Wolf and Zebra's adventure: San Francisco to Ushuaia

[yama-emma]

Escaping the asphalt
We left you guys as we were exploring the region east of Oaxaca with Centurion and Spirit, our two endurance champion horses. Our plan for the next couple of days called for a 150km detour through the indigenous Mixe mountains of the Sierra Juarez. Our prospective route included several gaps neither Google maps nor our GPS was able to fill. To soothe the Zebra nerves, tense at the thought of pulling our DRs out of unexpected cliffs, we stopped by Hierve el Agua to take a dip in its mineral pools with breathtaking views.
There we were lucky enough to meet Azael, a native from Quetzaltepec, one of the main Mixe villages, who was not only able to confirm the existence of decent trails but also recommend us to his cousin Gaspar, owner of the only hotel in town. His directions would be something we were going to hear a lot: "ask for Gaspar to anyone in town, they'll be able to point you to his house!"
We then begun a long climb. Our GPS elevation plot showed a steep curve, 1000m, 2000m, and we found ourselves in the clouds, with the kind of visibility a Londoner would not laugh about. It was an odd thing to find ourselves sweating in the sun then shivering in the clouds within a short hour. Soon the pavement ended and we begun traversing tiny villages hanging on the mountainside where villagers would stare at us in disbelief, unsure of what was most incredible, our fierce DRs or the Zebra ponytail flailing in the wind. We eventually reached Quetzaltepec and were indeed pointed to Gaspar's house without hesitation. We never saw Gaspar but the hotel was real: it's called Hotel Dos Mille and for 100 pesos we were able to drop our bags in a spartan, but clean, room.

Entering the cloud

Playing Postman Pat
At sunset we took a stroll through town to hunt for some food. Instead we bumped into Hector, a very friendly minibus driver we had passed earlier. Despite our limited Spanish, we explained we were heading East through the mountains. Hector immediately informed us we would be driving through his parents's town, he then entrusted us with a letter for his dad and invited us to share dinner at his house with his lovely wife and family. We had a wonderful evening.
Some 150kms of mountain roads were on the menu for the next day. The views were sublime, and the Wolf was in his element as we wound our way up and down the mountainsides from town to town. In the afternoon we arrived unannounced at Fausto Perez's door. We were given a warn welcome, delicious tamales and a cup of coffee. As the day drew to a close we melted our way into Ixtepec, exhausted and thirsty. It was a far cry from the peaceful mountain towns in every way, and sticker shock drove us to opt for a room with a fan instead of coughing up for an air-conditioning. We would not repeat that mistake.

A very happy mountain Wolf

Crocs in murky waters
From Ixtepec we hit the asphalt towards Tuxtla Gutiérrez, some 275km away, with the hope of camping at Cañon de Sumidero. Hundreds of windmills did not manage to make the coastal segment of Hwy 200 exciting. The turnoff to the mountains of Chiapas provided a much needed relief. Cooling off with an ice-cream, we met a friendly security guard who informed us that no camping was allowed at the Cañon. We promptly found an hotel with air con in the city.
In the morning, between two bites of Barbacoa, we met Jolman. A character with fantastic stories from the other side of the border. He suggested we explore the Canon by boat from Chiapa de Corzo. We spent the rest of the day marvelling at the 1000m high cliffs, the trees decorated with monkeys and at the impressive crocodiles that guard the waters, sadly powerless against the tons of garbage floating around them.

Did you know there were mexican crocodiles? We didn't.
A short 70kms and a steep 2000m climb later, we entered San Cristobal de Las Casas, where a free night convinced us to stay at Gringo Trail favourite; Rossco Backpackers. A gaggle of loud Danish girls aside, we had a lovely time there and took full advantage of the garden to plan the Chiapas - Guatemala leg of our trip. We even indulged in the excellent Shiatsu massages of Kentaro, a reformed Tokyoite in search of Latin tranquility.


Piping hot pyramids

Trying not to melt in the heat at the Palenque ruins
So much comfort soon threw the Wolf into severe dirt withdrawal. Oblivious to accounts of recent Zapatista road blocks, we once again aimed towards the mountains to look for some more roads that google maps has not yet discovered. We rode through Tenejapa, San Juan Cancuc and Guaquitepec to land on Hwy 199 just North of Ocosingo. The further we descended toward Palenque the higher the temperature rose and by the time we arrived we were very close to evaporating.
After a night spent cooling down in air con, we set foot for the majestic Mayan pyramids of Palenque, home, or shall I say tomb of the famous Pakal. A bit of negotiation even got us a guide for $16 instead of the initially quoted $80. The site is striking and it was provocative to hear our guide opine about why the mayan civilisation degenerated all those years ago.

Closing the Mexican chapter
After much map analysis, we had elected to cross into Guatemala at the tiny "El Ceibo" border. We theorized that our chances of surviving the administrative process required to check our bikes out of Mexico and into Guatemala would be improved if we showed up at the crack of dawn. Part of the plan called for spending our last night in beautiful Tenosique in the scalding state of Tobasco, Despite its location on the banks of the river Usumacinta, we must confess the city failed to impress us. Noticing locals fishing at the mouth of sewage pipes undoubtedly did not help. After a delicious vegetarian meal, we got our paperwork in order and found once again refugee in a blissfully cold air con room.
The green fields enlacing each curve of the road to the boarder made us feel optimistic, rightfully so as we discover El Ceibo as the custom offices were opening. The whole process went remarkably smoothly with the officials on both sides getting out of their way to help. A short hour later our wheels were treading the Guatemalan soil.

More photos here

 

[rebekahlynn]

Awesome read. I am planning a US/S. America tour for next year and love learning from your trip details, thanks for sharing!

 

[yama-emma]

Guatever

Thundershowers in Tikal
Our first destination in Guatemala was the famed site of the Tikal ruins, where some of the highest mayan temples can be found poking their heads up above forests alive with the sounds of howler monkeys and birdsong. After a refreshing dive in the crystal clear waters of Lago Peten-itza, we reached the park entrance and found a closed gate. An enthusiastic guide informed us that if we entered after 3:30pm, our ticket would be valid until the next day. Flashing his official guide card and receipt book, he convinced us to book a sunrise tour at 4:30am the following day.

