drinking coconuts, and popsicles on sugarcane sticks. Just beyond the stand is a trail that crosses a small river twice before ending at a waterfall.

Large puffy white clouds floated out of the woods and hung over the clearing. A mother of three studied the dissipating clouds with a large frown. Her husband, a man with thinning hair and an armband tattoo, enthusiastically watched stoned teenagers jump off a precipice and into the cool water below. “I’ve jumped off higher,” he mouthed in her direction. Her frown deepened.

North of the falls, Barret and I stopped at a lookout point. I bought a drinking coconut from a brightly painted van that was manned by a woman with voluminous hair, a voluminous bust, and big jewelry.

At the lookout point Barret distracted me with sea turtles while he pulled out an engagement ring. Although I had selected the ring, I was completely caught off guard.

“Look at what I am wearing!” I exclaimed as I surveyed my wrinkled pants and Teva sandals. My arms were caked in sunblock.

“This is who we are,” Barret replied. “This is what we look like most of the time.”

I had always thought that the proposal would make me cry a lot, but looking back I just remember laughing with joy. Although if you ask Barret, I cried for five minutes behind my sunglasses.

I couldn’t wait to share the news, so before we left I returned to the coconut stand. The vendor squealed in excitement before proclaiming, “isn’t that a cute little promise ring.” Not exactly the response I was expecting, but I think our tastes were a bit different.

After living in Sydney, I knew Honolulu was a popular destination for Aussie shoppers. However, it wasn’t till I was there that I realized the scale of the development- it was a tropical Las Vegas minus the casinos. Older vestiges of the Waikiki beach culture remained, but massive hotels, shopping centers, and restaurant chains dwarfed those two-story bungalow apartments. The main thoroughfare was filled with people in neon green shirts advertising shooting ranges.

Pearl Harbor was just north of the airport. Barret and I showed up on an empty stomach and we laughed when we discovered that the food court only sold hotdogs and nacho chips- both covered in liquid cheese. Every where else in the world the food cart is a culinary treasure, in the US it is most often a form of torture.

It cost nothing to visit the USS Arizona Memorial, which could only be accessed by boat, but we had to collect a ticket for a specific time. Because there were so many people, we had a few hours to explore the museums beforehand. One of the things that stood out most for me was how well the collection explained the events leading up to the bombing without reducing everything to: USA good, Japan evil.

However, the most interesting site at Pearl Harbor was of course the memorial for the USS Arizona. This unfortunate vessel had been scheduled to leave the day before it was attacked but had instead been docked for an overnight repair. Because of this, it was fully manned and stocked with fuel- 1.5 million gallons.

After the attack, the USS Arizona burned for three days. Despite this, about 500,000 gallons of oil remained intact and have been leaking ever since. Up to nine quarts of ‘black tears’ bubble up to the surface every day and leave a rainbow-colored residue on the water.

In total, 1,177 crewmen died and of the 37 sets of brothers assigned to the USS Arizona, only one complete set made it out alive. In 1982 a repatriation program began which offered survivors of the USS Arizona the opportunity to have their ashes laid to rest inside one of the ship’s gun turrets. More than 30 crewman have chosen to have the watery grave as their final resting place.

Hawaii is a tropical paradise, but it was also a little bit different from what I had anticipated. The number of boxy strip malls surprised me just as much as the massive size of the sea turtles I swam with in Napili Bay.

Honolulu had a thick knot of traffic and a massive highway infrastructure, but when I met a woman in the hotel lobby who had just moved there, I could understand why she was so happy. She had just found her own little slice of heaven. I was sad to be leaving.

About: Lahaina

How to get to the Twin Falls Farmstand: East on Hana Highway past the town of Paia. Around mile marker 2 is a bridge- on the right hand side is a parking lot and the farmstand.

How to get to Pearl Harbor: Take bus #20 or #42 to the Pearl Harbor Visitor Center

About: Waikiki, Oahu

When the Hoover Dam was completed in 1936, it was the world’s largest dam.

It was due to the scale of this project that Barret’s hometown of Boulder City was born. At the peak of construction, Boulder City had the highest population in the state of Nevada- 7,000 residents.

Most of the dam is closed off now to tourists as a result of the September 11th attacks. However, this isn’t the first time that security has been tightened. During WW2 sharpshooters were stationed above Hoover Dam and tour groups required military escorts.

There are currently two types of tours available- the Powerplant Tour and the Dam Tour. The Dam Tour has significantly fewer tickets available and was already sold out by the time Barret and I arrived (can’t make reservations), so we went on the Powerplant Tour.

Our tour guide had the enthusiasm of someone who had been repeating herself for the last ten years. Because of that, I channeled my focus elsewhere: on the dimly lit and roughly hewn passageways, on the corrugated plastic sheets that lined the roof to redirect the dripping groundwater, and on the powerplant viewing platform which resembled an art deco waiting room.

While it was interesting to see the inner workings for the first time, the best part of the visit was actually looking over the edge of the dam. That is when you are truly able to sense the incredible scale of the project.

It was also my first time at the dam since the completion of the Mike O’Callaghan-Pat Tillman Memorial Bridge back in 2010. At 1,900 feet in length, the bridge has the longest arch in the Western hemisphere and it is also the seventh highest bridge in the world. It’s sleek, minimalistic, and a perfect concrete compliment to the Hoover Dam.

The gift shop of course celebrated these architectural wonders with some dam fine products, Native American inspired knickknacks, and alien sunglasses.

From the Hoover Dam, the Colorado River courses south. The first blooms of civilization around the river are Laughlin and Bullhead City. On the Nevada side of the river, in Laughlin, casino resorts greet the lifeblood of the desert. Opposite the casinos, in Bullhead City, Arizona, is a Sam’s Club, McDonald’s, and Chili’s Bar and Grill.

Barret and I began our morning in Laughlin at the Department of Motor Vehicles. Theoretically the process should have been faster in a small town, but we quickly realized that was not necessarily true. A small town just means there is only one employee that knows all the locals by name.

