REWINDING A LITTLE

9 July. It’s 5:30am. I’m awake early again.

Too many things running through my head to sleep. The truck ships in 2 days, there’s paperwork to organize, flights to book, insurance to arrange and endless jobs to tick off before we leave South America. We’re sitting in Cartagena, back where this adventure began nearly eighteen months ago.

I haven’t written in a while, so it’s probably time to catch you up. I’d better start back at the Colombian border…

BORDER CROSSING

3 June. Crossing back into Colombia should have been exciting. It’s become one of our favourite countries in South America, and we were genuinely looking forward to returning.

The excitement lasted about five minutes. Border crossings have gone from being a gateway into our next new country to a hassle we could do without.

First up was immigration. As Canadians, Tim, Charley and I each had to pay, again, a CAD $120 entry fee before we could even enter the country. A rather painful CAD $360 later, we finally moved on to the next queue, knowing the truck paperwork was still to come.

When we first entered Colombia a year and a half ago, our shipping agent had organised the truck’s Temporary Import Permit (TIP) for us. This time, the border official simply pointed to a handwritten notice in Spanish taped to the wall and made it clear we were on our own.

The permit had to be completed online.

That meant uploading photographs of the licence plate, VIN, Tim’s passport, entry stamp and completing two lengthy forms—all in Spanish—with every uploaded file under 2.5MB.  Thank goodness for Adobe. Compressing photos became the biggest challenge of the afternoon.

About an hour later we finally submitted everything and received an email containing a QR code. The border officer scanned it, printed another form for Tim to sign… and then kept it.

That missing piece of paper would come back to haunt us weeks later when it was time to ship the truck from Cartagena.

By the time we finally escaped the border it was nearly dark. We decided buying our Colombian SOAT (mandatory road insurance) could wait until morning and drove another forty-five minutes before pulling into a roadside rest area with bathrooms, a restaurant and, reassuringly, a permanently parked ambulance.

According to iOverlander it was a popular overnight stop. It was about as peaceful as sleeping beside a highway can be.

DRIVING WITHOUT INSURANCE

The next morning we headed into the nearest city to buy our SOAT.  No luck. Apparently nobody could issue insurance for foreign-plated vehicles. The second town wasn’t any better.

This was becoming a serious problem. Driving without SOAT in Colombia isn’t something you simply risk. If we’re stopped by police, the truck can be impounded and hefty fines imposed. If we’re involved in an accident, even one that isn’t your fault, the consequences can become far more serious including imprisonment. Guilty till proven guilty.

Reading iOverlander didn’t exactly calm the nerves either. Recent reports mentioned this area to watch out for corrupt police offering to reduce made up infractions and fines with a cash bribes.  North of Popayán there had  been reports of highway car bombings within the previous six months. Suddenly the heavy military presence along the highway made perfect sense.

Somehow we slipped through several military and police checkpoints without anyone stopping us.  Guardian angels are on our side today!  We kept moving.

SILVIA

Aiming for high ground and cooler climates we headed for Silvia.  Nestled high in the green mountains of Cauca at around 2,600 metres, Silvia is one of those classic Andean towns surrounded by patchwork farms and rolling hills. Home to the Misak (Guambiano) people, whose traditional blue ponchos and distinctive hats remain a proud part of everyday life.

Unfortunately, our first impression wasn’t quite what we’d imagined.

It happened to be the Sunday of a long weekend, and the town square was full of young people who had clearly celebrated a little too enthusiastically. Some staggered through the streets, others slept on park benches while friends continued drinking nearby.

After wandering around for an hour we decided we’d seen enough and headed for our campground.  As it turned out, that was the highlight of Silvia.

LA BONANZA CAMPING

La Bonanza isn’t really a campground.  It’s more like arriving at a friend’s country property. Surrounded by flower gardens, farmland and mountain views, a place where travellers plan to stay one night and quietly extend it to five… exactly as we did.

Everything a traveller could possibly need is there: spacious level sites, spotless hot showers, laundry, excellent Wi-Fi, power and equipped communal kitchen.  

The campground is owned by Kika and Anouar, a Moroccan couple who spent eight years travelling South America with their 3 children, homeschooling,  in their own camper before deciding to settle here permanently.

Afternoons with steaming glasses of traditional Moroccan mint tea while learning new card and board game,  Splendour, with Kika and her son—home from university in the United States—and simply enjoying being still for a few days.

When Kika discovered we were driving Colombia without SOAT insurance, she was horrified. Within minutes she had messaged one of her contacts on WhatsApp. An hour later, and about CAD$100 happily poorer, we finally had insurance and, more importantly, the magical piece of paper to prove it. One that we had to have, but were ultimately never asked for.  

Our time to leave coincided with election weekend.  A tense time as the country is clearly divided.  Before pulling out, Kika gave us one final instruction,  “Be off the road by 4pm on Saturday.” The country had already experienced one tense election this year, and she wasn’t comfortable with us travelling, as there was a chance of possible of unrest.  We listened.  

MI CASITA – ARMENIA

Our next stop was Mi Casita, another wonderful campground just outside the city of Armenia. Getting there was an adventure in itself. Traffic around Colombian cities is… creative.  Cars weave through gaps that don’t exist, motorcycles appear from every direction, vehicles overtake on road shoulders and double yellow lines seem to be treated as gentle suggestions rather than rules.

From behind the wheel it feels utterly chaotic. Strangely though, it never feels aggressive.  Drivers wave, smile, toot their horns and give us thumbs-up dozens of times every day. Everyone seems relaxed despite the madness unfolding around them. That’s Colombia.

Heavy rain, traffic jams and an accident delayed us long enough that we arrived after dark, but once again we were welcomed like old friends.  It’s something we’ve noticed everywhere in this country. People often have very little themselves, yet somehow they’re always willing to share whatever they have. 

The following morning we chatted with a lovely Swiss couple making their way south before continuing north.

A POLICE ESCORT

19th June.  We left Armenia mid morning, driving all day we pulled over on the side of the road to put up the starlink so we could contact a campground nearby.   Almost immediately three uniformed and armed Colombian police officers wandered over. Oh shit was my initial thought, as we had read, but as it turned out they were chatty and friendly. They loved the truck.  Questions flew for the next thirty minutes. Where are you from? How long have you been travelling?  Where are you going? Can we look inside? I did allow one in.  

Eventually one officer smiled.  “We know somewhere you can stay.”  “Follow us.” Well…What else do you do?  I quietly snapped a few photos of the officers and sent them to my bestie back home.  Just in case.

Following our police escort, we climbed a steep, narrow winding road before they stopped to pick up a local man waiting beside the road.

Still following…

Eventually we reached a large yellow gate. Behind it was Marcelo’s mandarin and banana plantation. One of the officers had arranged for us to spend the night there.

Marcelo handed us the keys to his workers’ bunkhouse, complete with kitchen and bathroom, welcomed us onto his property and told us to stay as long as we liked.  We weren’t robbed. Although we were charged 60,000 pesos (about US$20) for the privilege.  Not a bad deal for one of the more unusual campsites of the trip and a story to go with it.

Moments like these remind us that despite all the headlines, warnings and horror stories, most people in this world are simply good people. They take pride in where they live, they’re curious, they’re generous, and more often than not, they genuinely just want to help. Those unexpected acts of kindness have become some of our favourite memories of this journey.