Majestic Tikal!

We woke up at 4:15am to find the heavens had opened the sluice gates. The beam of our flashlights revealed the absence of our guide and we happily returned to bed, determined to sort out matters later. And we tried hard. At 8am we were dragged into the maze of guide politics and learned that only Union registered guides worked inside Tikal. Other guides, although duly registered with the Guide Authority were barred from recruiting tourists inside the park. We nevertheless squeezed out of the Union leader the name of the town our guide lived in. After a self guided trip around the ruins, and attempting the road to Uaxactun - which was too muddy for Zebras - we decided to ride the North shore of Lago Peten-itza and pay a visit to our guide, whose village was conveniently located on our way. Everyone knows everyone in those small villages and we soon found ourselves knocking at his door. Surprise does not adequately describe the look on his face when he saw us. He promptly regained composure and served us a rather credible story justifying his absence that morning. He was reluctant to give us a full refund at first, but the Wolf can be convincing, and soon we were on our way, with our deposit and an apology for the experience.

The Zebra's rocky breakthrough

The Hostal Las Marias in Semuc-Champey. Next time we might give a shot at Las Portal down the road

Next up, the strikingly turquoise waters of Semuc Champey. Our GPS confidently pointed us to a fairly direct route, which much to the Wolf's delight, included about 40kms of rocky dirt roads, winding through the mountains. The views of green valleys, nestling between endless rolling mountains, were breathtaking. It was also a break through moment for the Zebra, who, after some goading from the Wolf about being passed by local guys on a crappy bikes with no helmets, decided to just gas it through the rocks, with good success. Since then she has been much happier riding more advanced terrain. Semuc Champey provided us with a chance to hike up to miradors and soak in the pools afterwards - a very nice relief from the heat we had been experiencing for weeks.

Wolf and Zebra in the mist

Relaxing at Georgina Fuentes, a few kms South of Chichicastenango.

We left Semuc Champey in the rain and continued to traverse Guatemala along dirt roads, navigating mudslides and fully experiencing the 'wet season' in Central America. We rode through Uspantan and Cunen leaving the indigenous villages of Chajul and Nebal behind us to reach Chichicastenango and its famed Sunday market. Our route then took us South-east towards Quetzaltenango to check out the nearby hot springs called Fuentes Georgina. They are so named because President Jorge Ubico frequently visited Quetzaltenango, during his government, only to bathe in these thermo waters. He made caravans with his wife Georgina, protected by his police. The hot springs are shrouded by mist and create a very ethereal atmosphere to rest and restore weary muscles. After our soothing bath we were ready to ride the 200 odd kilometers to Antigua to start our 2 weeks of Spanish school.

A Spanish Immersion

With our host family in Antigua. Thanks so much for the wonderful experience

We had attempted to evaluate the many, many Spanish language schools in Antigua online, but in the end we made our decision to study at Antigueña by walking into the schools, meeting the people and evaluating things in person. Within an hour of signing up with Julio, we were introduced to the family that would host us for our home stay and had moved into our new home. How wonderful it was to unpack things for more than 24 hours! The following two weeks allowed us to greatly improve our Spanish, fix the Zebramobile's subframe that fell victim to the 500,000 or so topes (speedbumps) conquered since Mexico and reinforce the Wolfmobile against a similar fate! We also managed to catch up on a few movies and blogposts at the Bagel Barn's. Isabelle, the owner, plays free nightly movies including some interesting documentaries on Guatemala's history, highly recommended! On our first weekend, we climbed Pacaya, one of the 3 volcanoes surrounding the town, and discovered steaming 4 month old lava in a lunar landscape. After two weeks of a very early schedule - up at 6:30am every day - we decided to take a weekend off and take a little spin around Lake Atitlan. We left most of our luggage with our family, grabbed a single backpack and set off, two-up, on the Zebramobile. You can read about our Atitlan Antics in this post

More photos here

 

[budman]

Amazing!!!

Live......the......

 

[Lunch Box]

Incredible. I have loved every installment of this story, and I eagerly await the next. Thank you for taking us all along with you!

 

[yama-emma]

Deeper into Central America

Salvatruchas for a week
It was with a bit of sadness that we left Antigua and our host family. To cheer us up Zebra's friend from University, Rodrigo, was waiting for us in El Salvador. After the usual 3 infernal hours of immigration-custom-copy shop loop, we entered El Salvador at Las Chinamas and begun climbing towards "La Ruta de las Flores". The road winds through the numerous coffee plantations of the region. Once a year, usually in May, the coffee plants blossom into millions of white flowers, giving this road its name. As luck would have it, the bloom was late but rain was on time. Wet to the bone, we cut our sightseeing short (there were no flowers to see anyway) and rushed towards the Capital and dry towels.

A view of El Salvador from the restaurant La Pampa

Rodrigo and his lovely wife met us at the "Cumbres del Volcan" Hostal, our refuge for the next few days, and took us for a fancy dinner at La Pampa. The restaurant is perched on the side of the San Salvador Volcano, offering breathtaking views of San Salvador. On the menu for us the next day, our friend had planned some relaxation at the "Circulo Deportivo Internacional", a very shi shi member-only club located in the heart of the Capital, boasting tennis courts, squash courts, an Olympic pool, a gym and a couple of restaurants. Needless to say we found it very difficult to end an afternoon of such luxury after almost 3 months on the road. In a vain attempt to top that experience and enjoy a rare sunny day, we rode down to the coast to check "El Sunzal" a known surf spot. Paddling started to feel like a lot of work, so we settled for a swim and cocktails at the "Hotel Kayu" instead. Eager to explore the mountains behind the coast, we returned along a narrow road climbing to "Chiltiupan" and to our delight the road, still under construction, traces the mountain ridge offering a fun ride and sweeping views on both sides of nearby valleys and the ocean. A turn to "Comasagua" lead us back to San Salvador and to "Paseo El Carmen", the popular bar district West of the city, for a few locally brewed cervezas with Rodrigo. Thoroughly rested, and finally dry, we got back on the road to explore the Northern part of the country heading toward Perquin.