“Braden, how’d you do?” The woman behind the counter asked a scruffy teen in sagging pants.

He scowled as he stood up from his seat. “I failed.”

“Well, you don’t have to wait in line. Just give me your card and come back tomorrow. Don’t worry, it’s a hard test.”

“It’s bullshit,” Braden mumbled on his way out. “I failed by one point. Bullshit.”

After our long morning, Barret and I stopped for lunch at the Riverside Resort. It must have been grasshopper season because hundreds of the papery insects were trampled into the welcome mats.

Just past the entrance was a stand selling frozen margaritas for $1.25. Beyond that, yellow and black signs hung from low ceilings and directed visitors toward Sunglasses and Bargain City (where all items are $7.77 and the seventh item is free).

As its names suggested, the Riverview Restaurant overlooked the Colorado River. The restaurant smelled faintly of cigarettes and the reverse side of everything had the history/philosophy of Don Laughlin- the founder of the town. “The customer, regardless of his or her pocketbook, is king here.”

Every five minutes a woman walked past selling Keno cards. The way she pronounced ‘Keno’ made it sound like she was saying ‘hello’.

On the way out of the casino, I noticed a TV in a display box outside the men’s bathroom. It was an interview with Don Laughlin. The whole place was beginning to feel a bit like Laughlin’s mausoleum.

After lunch we spent a few hours at Barret’s storage unit sweeping rat shit off of everything before heading back to Boulder City. Instead of taking the I95 the whole time, Barret made a detour through Christmas Tree Pass. The landscape was gorgeous and the smell of rain lingered amongst the creosote bushes. The bumpy dirt road put me to sleep, but Barret nudged me awake just before we passed the namesake ‘Christmas Trees’.

My friend once sent me a postcard from Laughlin back in 1992. She had gone on vacation with her family. After reading her perfectly rounded letters and evenly spaced greeting, I had wished that my family would also go there on vacation.

Twenty plus years later I feel a bit differently, however one thing has grown in certainty- the desert is a beautiful place and I love passing through it.

About: The Hover Dam

About: The Mike O’Callaghan-Pat Tillman Memorial Bridge

How to get to the Riverside Resort: 1650 South Casino Drive, Laughlin NV 89029

About: Laughlin

About: Christmas Tree Pass

I spent my first two weeks in Colombia at a teacher’s orientation in Bogotá. Monday to Friday was filled with activities- from teaching methods to applying for national ID cards. Most of it went smoothly and most of it required being up early in the morning.

By the time the first weekend rolled around, I was more than ready for some sightseeing. I was also feeling a bit lazy, so when the program coordinators announced that they had chartered a bus to Zipaquirá, I was happy I didn’t have to plan anything.

Zipaquirá is a small town about an hour outside of Bogotá and it is famous for the Salt Cathedral. The Catholic cathedral was opened to the public in 1995 and, as its name suggests, it was built inside an underground salt mine.

I have been to an underground church in the past, so I thought I had an idea of what it might look like- the passageways would be dim and the walls would be roughly hewn. However, that was about where the similarities ended.

For starters, the scale of Salt Cathedral was massive. I had been satisfied with the first few rooms I saw and it took awhile for me to realize that those were only the Stations of the Cross. We hadn’t even gotten to the main nave! If only my Spanish were better, I might have been able to relay some of the interesting facts that I’m sure we were told.

The other thing that surprised me the most though was the shopping arcade. There were tons of emerald shops, booths that sold religious salt figurines, and anything else that could benefit from the addition of a little Virgin Mary.

It was going to be awhile till I got my first paycheck, so I decided to save my money and instead purchase an arepa from the underground cafe- La Tienda del Minero. The restaurant was decorated like a 1970s living room and had the lighting of a TV sitcom. I kicked back with a few other teachers and just absorbed the surroundings.

I hadn’t arrived in Bogotá with high expectations of the capital city. Everyone I had spoken to had told me to get out as soon as I could. However, after a week in the city, I realized I was actually enjoying it. I was glad I’d eventually be living in Manizales, but for now I was in a nice dark salt mine, surrounded by good company and Catholic guilt, and eating a delicious arepa. You can’t ask for anything more than that.

About: The Salt Cathedral of Zipaquirá

Mi Tierra is reached via a long hall lined with vintage posters and punctuated with a neon sign. Unlike the bars on the other side of the church square, there was no one waiting outside to hustle you in. And unless you knew about the bar, the inability to see into the venue from the sidewalk might be a bit dissuasive.

Luckily Tiffany, one of my colleagues, was in the know. She rounded up a large group of people from our training program and we set out on foot for the Chapinero venue. It was about ten o’clock when we arrived only to discover a metal gate blocking the entrance. Our hearts sank.

Someone rattled the gate and called down the hall. A minute or two passed without a sign of movement and then we heard footsteps approaching. It was Arturo, the owner.

“Mi amor,” he affectionately called out to Tiffany. “¿Cómo estás?”

Of course the bar was open. Come in, come in. I wasn’t quite sure if they had opened up just for us, or if they just kept the gate closed when the venue wasn’t busy. It kind of seemed like in Bogotá, if there were enough people, anything could be reopened.

During the day, Mi Tierra was an antique shop. There were no windows, so the musty smell of second hand goods filled the room. Some of the items were displayed while the rest were pushed aside to make space for the small dance floor and six tables. The most accessible items around the dance floor were wigs, hats, instruments, a wheelchair, and a small crocodile statue.

We sat down at the largest table, the one with a vintage hairdryer, and began ordering drinks. Many bars rush you to order, but it almost felt like it was an afterthought for Arturo. “Tranquila,” he advised me when I wasn’t sure what I wanted or even how to say it. Take it easy.

Out of nowhere a birthday cake appeared for Arturo’s partner. We all sang happy birthday in English and then in Spanish. After the candles were blown out, Arturo grabbed the microphone for a heartfelt serenade.

The fact that such a large group of foreigners were invited in for a small birthday celebration just goes to show how friendly everyone was. While I had met a lot of nice people so far, it was the first time I felt such a generous ‘welcome’ in Colombia. If I’m ever back in Bogotá, you know where I will be.

