Friday, 15 February 2019
San Augustin, Colombia
Great view for breakfast on the terrace overlooking the valley towards San Augustin. Although it’s only about 4,000ft, it’s flipping hot and humid even at this early hour. Have 3hrs walking around the San Augustin archaeological park. A funerary complex dating from…no one really knows exactly. 200BC to 1000AD is a best guess. A stone path at the entrance was built such that all the stones balanced nicely against each other so when someone walked on them they set up a ripple effect and clicked and clacked all the way to the end to warn people that someone was coming. Doesn’t work now, unfortunately.
Local laws dictate that we need a park guide. He only speaks Spanish. My guide says its OK. He’ll just walk with us and she’ll do all the guide stuff as she’s heard it hundreds of times. He’s the third wheel and rarely says anything.
The carved stone statues stand at the end of a human grave and were originally covered in earth. Which is why they’re so well preserved. The Spanish came in the 16th century and discovered some of the graves and obviously took all the gold and jewels that had been buried with the bodies.
Most of the statues indicate animals. The eyes of an eagle depicting heaven. The sharp teeth of a jaguar. Snakes depicting earth. The spiritual and the material.
There’s a lot of historical information to take in so you’ll have to Google San Augustin funerary complex. The funerary mounds are quite far apart so a fair bit of walking. You would think these old tribes would’ve buried everyone together to make it easier to see things. Walk down a steep hill to the river gorge below. The bed rock has had water channels carved into it to direct the flow of water into other carved tubs which acted as birthing pools and a general health spa. It’s been spoilt by the addition of a green lattice framework roof to protect it, which screws up photos.
The penultimate funerary complex is the other side of the gorge. It was a long, hot, sweaty, huffy and puffy walk up that hill. The things I do for you lot. Exertion is not good in 35C heat and high humidity. But the views are staggering. All around are volcanic mountains, now dormant, covered in lush green vegetation with sporadic flashes of bright red from a ‘fire tree’ which has bright red flowers.
There’s only one way out and that’s the way we came. Going down is easy. Going up the other steep side not so.
There’s another funerary complex on the itinerary to do this afternoon but Miss Germany says there’s more steep hills to climb. Too hot for all this so she suggests something a little off menu.
But first lunch. Settle ourselves in a café overlooking San Augustin’s main square. It’s a basic affair but good and hot food. Nice to have a proper chat with Miss Germany. Left home at 16 to live in southern Ireland for 6 months to learn English, then USA on an exchange programme, then visited Peru, Ecuador and finally settled in Colombia. Has been living here for four years and loves it. Her Dad is over at the moment for 10 weeks. He’s driving her crazy.
Bumpy unmade roads to the point where the River Magdalena is squeezed into a 2m wide cut. Another steep climb down to the river but it’s amazing how calm the 2m wide cut is given there’s a raging torrent of white water tumbling over the rocks about 50m upstream. Although only 2m wide, it’s about 20m deep so that’s why the water is calm on top. Walking along the rocks by the river side, manage to step on some green slimy water and slip down, landing on my bum which gets soaking wet. Miss Germany fails miserably at suppressing a laugh and says, “Don’t worry, it’s only water.”
Playing it cool.
More huffing and puffing up the steep climb to the car and drive out of the gorge. Stunning scenery everywhere you look.
Brief stop at a wooden shed in a field. This is a sugar factory. British Sugar factory it is not. Old bloke feeds sugar cane he’s cut from the fields into a mangle. The juice is collected in a vat. Old lady, collects the pressed cane and takes it off to store and dry out, to be used for firewood. Three lads then process the juice. There are four large vats connected together, each with a fire underneath to boil off the liquid. First vat is the first batch of cane juice that is boiled up, second vat is a more condensed version of the liquid trying to reduce the liquid content, third vat is more viscous and a slightly different colour, and the fourth vat is the final product bubbling away, a caramel like substance in texture and colour still boiling away to reduce the liquid content and leave the sugar solids. This fourth vat is poured into a wooden trough to cool and the golden brown sugar is poured into a wooden frame to create bricks of sugar. Once cooled, the sugar bricks are stacked up ready to wrap and sell to the local market. So simple but effective. Very steamy and very noisy from the diesel engine operating the mangle. Fascinating.
Final funerary complex is La Pelota. Differs from all the others in that the statues still have their original paintwork in vivid reds, yellows, oranges, blues and whites. Well worth the walk up yet another steep incline. This area is nothing but steep hills.
Have a day off tomorrow so it has to be a steak and a glass of wine and a few beers for dinner. Very relaxing sitting on terrace looking out over the valley to the glimmering lights of San Augustin about a mile away. Air is so still, temperature has dropped to a nice mild temperature. Relaxing evening reading, drinking and eating.
Nightcap required too. Had finished off the dribble in the end of the bottle of Glenfiddich last night. There’s a Glenfiddich cardboard bottle case on the bar. It will have been replenished won’t it? It’s the first bar in South America that doesn’t sell Johnny Walker. Thank God. The Glenfiddich case is opened. Bottle is removed. It’s empty. They’ve not replenished it. Have they got any more one wonders? No. That was it. How about rum? Nope. Horrible stuff. Amarula? Ditto. Gin? Not for a nightcap. Tequila? And pours a dribble in the stainless steel measuring cup he’s been optimistically holding.
Yuk.
Had a tequila incident in Porto Alegre, Brasil, in 1999 and not drank it since. My colleague is reading this and laughing. We were in a nightclub. It’s 5am. Our female colleague’s brother enters. He’s been scallop diving. He’s on the tequila. We join him. Colleague and I are both 6’5”. Brother is 6’7” and well built. We’ve been drinking for 10hrs now, since 7pm. We really should know better. After a few tequilas with our new best mate, we agree we’ll go scallop diving with him in a few hours. Return to hotel to get some rest before scallop diving in a few hours. We’re in a right state. But it’s OK. We’re going scallop diving in a few hours. We’ll be fine.
Needless to say.
There was no scallop diving. In fact. There was no breakfast. Or lunch.
I digress. So. No nightcap is looking likely. Until. Another waiter comes to the bar. Asks what the problem is. No Glenfiddich. That’s the problem chap.
Ah. Wait. Off he pops. Two minutes later. A fresh bottle of Glenfiddich.
A generous glug of Glenfiddich for my troubles.