Lago Suchitlan

The road North toward Lake Suchitlan allowed us to fulfil our never-ending quest to always stay the hell away from the PanAmerican highway. Our plan was to spend the night as close to the Honduras border as possible. With any luck, we could drag ourselves (mostly me) out of bed early and cross 2 borders in one day, minimise our time in Honduras and get to Nicaragua. But more of that later. Perquin, a small mountain village with a gloomy history, met our requirements. Despite Google Maps' protests, we followed the Hwy CA3 in an attempt to cut through rivers and bushes to get us to Perquin. A bit to my disappointment (and the Zebra's relief), instead of bushes, we found a recently paved highway offering beautiful views onto the lake Suchitlan. After a long days ride, a friendly military checkpoint and a few more downpours, we dragged our soggy selves into Perquin. The night proved too short to dry our clothes, and in waterlogged boots, we prepared for our border crossing Marathon. It started at at El Amatillo around 8am and by 11am we were in Honduras and speeding along CA1 towards the El Espino border. Finally at 3pm we entered Nicaragua eager to find a spot to relax.

Somoto Canyon

Such a campsite was surely worth getting wet for
As it turned out our friends at Moto Pasaran had recommended the Somoto Canyon, a recent world heritage site thanks to its random discovery in 2004. Following our (ocassionally) trusted GPS through a rock garden and a difficult river crossing (read, I went down twice), we reached a small beach at the mouth of the canyon. There we met Eddie Jimenez. His family has owned part of the canyon for generations and he and his son now run small tours and tubing expeditions there. He gave us his thumbs up to camp on the beach, so we proceeded to spend the next couple of days thoroughly enjoying ourselves exploring canyons and lazying by the riverside.

More pictures here

 

[yama-emma]

Melting from Nicaragua to Costa Rica

Somoto Canyon, Nicaragua to Lake Arenal, Costa Rica
June 1 to June 25, 2014

Kings of Leon
After a very pleasant introduction to Nicaragua, our GPS once again led us unknowingly to the dirty route down to Leon via El Sauce. The views were vast and beautiful and the stones manageable (my skills are continually improving) but since we were not expecting to find ourselves off the beaten path we were low on gas. I began to nag the Wolf to stop and ask someone to sell us some, but in his ever-confident and unflappable manner he said he thought we would be fine, and of course, as always, we were as we bumped into a gasolinera about 5 miles before the Wolfmobile choked. With a sigh of relief and the last fractions of daylight we rolled into Leon and checked in at the Lazybones hostel. It lived up to it's name as we found ourselves to be remarkably lethargic while there. The fact that the hostel had a swimming pool, combined with Leon being a special kind of sticky and hot, meant we never left hostel for more than an hour or two at a time, and the majority of our exploring was done after dark. In our nocturnal wanderings we bumped into a remarkable French restaurant named "Le Turon" managed by Yann and his associate, two French castaways. The food was the best we had in a long time bringing a touch of luxury to our rough travels.

The brilliant landscape from Somoto to El Sauce

A tale of two volcanoes
Once we had come to the conclusion that we were incapable of being effective in the heat of Leon, we loaded up the bikes and headed for the heat of Ometepe island instead, bypassing Managua and Granda in the process. We didn't know that the island heat would come with a generous topping of miggies (South African for midges) When we arrived at the ferry dock, I thought it was raining at first, until I opened my visor a crack and found my nose, mouth and eyes full of the foul little flies. They were blowing past in veritable clouds, and despite my optimistic hopes, they were all over the island as well. We eventually got used to the plague and even managed to relax in Playa Santo Domingo for a day with our books before taking a tour on the dodgy dirt road around the volcan Maderas. After we had our fill of volcano views (we never mustered the motivation to actually climb one, which would have taken at least 8 hours!) we headed back to the dock to ferry ourselves back to the mainland and the road to San Juan del Sur. The schedules were confusing and prices seemed to change based on who you asked, so we eventually found ourselves to be the sole tourists on a ferry that had been chartered by the church. It was more of a chicken-ferry than anything else and the Wolf and I looked at each other incredulously as chickens, pigs and parrots boarded with thousands of people and soon all parts of the Zebra and Wolfmobiles were footrests, bag holders and everything short of chairs.

The twin volcanoes of Concepción and Maderas that make up Ometepe Island

A plush pause
In San Juan del Sur we were determined to find a cheap beach spot to stay, but we also wanted it to be nice. As a result we entered our usual loop of try to make the other one decide and looked at about 8 places to stay before saying: "screw it" and checking in to the slightly pricey (although they gave us a deal!) and super plush Hotel Liri. Managed by a family from Barcelona, it's on the beach, with a swimming pool, and most importantly after our past few stays, air-conditioning. I used to be one of those people that was mildly opposed to air-conditioning, arguing that it was better to just adjust to the temperature. That was before I traveled Central America by motorcycle. We enjoyed a few days of carefree swimming in the ocean and exploring the coastline - at least the parts that were not closed due to the latest episode of Survivor being filmed in the area.

The crescent bay of San Juan del Sur

Cruising into Costa Rica
When the time arrived to finally cross into Costa Rica we took the coastal road, that is supposed to turn up and head to the border at Penas Blancas. The road does indeed do what we expected, but what Google or our GPS didn't tell us is that a military camp is in the spot where the road turns. It might not have been a problem if an exercise was not taking place that same day so we were firmly but kindly turned around by two Nicaraguan army guys and forced to take the normal road to the border. The poor Wolf was shattered. After the usual border crossing saga, we bombed down to Bahia Salinas - another spectacular crescent bay. You can read more about what happened next in this post. After our bundu bashing in the hills of Costa Rica we stopped in to see Debbie and Andy in Playa Flamingo for a much needed visit with friends, some time to catch up with the inter webs and an opportunity to wash everything after many weeks of sweating in Central America. We were sad to say goodbye, but after a week we needed to get back on the road and we were eager to finally see Lake Arenal.