On my last day in Bogotá, three colleagues and I went to the touristy neighborhood of La Candelaria. It is one of the most historic neighborhoods in the city and many of the buildings are beautifully preserved.

Our first stop was at the Plaza de Bolívar. It dates back to 1539 when it was first called the Plaza Mayor. Nowadays, it is a massive paved area that fronts the Catedral Primada and the Capitolio Nacional (Nation’s Capital). The plaza usually attracts more people on the weekend, but this Saturday it had two strikes against it: it was raining and Colombia was set to play that afternoon in the Copa América.

El Presidente, 1997

Just down the street was the Botero Museum. It was founded in 2000 with the donation of 203 artworks from Fernando Botero himself. More than half of the art was his own work, while the rest was that of international artists like Calder and Bacon. Not only was it a priceless collection, but it was also free to the public.

Mujer delante de una ventana, 1990

While the international art collection was great, I was really there for Botero. His inflated figures are both fascinating in form and grotesque for the greed they represent.  Their fleshy figures devour their clothing and their small eyes sink into their faces, like raisins in pudding.

I could have spent all day La Candelaria looking at national treasures. However, some of the most important Colombian things can’t be found in a museum; they can only be found on a big screen TV. It was time to head back to the hotel to watch the Copa América.

Guerrilla de Eliseo Velásquez, 1988

How to get to Mi Tierra: Calle 63 #11-47 (In front of Parque Lourdes), Chapinero, Bogotá

How to get to the Botero Museum: Calle 11 #4-41, Bogotá

Hombre con Perro, 1989

After six weeks of living out of my backpack, I wanted to find an apartment in Manizales as soon as possible. Initially I began the search online, however I quickly realized that what worked in Sydney doesn’t work the whole world over. Should you find yourself looking for an apartment in Colombia, these are my observations:

Online options suck: The most success I had was from walking through an area I liked and taking photos of all the ‘For rent’ signs in the windows. There were many more options on the streets than there were online, and unlike Sydney, there was no shortage of affordable and available places.

Contact: Whatsapp is the most popular method of contact in Colombia. This is especially good news if your Spanish is a bit rough and the thought of talking to someone on the phone makes you anxious. If I could have arranged my internet service through Whatsapp, I wouldn’t have needed speaker phone and the assistance of two Une employees.

Empty properties: All of the properties I saw from the street were empty. While I thought it was strange that landlords would prefer to have gaps between rentals, I figured this worked to my advantage. First of all, people with empty properties want them filled ASAP. And second of all, I wouldn’t have to worry about people viewing my apartment while I was still in it- awesome! The last time I had a property viewing, a group of people walked in just as I got out of the shower.

Also, when I say empty, I mean empty. You have to bring your own light bulbs when you move in. This was especially ironic to me because my previous landlord had wanted to charge me $110 dollars to replace three burnt out light bulbs.

Paperwork: Oddly enough, I was not asked for a deposit. Come to think of it, none of the online listings had ever mentioned a deposit either.

Once I had found an apartment, the landlord and I went to a papelería (office supply shop), bought a rental agreement, filled it out, and then went to the notary around the corner for the official purple stamps and fingerprints.

Furniture: Because the apartment was completely empty, Barret and I had a hard time deciding how well to furnish it. Eventually we settled on a minimalistic approach, which is just a nicer way of saying empty and cheap. I ordered a mattress over the phone and when I asked the salesman if he thought it would be suitable for two, he advised that I upgrade to the wooden leg posts. They were more ‘secure’.

We also decided that we could live without a fridge. That might sound a little crazy, but when we eat out, the meals come with so much meat that it’s nice to be vegetarian at home. There is a grocery store across the street, so it’s easy to buy fresh vegetables and fruit every few days.

The hardest decision we made was to do the washing by hand. The closest laundromat would have been pricey and we definitely didn’t want to buy a machine. I had heard about a rental service, but it wouldn’t have been convenient- the machine is delivered and installed one day and then picked up the next! Even if we did wash everything at once, there is nowhere to dry it all.

Six weeks in and so far so good. With views like this, it’s totally worth doing small daily batches of laundry.

Now that I have been at teaching at my center for a few weeks, I can look back on the first week with wisdom. A few observations on teaching at SENA, a technical college in Colombia:

The cafeteria is awesome. I might almost be 30, but picking a seat in a cafeteria still dredges up old anxieties. When I was younger it was all about having the cool friends to sit with. Now that I am older, it is finding the perfect empty table.

There is only one cafeteria at school and for this reason it can be quite busy during the middle of the day. During my first week I happened to see a long queue snaking outside the cafeteria and decided I was better off finding an alternative location. Outside the school gate was a food cart that I had never tried, so I decided it was as good a time as any to give it a go.

They were selling arepas (kind of like a corn pancake), which I love, so I ordered one and rounded off my meal with a cup of salpicón (fruit cocktail). The salpicón was refreshing, but the arepa was a bit of a shock. It ended up being served with a paper-thin meat patty, covered with an inch of sauce, and sprinkled with potato chips. It was the worst thing I had ever tasted. I was not disappointed when a bug happened to land on my food and then promptly drowned in the sauce.

Since then I have gone to the cafeteria for all my meals and it never disappoints. For roughly USD $1.80 a meal comes with juice, a bowl of soup, meat, rice, salad, potato/plantain, arepa, and a small desert. And you know what? If all the tables are taken, it just means it’s a good time to practice some Spanish.

The students clean the room. The school does have janitors, but students are expected to clean the room just before class ends. They sweep the floor, tidy up, wipe down the desks, and empty the trashcans. On Wednesdays and Fridays they are also supposed to mop. All this responsibility makes me feel like I had it easy when I was a student.

Classroom supplies. I had been warned that there could be very few supplies available, so I was quite happy to realize that 5/6 of my classes had computers and internet in the classroom. Another thing I was warned about was the lack of classroom space. While this has been a problem for other SENA teachers, I have been lucky enough to have no classroom-availability drama. The biggest downfall- there are absolutely no books for any of my English classes.

