San Agustin and the journey to Ecuador

An ancient tribe, or tribes, who lived in what is now Colombia from around 3300BC were a cut above your average, grunting hunter gatherer.
Not content with clubbing their womenfolk, cavorting around the forest with their clackers swinging freely and gorging on bloody, raw animal carcasses, they sauntered up Civilisation Avenue by burying their dead and marking their graves with carved stone statuary.

Very little is known of what is now called "San Agustin culture" but hundreds of statues were found buried in this area in the early 20th century and now provide a powerful tourist draw for gringos and Colombianos alike.
The area is also conveniently situated en route from Bogota to Ecuador so it was an obvious port of call for us.

We were met off the bus by a gaggle of hoteliers, a supreme irritation when you've just travelled for eleven hours through the night.
We went to a nearby eatery for yet more scrambled egg and to consider our options. Meanwhile, the hoteliers and a tourism rep lurked outside.

Eventually, Kerry volunteered to perform the tedious task of sourcing a satisfactory room, leaving me to the tranquility of a second cup of coffee, my peace only broken by the noise created by two New Zealanders dragging a kayak up the street behind them.

Kerry walked around the whole town accompanied by the tourism rep, a lady called Anna, returning nearly an hour later with the news that every room had a serious flaw, be it no wi-fi, too costly, bed like stone or too far out of town.
We opted for "too far away" run by the kindly looking Humberto and what an inspired choice it turned out to be.

Humberto's place was as clean and welcoming as you could possibly wish for and all for just £13 per night.
Once we'd ditched our bags he took me upstairs to his rooftop patio and explained the tours he offered and also that he used to be in the employ of Pablo Escobar. He did such a good job of explaining everything that I signed up there and then for a horseback tour of four archaeological sites and a jeep tour the day after to more sites and also to the second highest waterfall in South America.
I went down to break the news to a semi-comatose Kerry who expressed approval via an enigmatic smile and a raised eyebrow.

The rest of Friday was spent doing precisely nothing. We couldn't shower as hot water was only available between 0600-0900 so we swung in hammocks on the roof and read, and stank.
Dinner was a humorous affair where we were at pains to request fresh veg at the expense of patacones (cardboard flavoured circular abominations), sugary fried banana and salad.
We sat in hope rather than expectation but what arrived was enough to feed six people. We each had three full plates: chicken breasts, veg, rice, chips and a mushroom and onion sauce. Pretty good for £10.

It absolutely lashed it down with rain overnight, so much so that the town was abuzz with news of nine houses that had been washed away by floods.

Our horses were outside as agreed at 0900 and there we met Christian (number 1) who was to be our guide for the day. I struck up an immediate rapport with him by means of the international language of football. You see, it pays to have a geeky knowledge of Colombian footballers currently plying their trade in European leagues and my knowledge of the Colombian world cup campaign of 1994 went down a storm too.

We mounted up and our little party of Kerry and I and a Colombian couple who were also staying at Humberto's, Alexandre and Magdalena, set off.
After about 4km we reached our first set of standing stones and Christian did his tour guide bit and told us all about them.
We then visited another and then a lookout point over the Rio Magdalena where the lush countryside and incredibly steep canyon was a joy to behold.

Back on the gee-gees we upped the ante to a bone jarring trot, eventually breaking into a canter which was great fun. We stopped at an old crones house for some liquid refreshment, Alexandre necking a couple of beers whilst we stuck to lukewarm and nausea inducing natural juices.

After dismounting into a bog and yomping up a steep muddy slope to regard some more stones we were back on the horses for the final part of the trail to the main archaeological park and Christian "yee-hahed" our charges into a frenzy.
I found myself clinging on to the nobbly bit of the saddle for dear life and every step caned my hernia, so long in remission. I was delighted therefore to get off but Kerry was devastated and wanted to ride more.

It was quite a hike around the main park and what with our equine endeavours we were completely cream crackered by the time we arrived back at the hostel.
I lounged in the hammocks for long enough to get perished to the bone and only then remembered that we had no hot water until morning.

On Sunday we were out again for 0900 and the jeep tour of the San Agustin valley.
Our guide was another Christian and a lively debate soon followed our meeting over who was best, Ronaldo or Messi.

Our first stop today was somewhere called "Estrecha de Magdalena", a point of the river where it is only two metres wide but still has an incredible volume of water pulsing through caves beneath the rock on which we were standing. It's a lethally dangerous place which the epitaphs to people lost here bear testimony to.
Two other jeep tours were shadowing us and a French woman from one of these went arse over tit on the slippery rock and came perilously close to becoming a statistic.