The Lake Arenal Hotel and Microbrewery

Tony Parsons, a friend kite instructor from the Bay Area, had sent us in the direction of the Lake Arenal Hotel and Microbrewery which will only be there for another month before moving to a new location in Tamarindo - so go visit soon! J-P welcomed us and gave us shelter from the rain, and we have to say, that this was the best value hotel we have stayed at so far - the views of the lake are postcard-perfect.

More pictures here

 

[Losmeister]

wicked cool!

 

[yama-emma]

The Panama Express

Lake Arenal, Costa Rica to Cartagena, Colombia
June 12 to June 21, 2014

Mind the Gap

Most people never hear about the Darien gap until they try to drive from Panama to Colombia, which granted not many people do. They then learn of this 100 or so kilometers of unruly jungle haunted by Guerillas, Narco traffickers and other scary creatures. The Darien Gap is the only interruption in the 48.000km long Pan-American highway. Several sailboats of variable seaworthiness offer travellers a 5 days ride from Panama City to Cartagena. Among them, one has achieved legendary status, the Stahlratte.
Our only dilemna, this 100 year old German monument was scheduled to cruise around Cuba when we needed it. Consequently the Wolf and I had been debating for weeks what other methods we could employ to cross the Gap. The other sailboats were incredibly expensive, and rumour has it, also corrupt and/or unsafe. Using a container ship seemed like a logistical nightmare, as did flying with the bikes. As we hit obstacle after obstacle, it became increasingly difficult to convince the Wolf that it was a BAD idea to try and ride through the swamps between Panama and Colombia. He started to settle for the idea of riding as far south as possible and trying to find small lanchas (row boats) to get us to Turbo in Colombia. I felt very uncomfortable with this, for countless reasons, probably mostly because I'm a worrier. On the morning of June 12, as we were enjoying a tasty breakfast at Lake Arenal Hotel, we received an email from Markus and Karen with whom we were considering sharing a container. They politely declined stating they had reserved a spot on the Stahlratte departing Carti harbor on June 17. The Wolf and I stared at each other in disbelief, rushed to our laptop to re-check the Stahratte's schedule, and there it was, Carti - Cartagena: June 17.

Riding under rain

The news the Stahlratte was back was fantastic. But we were still in Costa Rica. And we had no idea if they even had space for us. We spent 10 minutes counting the kilometres and decided it was possible to get to Panama City in 4 days, if we were heavy on the throttle. We decided to take our chances, sent an email to Captain Ludwig to ask if he had room onboard and started riding. We stopped for lunch a few hours later and received the good news through the Pollo Loco free wi-fi, Ludwig had a spot for us. The weather did not cooperate with our expedited schedule and heavy rain pelted us for 2 straight days. We spent the first damp night in Cahuita, a lovely town on the Caribbean coast, and then crossed into Panama in a monsoon the next day. We kept going until Boquette, where we spent a day recovering before the long haul to Panama City. We turned our delightful room at La Casa del Abuela into something that is stinkier than a men's locker room as we tried in vain to dry some of our sodden things. Luckily our ATG luggage kept everything in our side bags dry, but everything we were wearing - jackets, pants, glove and even helmets, had not withstood 2 days of heavy, heavy rain.

Pushing it on the Pan American

Our friendly Panama City tour guides

In the morning we donned our damp gear and, for the first time in ages, we headed down the Pan-American. It was a long, boring day punctuated by a strange interaction with the Panamanian police. They pulled us over, asked if we had kids (?), inquired about our Replay cameras, then hastily scribbled a speeding ticket for $50, told us to only pay $20 at the office, and then they sped off like the devil was behind them. We finally pulled in at the Panama House B&B at 17:00, exhausted. The Wolf, finding energy from who knows where, insisted that we rush straight back out to explore Panama City in the last light of day. We bumped into a friendly local and his son and they kindly gave us a 2 hour express tour of the city's highlights. The next morning we made the acquaintance of several other bikers that were all bound for Colombia on the Stahlratte, and headed off to Carti with them to meet the Captain and load up the ship.

A fleet of flying bikes

We arrived at the dock a little late, having been delayed by more rain and a protest that blocked the road. Once we arrived, Captain Lulu and his crew got to work at once. It was very clear they have done this before and each bike was winched up into the sky and swung onboard, where it would be covered and tied down for the next 5 days. The heavy lifting completed, we were assigned beds below deck - we were all the way up front with the Captain, which seemed like a good thing until we realised that was where one felt the most rocking in rough seas. The course was set for one of the Kuna inhabited islands and en route we were fed the first of many amazing meals onboard. We arrived at the island in grey weather but the rain held off while we were entertained with local dances and dinner, and then we spent a very humid night in the Kuna huts, scattered between beds and hammocks.

Island paradise
The next two days saw us living an island paradise dream, complete with soft white sand, warm turquoise waters, a rope swing, good snorkelling, rum punch and spectacular sunsets. Just as we were thoroughly relaxed and ready to give up on civilised life, Captain Underpants got things moving again and began the crossing. Anti-nausea pills were passed around like candy - everyone but the Wolf took some. He was determined to be the hero that didn't need the meds, and he was. I did not get ill, but was happy to have taken the pills when I experienced the odd woozy moment. We spent a full day and night at sea - the night being lit up by phosphoresce tickling the bow, and mirroring the stars above - then we pulled into Cartagena. By then Captain Underpants had once again found his pants and was impressing upon us the urgency of getting to the embassy quickly before things shut down - it was Friday after all and there was no telling how early the immigration agents would start their weekend. And so our entry to South America began.

More pictures here

 

[budman]

Awesome!!!

 

[yama-emma]

Captivating Colombia

Cartagena, Colombia to Medellin, Colombia
June 20 to July 14, 2014

A colourful cast of characters
We did not bump into many other riders throughout Central America, except for the friendly couple from Motopasaran and some rude chap on a BMW who didn't bother to stop and say "hi". On the Stahlratte however, we were happily acquainted with many other adventure riders all aiming South. The Wolf got to talk bikes with people who actually know what MT-09's, TRX850's, and SZR660's are! Most of the folks were heading to Ushuaia with a schedule that would get them there in the coming summer season, so we'll all be within a month or so of each other as we ride South. We eventually pieced together that the 'rude' BMW rider who'd passed us on Ometepe was in fact Mr Peter Domhill (on a BMW 800GS), who'd been rushing to make his hotel before dark, and he's actually rather nice when he's not late. You can read about the rest of the zoo animals here. After crossing the gap, the lot of us found ourselves camped out together at the Hostal Real in Cartagena with a bunch of bikes cluttering the courtyard.