My specific department within SENA, Automatización, also has an equipment office. This is where I go to checkout laptops and cables, pick up print jobs, and find someone to unlock my classrooms. Most importantly, this is where I learn all my palabras groseras. Those are the words you don’t say in front of your colleagues. I learned this the hard way.

Adults are just as demanding as children. A full day of teaching kindergarten was exhausting and I kind of had this idea that technical college would be easier. I quickly realized though that while the type of work is different, the quantity is identical. Kindergarteners are so easily distracted by a song, dance, a crayon, or a funny voice that if the lesson is a bit half-baked, it’s not the end of the world.

Young adults, on the other hand, don’t think twice before telling you they would like to, “go to the home.” They have so many more opinions, “emergencies”, and cell phone distractions.

I spend a lot of time thinking about my lesson plans at home and coming up with creative ways to keep their attention. The upside to the extra effort though is that my students are a ton of fun. I hope to be the kind of teacher that they enjoy working with and if, at the end of the day, they think learning English is enjoyable, then I’ve done my job.

Colombia has a lot of three-day weekends. They are called puentes, which means bridges, and when my first one came up I leapt at the opportunity to get out of town.

So early Saturday morning Barret was squished in the back of a small buseta while I sat next to a woman in a blue cardigan and torn jeans. Ten minutes into the trip she pulled out a multi-colored rosary and began crossing herself every time we passed a church, went over a bridge, or stopped at a tollbooth.

She got off at a bus station in Pereira and on the way out of the parking lot I noticed a glass display case with the Virgin Mary holding a baby Jesus. It made me wonder who decided that was the right pose for a bus station statue.

It was mid-afternoon when Barret and I arrived in Salento. We ate at a restaurant overlooking the most popular and photographic street in the city- Carrera 6.

Only after our stomachs were full did we start the search for accommodation. The first guesthouse we visited was on the outskirts of town. The garden was filled with toys and sunflowers and the foyer was actually a living room with an overstuffed couch. It was an odd juxtaposition of private versus public.

The place was completely booked though, and the only thing they could offer was a tent on the porch with a thick sleeping pad and some blankets. Barret and I declined, but after a disparaging walk around the city, we quickly realized that the tent was our only option. If there is anything I have learned from traveling on a puente weekend, it’s that reservations are imperative.

We spent the first half of the evening watching a very untalented caricature artist and the second half in a small cafe listening to excellent live music. We weren’t in a rush to make it back to the tent, but when we eventually did, we slept well. The only exception being the return of a group of drunk Colombian tourists. Upon seeing a row of tents on the patio, one of the guys yelled out. Look at those gringos! What are they thinking?! 

The following morning Barret and I woke up very early to begin our hike to Valle de Cocora. From the main square in Salento, we caught a jeep to the trailhead. There was an option to hire horses, but Barret and I decided to walk the whole circuitous route.

Valle de Cocora is famous for its sweeping views of the wax palms- Colombia’s national tree. This is in no small part thanks to the herds of grazing cattle that nibble all the vegetation around the wax palms. The trees are already slender and insanely tall, but when viewed unobstructed, they are even more impressive.

Several hours into the hike we stopped at the Aicame Natural Reserve. It was a small hummingbird sanctuary located at the end of a seemingly never-ending ascent. There was a fee to enter the reserve, but it included a beverage. We also discovered that the reserve had a very basic but insanely cheap lodge. Beds were available for something like 10,000 pesos (USD$5) and the cost included food!

We weren’t prepared to rough it another night, so after viewing all the hummingbirds we double-backed and continued walking the full circuit. An hour or so later the trail came to a head at a lookout point named Finca La Montaña.

The lookout point had a flower garden and a small building with a covered porch. An open door led from the porch into a small dark kitchen where a woman was making traditional Colombian hot chocolate over a wood-burning stove.

In its raw form, the chocolate comes in hard blocks that are dissolved inside a metal jug. Once prepared, the hot chocolate is served with a thick slice of queso campesino (a soft, spongy, and slightly salty cheese).

I was initially reluctant to drop cheese into my hot chocolate, but it actually tasted delicious. The cheese softened and the saltiness balanced well against the sweetness of the chocolate. I felt like that was a good metaphor for the weekend- the salty frustration of lugging our backpacks around town in search of a room was tempered by the charm of the city and the beauty of the valley. Having the one makes you appreciate the other so much more.

How to get to Salento: Direct buses are available from the bus stations in Armenia and Pereira.

Gallinazo is a vereda, a very small rural town, on the outskirts of Manizales. If it weren’t for the nearby hot springs, it probably wouldn’t be on anyone’s map.

However, given its fortuitous location, Gallinazo is a popular weekend destination for traditional Colombian food. Of the three or so streets in the entire vereda, one is almost entirely dedicated to restaurants.

At the foot of town was a dessert stand. I knew we’d come to the right place because the vendor had the teeth of someone who has enjoyed a lifetime of sugary treats.

The arequipe was soft and delicious. It’s similar to caramel, but not as sticky or as thick. Arequipe can be enjoyed on its own or on top of something traditional like cooked figs. There were also several different versions of postre de natal, which is made by boiling milk and then continually skimming off the foam. The foam is collected in another cup and when it cools it almost has the texture of a rice pudding.

After starting the day with a healthy dose of dessert, we picked a popular restaurant for an early lunch. The food was delicious, but I made the mistake of ordering Bandeja Paisa. It is a regional dish that has steak, sausages, chicharrón, red beans, rice, plantains, a fried egg, an avocado, and an arepa. It is also often preceded by a bowl of soup. The food is great- but the sheer quantity of it is staggering. Barret and I once shared a smaller version of this dish and the two of us together couldn’t finish it. I don’t know what I was thinking; I need to start asking for a different dish.

Around about the time we finished lunch, Gallinazo was beginning to fill up with day trippers. Sunday morning brunch is not a popular concept, perhaps because of church, but lunch is king. And what better way to enjoy a meal than out in the country with a train of horses clip-clopping down the street?