In the third jeep was a party of Colombians and as we all milled about a rather ravishing young lady asked me if she could have a photo of me and her together.
I obliged but, naturally, I was as outraged as Kerry was at this beguiling señoritas brass.

Back at the jeep a brou-ha-ha erupted as one of our party had had a bag stolen whilst we were at the river. She shrugged it off with admirable resignation, just bemoaning the fact she'd lost her tazer.

After a couple of underwhelming visits to ancient sites we stopped for lunch at a place in the middle of nowhere. We opted for vegetables and rice with everyone else going for steak. As they brought out these huge sides of meat for the others we seriously regretted our decision but consoled ourselves that we may have staved off coronary attacks for around three minutes by abstaining from that delicious looking and no doubt mouth wateringly tasty beef.

The waterfall we visited was a spectacular 400m high, the second highest on the continent after Angel Falls in Venezuela. We could stand on a rickety looking platform of indeterminate vintage to get a better view but we both made sure we were on it for the shortest time possible. Rusty iron and holed floor doing nothing to instil confidence in us that it wouldn't give way at any moment.

You could also walk round to the actual fall and try to peer over the edge. We could hardly look as a young lady from our jeep posed for a photograph right on a slippery ledge. If this were in England it would be roped off from about 20 yards and all visitors would be made to wear hard hats and safety harnesses. Here, we had paid some geezer 20p to walk across his cabbages and it was a free for all. Different world.

With our desire for pre-Colombian Colombian culture well and truly sated we planned our departure for Monday morning.
We had hoped to reach Quito in Ecuador in one day but hadn't reckoned on having to travel north for 130km first due to the road south being "too dangerous".
We made for the town centre on Monday morning and were truly touched to see both Christians, Humberto and Anna the tourist rep there to wave us off. A cynic would say that they were there to exploit the next pair of dumb gringos off the night bus from Bogota but we know different.
Horsey Christian wrote his address on a postcard and asked that we write to him, he took a photo of us on his phone too, jeep Christian said we would always have friends in San Agustin and Humberto and Anna hugged us and posed for photos.
Maybe they do this for everyone, I don't know, but we felt warm and gooey as a result and it was a priceless encounter.

The two Christians turned out to be half brothers and their dad took us 5km out of town to meet the bus for Popayan.
This was a real locals bus, a 20 seater packed to the rafters and with less legroom than John Cleese would find in a dolls house. We hoped for a nice paved and straight road but these were dashed after 20 seconds when we turned onto a stony track. It remained unpaved for all but the final 30 minutes of the five hour journey.

We stopped overnight in Popayan, having a quick look at the beautiful, whitewashed city centre with stunning cathedral and plaza and then fine dining on more meat than I would usually consume in a week.

From Popayan to the border, a town called Ipiales, it was a drag. We didn't do any homework and bought tickets for the first bus company we saw. Having acted in haste we repented for the next eight hours of bum aching torture on twisting rounds through truly awesome scenery.
Having thought the journey to Bogota the other day was a bit hairy this was much worse. Stand out moments include approaching a tunnel on a blind bend and being overtaken by another bus so that he was on the wrong side of the road as he entered it. On another bend we overtook a car which was overtaking a truck. The sight of a bus identical to ours, lying on its side with the front all stoved in, was perhaps a reminder to our driver that hope isn't the only requirement for ensuring your passengers arrive at their destination safely.

We arrived late in Ipiales, fully 9500ft up, though we did score with the hotel being just £9.90 for the night. We ran out of Colombian pesos so had to fall back on our Yankee dollars for our final couple of transactions and, having now crossed into Ecuador, are back in dollar territory anyway.

So here we are in country number 11, fresh from an interrogation at the border and, so far, three separate searches of the luggage on our bus by "Anti-narcoticas".
But there's a spring in our step. A new country is exciting and the crisp mountain air and bright sun is such a welcome change after nearly rotting in the humidity of Central America.
We're also due to cross the equator within the next hour.
What's not to be excited about?

UPDATE
The bus broke down just about on the equator and though the driver got it going again after half an hour it broke down every half a mile from then until Quito.

It lashed it down with rain in Quito and the city's roads became rivers. Sitting in our taxi a truck went past covering our car in water, some of which forced through the seals and all over Kerry.

Quito looks lovely though, and we're still smiling.