Calefaction on the Caribbean coast
Cartegena was very, very hot and it was in this heat we weaved through manic traffic to find new tires, insurance and other spare parts. For me, this was far more terrifying than riding in any of the cities thus far, including Mexico D.F. It's possible though, that I was merely struggling to adjust to being back on land. I seemed to suffer with dizziness much longer on solid ground than I did when first getting on deck. Once the maintenance chores were done (which were complicated by a few holidays that apparently even the locals didn't know about) we felt the call of cool mountains was far stronger than that of baking beach towns. We packed up and headed directly for Minca. We found a fantastic fresh refuge in the mountains called Sans Souci, where our accommodations consisted of an outdoor bed with a mosquito net strung up. We also found our buddies from the boat, Ryan and Marcos el Narko, who had left Cartagena a day before us. The following days were spent hanging around in hammocks and lazily exploring the peaceful surroundings.

The allure of more adventure
Once recovered from our near-melt on the coast, we packed up our gear and made our way to the "adventure zone" of the Santander Department; known for white water rafting, paragliding, rock climbing and other sports. Our first stop was Bucaramanga, where we made the acquaintance of the famous Richie Mantilla at Colombia Paragliding. He shared motorcycling tips for South America, and hooked us up with a spot of paragliding off the Mesa de Ruitoque. For any aspiring paragliding pilots, this is the cheapest place to get your license: 15 days and US$1,500 including accommodation and lessons, with good updrafts all day every day.

Climbing the walls
Next up we followed Marcos El Narko to Refugio de la Roca, a climbing hostel and camp spot with astonishing views, and set out to do some serious rock climbing. Luckily we bumped into Michelle - a San Francisco native - who actually had equipment, and knew what she was doing. Unfortunately for her, she didn't realise we were total rookies until it was too late, and the Wolf was boldly executing his first ever lead climb with no clue the quickdraws had to be clipped on in a particular way. The Wolf is incredibly good at many things, even things he's never done before, so Michelle's anxiety was for naught and the day of climbing was a huge success. Since our climbing had gone so well, we conferred with Marcos and the 3 of us agreed to set our sights on hiking into the El Cocuy National Park. We first made our way to the charming little town of Barichara and spent a couple of days relaxing at the Hostel Tinto before heading to the Parque National. You can read all about our El Cocuy adventure in "The Good, the Farc and the Cocuy"

Stones and Water
After our hiking detour, during which the Wolf learned to his surprise that he doesn't really enjoy hiking at altitude (or perhaps at any time really), we started making our way West. We crossed more mountain ranges on dirt roads and meandered through many small pueblas en route to Guatape. We stopped for a quick night in Villa de Leyva before cranking out a massive day of 10 hours in the saddle and arriving at the Lakeview Hostel after dark. The name "Guatapé", comes from the Quechua language, related to "stones and water" and the town lives up to it's name with a web of waterways surrounding it, and the famous El Peñon towering over it. Nick and Greg, the hostel owners, directed us to a few lesser-traveled routes around the area, with great swimming holes, waterfalls and a collection of towns that were deeply, and relatively recently, affected by "La Violencia". After throughly exploring the surrounding areas of Guatape, we braced ourselves for the big city of Medellin. We'd heard many great things about it, and I was convinced that we'd be disappointed with such high expectations. Instead we were overwhelmed by how marvellous Medellin actually is... but that's a story for next time.

See more pictures here

 

[Mistico]

Awesome reports and pictures.

Your GPS wizardry was extremely helpful.

Thanks and continue having a blast

 

[budman]

Your turn next eh Mistico??

I bought the camera they recommended early on in the thread.
Still trying to figure it out.

Very cool thread.

 

[Carlini]

Any danger?

As you travel through South America has there been any dangerous areas? Sketchy characters? Mexico seems very dangerous to me. What was your experience?

 

[budman]

Any more updates.

 

[yama-emma]

As you travel through South America has there been any dangerous areas? Sketchy characters? Mexico seems very dangerous to me. What was your experience?

Hey Carlini, we did not had any bad experiences on our trip. We had a brief run in with the police in Mexico City - mainly because they wanted us to pay a bribe and we didn't want to. We were advised to avoid the Michoacán State in Mexico - which we did - but other than that nothing sketchy at all.

 

[yama-emma]

A city reborn

Since we spent the last part of our journey focusing mainly on riding, we did very little ride reporting... so now we will attempt to get back to the regular scheduled programming of our ride report!

Medellin, Colombia to Salento, Colombia
July 14, July 29 2014

Paisa Paradise

Our good friend "Marcos el Narco" in tow, we glided down the mountains and into Medellin unsure of what to expect. Our experiences with Colombia that far had been wonderful, but we were now entering the lion's mouth, the home of the famous eponym cartel, Pablo Escobar's headquarters. You know how the saying goes? Don't believe the hype! Within 10 minutes of entering the city limits, several motorcycles had joined Marcos in following us, all eager to catch us a the next stop, wish us a warm welcome and ask about our journey. It was the friendliest welcome we've received anywhere so far! We crossed the Parque Lleras to reach the Tamarindo Hostal to find another welcome committee, our old friends Tom and Peter working on their bikes! We all comfortably spent our next week there, oblivious to the location's ominous past and had a wonderful time.