How to get to Gallinazo from Manizales: At the intersection of Avenida Kevin Angel & Calle 69, catch a buseta in the direction of the Termales (hot springs).

We didn’t quite know where we were going when we set out Sunday morning; we were just heading in the direction of a giant yellow statue. It is quite visible, especially from our apartment in Cable.

It took us about half an hour, but we eventually found our way to a steep street lined with speakers blasting tinny melodies. The home of the yellow curiosity was Ecoparque Los Yarumos. It was early in the morning, so there were only a few families pushing their kids through the turnstile and into the park grounds. I was kind of surprised it was even open and staffed before 9am.

Barret and I had a quick stroll around before we found the cafeteria and bought two pintados. That’s the local term for a cup of milk with a splash of coffee. It comes in a sage-green plastic cup that is so thin the bottom tends to bulge from the weight of the liquid. I like the milk to coffee ratio, but Barret’s not quite convinced.

We found a bench near the top of the park and looked out over the city. While the view was great, it kind of felt like you needed kids to enjoy all the activities at Los Yarumos. There was a nature trail, but it was closed till the afternoon and only accessible with a guide.

Not to worry though- it was a beautiful day and the walk back down was spent photographing Manizales architecture. Many of the neighborhoods are built terrace-style using cinder blocks and red bricks. The front of the house has a finished, painted texture, while the less visible parts of the house tend to be exposed brick.

I feel like the architecture is not wildly different from the US, but there are unique touches that remind me that I am somewhere foreign. The most obvious difference would be the bright color combinations. However, the tile work and the dainty decorative metal also catch my eye.

Even things that might seem standard are interpreted in surprisingly different ways in Colombia. Concrete sidewalks have patterns etched into them and I’ve even seen some hand chiseled curbs. It was Barret who noticed that the metal bars on windows tend to be on the inside of the house while the glass is on the outside.

These are just some of the things that keep me busy during my walks or my ride to work. I might see these kinds of details every day, but I’m not bored with them yet.

The route between Manizales and Medellín winds heavily along rivers and mountain ridges. Despite the narrow shoulder, houses, restaurants, and truck stops cling to the entire route. It is a beautiful drive, but not one you are able to appreciate if you prone to suffer from carsickness.

At the South Terminal in Medellín we caught a taxi to the North Terminal and from there we caught a bus to Guatapé. In front of us was a small group of tourists from Britain. All three were dutifully planning their next move in their travel notebooks, but they had absolutely no idea when they needed to get off the bus. Their heads poked up like gophers anytime traffic slowed.

The bus station in Guatapé was right along the malecón. With the exception of the zipline, the land along the waterfront was undeveloped. Dirt footpaths led from the sidewalk down to the boat docks, which made a killing during their sunset outings. We bought some sausages from one of the numerous food carts and walked to the end of town and across a bridge to our hostel.

We had learned from out last excursion that it is important to have a reservation during a three-day weekend. The only problem, we soon discovered, was that our reservation was one of the multiple overbookings at the hostel. Knowing there would be nothing else available in town, the owner offered us a mattress in the reception area.

“And how much will that cost?” I crankily asked.

“Free!” He replied. “Qué pena.” How embarrassing.

The bed was narrow, but we were able to fit comfortably and just when we turned in for the night we heard a timid rat-a-tat-tat at the door. I opened my eyes and saw the silhouette of a group of people out the window. “Barret, please open the door for them.”

Barret tossed off the sheets and unlocked the door. Our bed received a few curious glances, but then the next thing Barret knew he was helping people tally their beer from the fridge at the foot of our bed.

The long journey was worth it though. The following morning, once the rain stopped, Barret and I went into town for breakfast. Not many people were awake, so we had the streets to ourselves and a soft morning light for taking photos.

Guatapé is famous for its zócalos, the decorative boards the skirt all of the buildings. While the origin of zócalos is Spanish, the people of Guatapé have made them uniquely Colombian. The images cover a range of topics from local political events to traditional clothing and food.

Even the buildings on the outskirts of town were decorated. If not with zócalos, then at least with bright colors.

After eating, Barret and I headed to El Peñol (aka Peñon de Guatapé). It is a massive, 200 meter high rock that towers over a landscape of man-made lakes and is also the most popular tourist destination in the area. While Guatapé had been quiet, El Peñol was a thriving mass of day trippers from Medellín. It did not detract from the experience, but it did make the climb up the zigzagging stairs feel like rush hour traffic.

There are a few things I feel like I can always count on in Colombia. The first is an abundance of religious trinkets and the second is a plethora of food stalls. On the summit of El Peñol I had a cup of salpicón (fruit cocktail) while Barret drank a Colombian michelada- beer with lime juice and a salt-rimmed glass. Together we shared sliced green mangoes covered in lime and salt. The steep ascent made us appreciate our refreshments all the more because we knew everything was carried up by hand. The mango we were eating had beaten us to the top by about 20 minutes.

Returning to Guatapé the cost for the tuk tuk (mototaxi) doubled, so Barret and I decided to walk the overgrown footpath back into town. Once we arrived we continued through the backstreets, which were just as decorated as the center of town, and out into the country on the way to a Benedictine monastery. The road was very quiet and the country views were peaceful. Had it not been late in the day, we would have continued all the way to the monastery. However, our feet were tired, so we turned back for dinner.

The streetlights flashed on in the evening and warmed the cobblestone streets of Guatapé. Barret and I ended the night at a restaurant called D’Luigi. We sat in the back courtyard, which was filled with the scent of homemade pizza, and sipped a sweet version of mulled wine. The evening was perfect and the best part was that we had a proper hostel room to go back to.

How to get to El Peñol: From Guatapé it is a 15 minute tuk tuk ride or a 45 minute walk.

How to get to Guatapé: Hourly buses run from the North Terminal in Medellín.

Colombia’s overwhelming preference for meat is the reason I was surprised to discover vegetarian and even vegan restaurants in Manizales. Barret and I tried two different places over the same weekend- Rushi and Laurel. Both had a menu of the day, which included soup, a main dish, a small dessert, and a drink.

While the lack of meat is obviously what distinguishes vegetarian restaurants from traditional Colombian restaurants, there are a few things they share in common. Even at traditional restaurants, soups are often vegetable-based and the beverages are almost always fruit juices. I kind of find it amusing that someone eating a slab of beef might also be sipping strawberry juice.

There is such a great variety of fruit in Colombia and the majority of it is offered as a juice. I feel like I should be writing more about the vegetarian restaurants, but it is the fruit that gets me so excited. So instead, here is a sample of the exotic fruit that Colombia has to offer (starting clockwise with the red tomate de árbol above).

Tomate del árbol- This fruit is sweet but also has the tang of a tomato. Most of the time this is available as a juice, but I personally enjoy eating it raw- just scoop out the center, seeds and all.

Uchuva – These are also known as cape gooseberries. They have a strong and slighty tart flavor and are very slippery once they’ve been washed. I’ve only ever seen them in people’s gardens, so Colombia is the first place I’ve noticed them commercially for sale. Lucky me!

Curuba – It is also known as the banana passion fruit because of its fuzzy, yellow exterior. Unfortunately though, it its raw state it tastes like the boring cousin of a passion fruit and the seeds are very hard. On the other hand, I have been assured that it makes for a delicious juice when blended with milk.

Papayuela – There’s a reason why the guy at the grocery store did not remember the name of this fruit. It is a small variety of papaya with all the seeds and hardly anything edible. It’s the jungle equivalent to eating sunflower seeds in the shell, except a lot less satisfying. Next time I’ll get a regular papaya.

Granadilla – The rind of the granadilla is kind of like crème brulee. The shell is easy to crack with a fingernail while the lining inside is soft and spongy. The Granadilla’s seeds are similar to those of a passion fruit in terms of texture, however they are not tart at all. This fruit is refreshing- like flavored water.

Pitahaya – The center of the fruit has the texture of a kiwi and a taste that’s just as delicate. I’m pretty sure I’ve bought the Asian variety of this fruit, but I don’t remember it tasting nearly as juicy as the pitahaya.

Maracuya- This one tricked me a bit because it is passion fruit, but it doesn’t look like the purple ones I am used to. It is very tart and best juiced or on top of something like plain yogurt.

Feijoa – These South American fruits also happen to grow very successfully in New Zealand. In Colombia they are most often found in juices, but I love them raw. The scent is what stands out most about them- they smell like a soda bottle full of Sprite.

Guyaba – In its raw state, the fruit is firm and the seeds are numerous and quite hard. That is the reason that guyaba is most often made into pastes or sugary cubes called bocadillo. I would have to agree that is the best use for this fruit. Bocadillo and a slice of salty campesino cheese are absolutely delicious.

Zapote – The dark exterior is rough and kind of looks like an acorn, but the edible part is pumpkin-orange. There are five large seeds that are cushioned by a sweet flesh that has the texture of a ripe mango. The flavor was sweet and one description that came to Barret’s mind was maple syrup.

Although this feels like a good list, there is still so much more to discover at the supermarket!

How to get to Rushi: Kra 23C 62-73, Manizales

How to get to Laurel: Calle 56, near the intersection of Calle 56 and Carrera 23

On a Saturday night, the basement of Multicentro Estrella is filled with cosmic bowlers.

Bolero Multibolo only has six lanes, but each one holds a large group of people. The lights are low and a small green laser beam flashes from the corner of the room.

On the other side of the venue are the pool tables and the service desk. Bowling shoes cost $.75USD to rent and are handed over with a small white bottle of talc. The wall behind the desk has a large display of candy, chips, soda, beer, rum and aguardiente.

Our group buys a bottle of aguardiente to share every time someone lands a strike. The shot glasses are little plastic sample cups which remind me of the cups dentists use to hold toothpaste when they are cleaning your teeth.

We start off by throwing a few practice balls each down the lane. Once everyone has a go, we divide into two teams and begin bowling.

There is an initial rash of beginner’s luck and as we toast, our scorekeeper tallies the points on a sheet of paper. The shins of the bolero employee quickly shuffle around the pins and all ten are upright within a few seconds. It is low-tech, but it is also faster than an automated service. Bottoms up.

How to get to Bolero Multibolo: In the basement of Multicentro Estrella, Cra 23 # 59-70, Manizales.

Illustration by: Barret Thomson

Tejo is underappreciated by the youth of Colombia. This great national sport combines throwing heavy objects with explosions and alcohol. That description alone should be persuasive enough. However, on a Saturday night, the tejo court in Minitas was filled with elderly men and crates of empty beer bottles.

While it was not the demographic I was expecting, the elderly tejo aficionados were very welcoming and answered all our questions. It was obvious that they knew what they were talking about because they played on a full court and their throws were very accurate. The sound of a gunshot frequently rang out from their lanes.

The first thing we realized was that there was no hourly cost to play. Instead we were expected to be ordering alcohol, as tejo and drinking go hand in hand. This was easily accomplished with a half crate of beer, a small bottle of rum, and two bottles of Coke. We were then given a xeroxed scorecard from page 90 of the The Practical Manual for Native Sports while our court was prepared.

A tejo court has two wedges of clay at either end and both were moistened with water before their top layer was loosened up with a shovel. When the clay was smooth, two red triangular packets of gunpowder were plucked out of a plastic milk jug tacked to the wall. These packets were placed on the almost imperceptible lip of a metal pipe that was in the center of the wedge.

Each player throws their own metal disk (tejo). Once everyone had thrown in one direction, the points are tallied, the tejos yanked out of the clay, and everyone aims for the wedge at the other end of the court.

There are four ways to score points: the closest tejo to the center scores one point (manos), exploding a packet of powder is three points (mecha), landing the tejo in the center is six points (embocinada), while exploding the packet and landing in the middle is nine points (monona).

A mecha might only be three points- but it felt like hitting the lottery. As soon as the tejo made contact, there was the crack of a gunshot and then a bursting flame. I jumped every time one went off.