Big thanks to David, Sonia and Ethan for the warm welcome and the mailbox services

David, Sonia and Ethan were also waiting for us. The little family had recently fled the madness of the French capital to start anew in Medellin. The Wolf, desperate to wear high the colors of Endurospirit, his old MC in Provence, had found David on Facebook via a common friend. The legendary solidarity between bikers led David to put his mailbox at the disposition of a perfect stranger and a few weeks later we all met for the first time around a delicious barbecue. We found a new Replay camera, fancy personalised jerseys, and more importantly new friends! Thanks a ton guys!
Sadly our third package fell prey to the shipping demons who patrol most Central and South American locations. (It was much later located in a warehouse in Bogota, but seems irretrievable at this point. A donation to Colombia I suppose.)

It was in Medellin that we discovered the joy of free walking tours - they have them in most major cities worldwide and the tour guides work only for tips.

Our guide, from Medellin herself, told us about the proud Paisa history, the growth of the coffee industry and they key role played by the railroad in connecting the city to the outside world. We also discussed the carnage of the Colombian civil war and how Colombians were today cheerful and friendly to keep away the demons of the past.

On the motorcycle front, the Wolf was delighted to discover Mundi Moto and the shops on the Calle 38 #52. We were able to buy all the parts we had been missing for so long, fork seals, clutch perch, thick inner tubes and more. The other thing Medellin has loads of, is fancy malls, and it was in this city I realised what a mallrat the Wolf truly is. Perhaps it's merely a product of rough adventure travel, but we indulged in many hours of mall time, which included watching Guardians of the Galaxy in the premium theatre - lazyboy recliners included. (Great movie, by the way.)

Iced Coffee

Scenic views as we entered the Zona Cafetera, the coffee region

After almost a week of cultural exploration (and retail relaxation, although we didn't really buy anything) we said goodbye to Medellin, and aimed South towards Salento, a small but touristy town in the Zona Cafetera.

We set camp at Yambolombia a slightly hippy hostal with an awesome vibe, were Gabriel, the owner, made us feel welcome. We begun chatting about our journey and mentioned meeting in Guatape a fellow rider from neighbouring Armenia. Gabriel proceeded to describe the guy, pick up his phone and 30 minutes Joaquin showed up at our door on his shiny 660 Tenere! We were like, huh??! Impossible. The next day Marcos, Peter, Tom and the Yeti all showed up in Salento and Joaquin proceeded to take us on what was supposed to be a quick ride around the Salento valley. That turned into 4 days and close to a 1000kms of the most fantastic roads. We rode the highest road in Colombia in the Los Nevados park (DR Hypoxia), visited coffee plantations, enjoyed cocktails in fancy hotels and wrapped it all up with a trip to the luxurious Santa Rosa de Cabal hot springs. We don't know how to thank you for the amazing experience, Joaquin.

As a parting gift Joaquin helped us plot our route to Ecuador. We discovered the Tatacoa desert, the Tierradentro ruins and San Agustin, but that's for our next post.

More pictures here

 

[yama-emma]

Bouncing into Ecuador

Salento, Colombia to Quito, Ecuador
July 30, 2014 - Aug 6, 2014

Tatacoa desert

The Zebra looking gorgeous in the Tatacoa desert with the Cordillera Central in the background

With the route our friend Joaquin helped us plot loaded into our trusted GPS, we finally left Salento for our next stop over, the Tatacoa desert. We rode for several hours with the Cordillera Central to our right and the rays of the evening sun painting gorgeous colours in its clouds. A field of blooming cotton gave us an excuse for a an improvised photo shoot, the old dirt road to the desert invited us for a detour at dusk, and we finally reached Tatacoa way past sunset. Wikipedia will give you more details on the specifics of this area. What we will remember are the Spanish pronunciation lessons of our host Rafael Marquez, the surreal swimming pool at Villa de Marquez and a night sky host of more stars than we knew.

We left early the next morning determined to reach the town of archeological site of Tierradentro high up in the Cordillera. Expecting a challenging road we preventively pampered ourselves at the Termales Los Angeles next to Neiva. In just 50 kilometers the landscape changes drastically with the abundance of fresh water, hinting at what Tatacoa once was. The termales are built around a stream that brings to several small pools the heat stolen from nearby volcanoes. We were surprised mid-bath by Tom and Markos with whom we had shared our route. Quite incomprehensibly, they resisted the appeal of a swim and went hunting for a random internet cafe, go figure.

The Cauca Valley
We painfully extracted ourselves from the pool and begun our climb to TierraDentro. A portion of the road follows an affluent of the Rio Paez and in addition of being alternatively rocky and muddy, it was also under heavy construction. After an hour long bonding session with the other drivers stuck at the road block, we resumed our progress to reach the town at night and under the rain. Our desire to camp was no match for the flood and the warm lights of the hotel La Porta where we found refuge for the night. The following morning I found a Zebra bouncing around at the thought of discovering painting and statues at the nearby archeological site. Under semi-clement skies, we followed the well marked trail to the first site. There we were greeted by a friendly local waving tickets at us and demanding $20 for the visit. Granted by US standards $20 is not much, but a strong trend of building fences around ill-conserved ruins and asking high prices to tourists for access has worn us down a bit. We turned our heels, jumped back on our bikes and rode back down the valley thoroughly enjoying the free and amazing landscape.

No coke, thanks.

Posing in the sugar cane fields above San Agustin

Next up was San Agustin. The town is arguably the prettiest one this side of the Cordillera and the gateway to several impressive landscapes. As it happened often, a random local approached us as we were looking for accommodation options on our GPS, and that is how we landed at la Casa del Japonese. Nicely located on a hill above town, a deck offers the ideal spot to daydream while watching the town rooftops and its flickering lights. The owner is a colourful character and will entertain you with outlandish stories about Colombia. He'll also suggest you take a tour of a local coke lab, and offer some samples, in case you're that way inclined. A behavior not only unique during our stay in Colombia but also in stark contrast with the efforts displayed in other regions to inform guests of the ravaging effects of the coke industry on the country. I personally fell in love with the little 2 stroke Yamaha he drives around town. He told me this model used to be a favourite of motorcycle assassins back in the days, now it does grocery runs, times have changed.
With the help of our Japanese friend, we planned a picturesque, adventurous (and muddy) loop in the nearby mountains. I got my fix of dirt trails while discovering amazing local attractions, among which the Salto de Bordones stands out. It probably is the most amazing waterfall we've encountered so far. On the South side there is the recently remodelled Hotel Bordones unlisted in most guides. The owner is very friendly and gave a tour of the building highlighting all the recycled materials used and the architect's (his father) inspirations. It's well off the beaten path, offering unique views of the waterfall and if you're on a budget, they have the prettiest campsite with hot showers. Opposite the Hotel, across the canyon, a tiny, barely maintained trail takes you meters away from the raging waters plunging down the cliff, a magical place with a semi permanent rainbow. Not far away, the Estrecho del Magdalena stages the show of the eponym river strangled thru a narrow 1.70m rock funnel.

El Trampoline de la Muerte!

There are turns one does not want to miss.

Our initial plan called for crossing into Ecuador at La Hormiga in the Valle del Guamuez. The Zebra was not thrilled with this plan as it would mean missing the sanctuary of Las Lajas and venturing into the only region of Colombia we had heard rumors of turmoil. As we headed South through mudslides towards Mocoa, we stopped at a Military checkpoint. As always the officials were courteous but winced ever so slightly at the mention of our plan. After conferring among themselves they indicated that the Laguna La Cocha further west should not be missed and suggested we take that route instead. For the second time in our journey, we altered our routes to stay clear of a troublesome area. We were not disappointed as this detour lead us to Hwy 10, a road we would later learn has been fondly nicknamed El Trampoline de la Muerte (The trampoline of death) by the locals. The road connects Mocoa to Pasto over the Cordillera Central and while missing certain turns may result in bouncing right off the trampoline, we thoroughly enjoyed the ride and the views.

Thawing at the Chalet Guamuez

The only caveat was, the road crests a 4000+ meter pass, erasing any memory of sweating in the desert a few days earlier. A sign bearing the word "Chalet" evoked luring images of fondue and hot chocolate. The Chalet Guamuez delivered and within minutes of our arrival we were warming our derrières with a toasty wood fire, while the bartender poured his first ever Irish coffee.

Goodbye Colombia

A surreal sight in the distance, the Las Lajas Sanctuary

Tom, Markos, the Zebra and I broke the bank for a night in a Cabana that would not have looked out of place in Gstaad, Switzerland. The sanctuary of Las Lajas was on the next day's program. It was just as wet departing the laguna as it had been when we arrived, not an auspicious start to the day. At least the road was paved, and we were well rested. Except for losing Tom in the traffic in Pasto we had an uneventful ride to Las Lajas, and were appropriately awed by the elaborate structure as we crested the last hill. We found Tom thawing with a coffee at the entrance to town, and proceeded to explore and capture the church in the fading evening light. The next morning, we reluctantly said sad goodbyes to Tom (and temporarily Marcos as he had to go back to Chalet Guamez to search for his missing gps) and then the Zebra, Peter and I set off to cross over to Ecuador.

More pictures here

 

[yama-emma]

Swinging between Hemispheres

Quito, Ecuador to Vilcabamba, Ecuador
Aug 7, 2014 - Aug 21, 2014

Blasé
After almost 2 months having a jolly good time rolling up and down Colombia's cordilleras, we were not quite prepared for Ecuador. First, we had taken a closer look at the map of South America and were a bit daunted by the kilometers left to cover. Peru looked like 3000kms, Chile 5000kms and maybe another 5000kms to Ushuaia. When Central America rewarded our progress with border crossings every few hundred kilometers, we would have to ride several thousands kilometers in South America without new stamps in our Passports.
Second, the spots we wanted to visit somehow failed to stir the kind of excitement we had felt for Lake Atitlan or for Medellin. After travelling for 6 months and seeing hundreds of amazing places, it is hard to keep your enthusiasm intact and find the energy to make a 300km detour in order to see another church or volcano. How lame of us to feel blasé.

Galapagos, or not?

On our way to Quito

After a fairly smooth border crossing and an impressive ride down canyons and valleys with our buddy Peter a.k.a. Cheeky Monkey, we reached Quito on August 6. We put our luggage down at the Piedmont Hotel a few blocks away from the Place Fochs. A large "What the Foch!" marks the spot and guarantees everyone know this is party central. From the terrace of the Azuca Beach one can spend hours watching tourists . In some aspects, Quito was comparable to Medellin, it is similarly surrounded by several mountains with new neighbourhoods slowly creeping up their slopes as if trying to reach for fresh air. Place Fochs vaguely reminds one of Parque Lleras without equalling its charm. We did however find the old Quito, Calle la Ronda and the presidential palace quite lovely.
One question kept nagging us while there, should we go the Galapagos? With my usual refraction to anything too popular, I felt the Islands were over marketed and was therefore fearing ambitious locals scheming to make a buck on eager tourists. We spent several hours comparing options from local agencies, unable to find anything compelling for less than $1300/pp for a 4 days/3 nights tour. In the end I talked us out of it, arguing that after our adventure on the Stahlratte we were bound to be disappointed and rationalising that for the same budget we'd be able to do something much cooler later on.

Swinging on a star

We could not stop taking pictures of the Casa del Arbol in Banos

Feeling mildly regretful about our decision, we left Quito for Baños, heading East over the Papallacta (Guamani) pass through Baeza. This is definitely the road less travelled and despite the rain and the cold we enjoyed the countless waterfalls roaring down lush mountain sides to join thunderous rivers.
Several twisties later and we found ourselves in Baños, a cute mountain town cradled against the Tungurahua volcano. We checked ourselves in at La Petite Auberge and went hunting for the famous Casa Del Arbol. The pushy crowds bumping into each other as they waited for their 5 minute ride on the swing did not manage to spoil our experience, especially since they soon dispersed and we found ourselves enjoying a quiet evening, punctuated only by distant rumbles and bright orange flashes as the volcano burped and spluttered not far away. As the night fell we found ourselves alone with the owners and they told us how their grandad had initially built the cabana as a hideout to play the guitar while his grandchildren swung about below. It was wonderful evening!