For the regulars, our game was both a source of humor and an opportunity for instruction.

Maybe the reason why the youth aren’t crazy about tejo is that it’s not a glamorous sport. We didn’t wear our nicest clothes because everything was covered in a layer of red dust. When the sun began to set, a man walked over to our court with a bamboo ladder in one hand and a light bulb in the other.

Then, about halfway into the game, I realized that the little sink to the left of our target our target was actually a urinal. When people were using it, it was a bit of a distraction.

Truth be told, I had been feeling a bit depressed all week about leaving my 20s. But after celebrating my 30th birthday with tejo, I realized there is still a lot of cool stuff ahead.

Forget bingo- when I’m 80 I want to be drinking with my friends, throwing tejos, and exploding stuff. I also expect to be good enough the use the full court by then.

How to get to the tejo cancha in Minitas: Take a taxi or buseta to the intersection of Calle 63 and Carrera 11c. The entrance to the tejo court is on Calle 63, just up the hill from a Virgin Mary shrine.

In Colombia it is very popular to rent a finca for the weekend, especially around the warm coffee-growing regions of Caldas. Fincas are country houses, often with pools, that are rented out to large groups of people.

There are several agencies in Manizales that deal specifically with finca listings and one of the most important things to consider is the capacity of the venue. It is much more common to rent the entire finca than it is to rent a single room- so you want to find the right place for the right number of people.

Santagueda is a popular destination for sun-seekers in Manizales. Although it is only an hour west, the lower elevation makes for a huge temperature difference. The drive down through the green valleys and moss-covered trees is beautiful. In the center of town we stopped at a supermarket to load up on ice and alcohol.

Since our finca had a pool, we were planning on lounging around it all weekend. While fincas are fully furnished, it is important to bring your own soap, dish washing implements, and extra toilet paper. And even if you did want to pay someone else to cook, you might still have to supply the food- so always bring enough food.

Although, if you didn’t stock up on enough dessert, in Santagueda there are men on motorcycles that drive onto the fincas with ice cream-filled styrofoam boxes. My favorite flavor was the cheese and bocadillo.

Fincas are also very popular for family reunions and other special events. And if there is anything I have learned about these kind of events, it’s that loud music is very popular and there really isn’t a noise complaint culture. In fact, the name for a wake-up call at sunrise that involves a lot of noise is an alborada. My guess is that is also involves an early start for drinking.

So unless you are somewhere isolated or on a working finca (aka a farm), you might be close enough to your neighbors to hear their music blasting all day and night. We didn’t have loud music playing at our place, but the neighbor did. Despite blasting songs all night, I managed to sleep soundly till about 7am.

Normally this would make me grumpy, but early morning in Santagueda was beautiful. I’ve heard so much about the bird variety in Colombia, but I hadn’t experienced any of it until I sat on the porch in the early morning. I put my legs up and watched the colorful birds swoop through the massive yard for a good hour or two. I even saw a tiny little turtle crawling through the stalks of grass.

One by one the others began to wake up around 9am. Massive skillets were pulled out of the kitchen and the beers started to crack open. Eggs and the hair of the dog was up for breakfast. I was really looking forward to a lazy afternoon- renting the whole place meant we only had to leave by 5pm. It was time to unwind from the unwinding and to continue enjoying the warm weather.

About: Finca listings in Santagueda

It was that time of year when ambitious students print up their zines, tastefully display their most shocking art, and try to earn a bit of beer money. It was time for the Feria del Libro de Manizales.

The Manizales Book Festival had its main installation on Santander Avenue, outside the Palogrande Campus of the University of Caldas. Along the large, white building were tents and book vendors from all the main bookshops in the city. In between those were stalls of secondhand and special interest books.

However, my favorite part of the book festival were the student stalls in the courtyard of the building. There were around 15 of these little cardboard stands filled with cleverly designed notebooks, buttons, and zines.

The first purchase I made was a screen print of a burning car from a vendor named Tyrannus Melancholicus. I was kind of surprised that even though it was an original piece of art, it was still cheaper than a paperback book. The same designer also had a zine about bread and a corresponding collection of cute buttons.

Another exciting discovery we made was of a publication called Larva. Barret had been wanting to find graphic novels in Spanish to practice reading, but the hardcover volumes we found were a bit too pricey to justify their purchase. Larva, however, was not only on sale but it was also a sample of some of the best comic artists in Latin America.

The last purchase I made was from a Medellín-based designer called La Libretería Ediciones. At first glance, the cover of the notebook appeared to be a watercolor of a very busy public square. Then I noticed the dead man leaking blood on the cobblestones while two soldiers looked on. I loved the contrast between the softness of the media and the actual content of the imagery.

I hadn’t bought nearly as many books as I had hoped to, but I did walk away with a lot of work by Colombian artists. And I count that as a definite success.

About: Feria del Libro de Manizales

About: Tyrannus Melancholicus

About La Libretería Ediciones: lalibreteria@gmail.com

About: Larva 

For the last few weeks I’d been noticing an accumulation of heart-shaped chocolate boxes in the supermarket. I hadn’t known the reason until Barret and I were invited to a special dinner for el Día de Amor y Amistad.

El Día de Amor y Amistad (Love and Friendship Day) took place on a Friday and the main thoroughfare of Santander was packed. Since the holiday is also a celebration of friendship, there were tons of couples and groups of friends.

Every restaurant along Santander had some sort of decoration, even the little arepa shops. Barret and I caught a taxi from the main street and headed to Milan. Although it’s a much quieter neighborhood than Cable, it is known for its number of restaurants.

Masala is my favorite restaurant in Milan and it is also the only Nepali/Thai restaurant in all of Manizales. It’s delicious on an ordinary evening, but it’s even better during special events. The reason being is that Samata, the owner and chef, creates special menus that are only feasible for large numbers of customers.

While Barret and I nibbled on watermelon and mint salad, a musician in a red suit strolled between the tables with a saxophone. Celine Dion was on heavy rotation.

I also came to realize that el Día de Amor y Amistad was not just for lovers and friends, but for entrepreneurs. DSLR digital cameras are not a common sight in Colombia, so special events are perfect for photographers who want to earn some money. There were two different couples that came into Masala to take photos of the ambiance and of anyone who tipped a few bucks and wrote down their email address.

After our delicious candlelit dinner, Barret and I slipped out and met a friend for a coffee. Celebrating love and friendship- what a good start to the weekend.

How to get to Masala: Calle 77 #19A-18, Milan

Overlooking the massive Plaza Bolivar, in the heart of downtown Manizales, is the Catedral Basílica de Manizales. It is a massive concrete structure that is both raw and refined at the same time.

In fact the architect who won the design contest in the 20s believed that the raw concrete was the soul of the building and was something to be celebrated instead of covered.

Due to the rough nature of the material, it is also possible to see the repair work from several major earthquakes. The most significant damage occurred in 1962 when one of the towers collapsed.

The cathedral entrance off of Calle 23 has a small elevator that leads up to an open-air cafe. Dainty colonnades surround the cluster of tables and the north side of the cafe overlooks Plaza Bolivar and the buttercup yellow Gobernación de Caldas building.

Aside from people watching, the plaza is also enjoyable for its sculptures and tile murals. This part of the city also has the oldest buildings, which make for an interesting architectural stroll.

There is also a tour that departs from outside the second level cafe and continues up into the highest tower. The tickets are sold on the ground level and initially I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to pay the $10,000 peso entry fee. However, the view from the top is really something else.

One of the most memorable parts though was the old wooden staircase that led up to the tower. This part of the cathedral is called el Corredor Polaco. Although only small portions of it were left for display, the reason it was replaced was quite evident.

For starters, the staircase had been extremely narrow and dark. It had actually been completely enclosed in wood and for this reason it resembled a large, upright coffin. If there were more than one person on the staircase, the structure creaked and trembled.

To make matters worse, the staircases were in segments (these are the tiny rectangular platforms above). This meant that one exited the staircase on the right hand side of the tower and then slid along the wall to the opposite staircase to continue the journey.

Of course there were no guard rails then to prevent someone from slipping off the landing and plummeting to their death. For safety reasons, this part of the church was actually closed to the public between 1976-2008.

Now that secure metal staircases are in place, it is a much more enjoyable walk up el Corredor Polaco. The only obstacle that remains in the way between you and a beautiful view of Manizales are 456 steps. Bring some water.

How to get to the Catedral Basílica de Manizales: Carrera 22- between Calle 22 & 23, Manizales

Salamina is a beautiful little colonial town in the coffee-growing region of Colombia. Unlike other colonial towns, such as Salento, Salamina hasn’t quite been discovered. This was apparent to my friends and I as soon as we got off the bus and started walking down the busy main street.

On a Saturday afternoon Salamina was filled with families pushing strollers and old men with white hats and traditional ponchos thrown over one shoulder. Instead of clusters of tourists, there were locals hanging outside their doors and chatting to their neighbors from their balconies.

There were no shops along the main street with personalized mugs or ironic beer bottle openers. Salamina was a slice of everyday life- from the guy with a microphone promoting an upcoming election, to the antique trucks still in rotation, to the vendors with metal display cases (of a color I’d affectionately named Soviet mint) who patiently waited by the curb with their carefully arranged lollipops, gum, and chocolate.

Culturally, the food in Salamina and Manizales is similar, but I did try a regional specialty called masamora. It’s a corn-based drink that has the consistency of gravy and chunks of cooked corn at the bottom.

The masamora was also served with a cube of sugary cube of bocadillo which was meant to be mixed into the drink. I ate them separately though and maybe that’s why I found the flavor to be a bit bland. While the drink wasn’t terrible, it was a bit too wacky for me. I don’t think I would recommend it.

After lunch we strolled through the town taking photos. Because the heart of the city rests on top of a mountain, there are streets that look like they just drop off into the blue sky and valley below.

I also fell in love with the architecture. The large, sturdy structures were balanced by the delicate woodwork adorning the windows, doors, and balconies. Every now and then an open door offered a glimpse of a cool, dark hall and the promise of a bright courtyard at the end.

It didn’t take long to notice that Salamina truly was a working coffee town. When we stopped for ice cream, I noticed a man on the other side of the road who was loading up his horses. His son played on the light post until the horses were ready and then they set off down the quiet street, the sound of clicking horseshoes trailing after them.

A few blocks further we passed the storefronts where growers sold their dried coffee beans. Large scales sat in the middle of a concrete floor and coarse brown sacks were neatly stacked to the side. There was a faint smell of hay in the air.

The last bus back into Manizales left at 6pm, so we decided to visit the cemetery before we left. It was only a few blocks down from the main square and on the edge of the mountain. Across from the gates were massive trees laden with moss.

Just outside the cemetery gates was an elderly woman resting in a white plastic lawn chair. The only thing she had in her hands was a piece of string that trailed along the sidewalk and eventually terminated around the neck of a sleeping grey cat.

The cemetery was small and empty. While we were strolling through, I heard the sound of a metal gate closing and realized we were being locked in. Barret, Andrea, and I ran over to the gate and found the cemetery keeper and his little daughter on the other side. He unlocked the gate and apologized for not seeing us. Then he asked us if we were enjoying Salamina.

The sun was setting and unfortunately we had to get back to the bus station. While it is possible to make a day trip to Salamina from Manizales, I realized it is best to spend the night. Having the extra day would have also been a nice way to break up the six-hour roundtrip bus ride.

With a second day in town it is possible to tour a coffee finca or even the production of panela (a traditional non-alcoholic drink made from sugar cane). Since going to Salamina, I’ve also gotten a tip on a beautiful old B&B named Casa Carola that recently opened.

There is so much to see in Colombia that I don’t usually like to revisit places, but Salamina is charming and I don’t feel that my four-hour meander did the town justice. I will definitely be back and next time I am staying the night.

About: Salamina

How to get to Casa Carola: Carrera 7 No 5-42, Salamina