Cuenca

On our way to Cuenca

Under clouds stubbornly opaque to sunshine, we launched our DRs towards Cuenca through Sucua. The road treated us with fun turns banking their way through the forest before escaping valleys drowned under hydro-electric floods by clinging to mountain sides.
Cuenca seduced us with well preserved Spanish architecture, as well as newer buildings lining the banks of the gently tamed Tomebamba river. After a pleasant Sunday morning, exploring museums and strolling around, Peter rolled into town after his loop around the volcan Chimborazo. We enjoyed a lazy Sunday lunch, helping Marco explore his options for wrapping up his adventure. We all met up again a few days later in Villcabamba, a pretty town whose charm and perfect climate has attracted a large community of retired expats. To the Zebra's initial dismay we stayed at yet another French owned hotel, but it turned our to be the nicest spot in many months. A local motorcycle shop lent us a couple square meters of dirt to give our DRs a bit of love, which was a mixed blessing as every part and tool got a dust bath in the process. Shod with new tires and with a few litres fresh oil in their guts, our DRs were ready to scramble to the tiny border of La Balsa and into Peru.

More pictures here

 

[yama-emma]

One thousand switchbacks

Jaen, Peru to Yungay, Peru
Aug 21, 2014 - Aug 29, 2014

Respecting lunchtime

The lonely La Balsa border at lunchtime

After several hours of riding dusty roads, we reached the tiny border post nestled in the mountains right at lunch time. What's the big deal you ask? Well most administrations in South America tend to not function from 1 to 2pm. Nothing official of course but good luck trying to get any document stamped in that time frame. With nothing else to do, we sat next to our aduana officer, wished him a "bon provecho" and ordered a random soup.
Shortly thereafter he was back at his keyboard. Although given his abysmally slow keystroke per minute, one might question whether he really had ever seen a keyboard before, or for that matter, the form he was supposed to fill to let our DRs into Peru. Several hours later we found ourselves riding into country #12, Peru. We happily discovered a nicely paved road. Little did we know that the introduction of pavement would mean roadworks. Many miles of roadworks.


Not just another mountain road

Our first mountain town was the uninspiring Jaen. It offered us little more than a giant nail that deflated the Zebramobile's rear shoe overnight. From there we aimed towards Chachapoyas. We reached the turn off to the capital of the Amazonas region early in the day and decided to push a bit further to Leymebamba. We followed a narrow strip of asphalt that dove into the Utcubamba river before fighting the rocky mountain side to carve a path at its side. The long trail to the Kuelap fortress looked like too much work and we instead visited the Mummy Museum where we learned more about the ancient tribes of this region. After a good night sleep, we went looking for gas and discovered what would become the norm for gas stations, an old man with a funnel and a 1 gallon jar, refilled in the dark recesses of his hut, hopefully with actual petrol. Our DRs did not seem to mind and we begun our climb to Celendin. It took us forever! Not because the road was bad, but rather because it was so beautiful that we stopped every few minutes to take more pictures. This was quite possibly the most dramatic stretch of road from the whole trip.

Down the mountain, up the mountain

Can you say switchback?

A jug of Chicha Morada later, the traditional drink make of fermented purple corn, we were off to Cajamarca. The town is the capital of the region and features gorgeous Spanish buildings. Our favorite was a small motorcycle shop where we found two Pirelli tires for less than $70/each, yes, we are bike nerds. We left the town early morning heading for Santiago de Chuco via Cajabamba. The dusty road took us over mountain crests and down narrow valleys, daring us to enjoy the breathtaking views at the risk of missing a turn. We compromised by switching the bikes off and freewheeling down the hills, enjoying the sound of our tires crunching through the sand and stones. It was dark when we reached Santiago de Chuco, with the now slick rear tire of the Zebramobile skidding around like it was in a supermoto race. We followed the fancy pick up trucks of construction workers towards the only hotel in town and promptly put the Wolf to bed. He was feeling poorly and quickly started shivering despite the warmth of several blankets. His condition deteriorated overnight and by the next morning was curled up in a little ball in bed. For the first time since I've known the Wolf, he spent the whole day sleeping in bed, almost certainly the victim of salmonella poisoning.
Luckily sleep and water did the trick and he was ready to go 24 hours later. After changing the Zebramobile's tire (never before did I wish I was strong enough to get the tire changed on my own) we set off for Tauca.

Rinse and repeat

Another delightful, dusty mountain road

Another day, another descent, and another climb. We did this for several hours, until the last set of switchbacks landed us in Tauca. Our GPS maps had no indication of a hotel or hostel, but we were sure there had to be something, and we were right. What we did not expect however, was that all 3 hostels in town would be full. We were finally sent to one that was under construction, and they offered us a room, with no shower, but at least a toilet and a bed completed. It was here that the Wolf's compromised immune system decided it was not satisfied with the state of affairs, complaining loudly with a violent allergic reaction, covering the poor Wolf with a rash and a constricted throat, scaring us both badly. Tauca is very remote. By morning the Wolf was still rather itchy, but breathing better, so we decided to keep moving. As we were loading the bikes, our friend Peter rolled through town, apparently having been on our tails for a few days. After a happy reunion, we all started riding South.

Enough dust already

Sunset silhouette

Our GPS teased us with the trace of what seemed like a direct trail to Huallanca, the last town before the Cañon Del Pato. After consulting with the locals we were recommended to cross Yupan, leave Corongo to our left and turn at Tres Cruces toward Yuracmarca. Needless to say this resulted in more dust, more switchbacks, absolutely unbelievable lunar landscapes and, a very upset Englishman forced to ride at night. We found Huallanca busy celebrating some random saint with live bands, folk dances and shiny tinsel. Unfortunately for us this also meant that, once again, every single hotel in town was full. After much negotiation we ended up paying an arm and a leg for the last two tiny, dusty rooms available in town. A place to sleep secured, we strolled around town after dinner enjoying the festive ambiance. Things became less fun when the bands were still going at 4am. The famed Cañon del Pato made us forget how tired and dusty we were (although it's still a mystery as to why it's called 'Duck Canyon' since there is nothing but rocks to be found there.) When we finally pulled into Yungay, our first stop was a carwash, where we attempted to pressure wash away a week's worth of dust and exhaustion.

More pictures here