Following yet another hard day (6hrs 30 mins and 152 miles) on the steel horse we arrived in Salento in the Cocora Valley. The only issue of note was we were stopped in a ‘policia’ road check. We have passed through many ‘policia and militar’ road checks on our travels through Colombia but this was the first time we had actually been stopped.

The ‘policia’ was friendly enough and asked to look in a side pannier. After a quick look he asked for the rear pannier to be opened. Again, quick look. He was obviously looking for drugs and guns and by this time realised the old gringos were innocent enough. We were waved on.

I obviously played it ‘Paul Newman Cool’ because the ‘polica’ didn’t read my nervousness. For if he had cared to look in the third pannier this is what he would have found.

No, no, not an offensive banana – that bag of white powder! Yup it’s Susan’s stashed bag of ‘crema de cafe’!

I’ve no idea what the ‘policia’, looking for guns and drugs, would have thought. Would he have stuck his finger in the bag, rubbed it on his teeth and tasted it for purity, just like the movies? Would I have pointed a finger at Susan and said it’s hers! I’ve no idea what could have happened next? Yes, probably after three weeks of Susan being banged up in a Colombian prison whilst the chemical analysis was done everything would have been fine and we would have all laughed about it afterwards. But that wasn’t reassuring, especially for Susan. So the ‘crema de cafe’ is now in the bin. We’re not going to find out if I’m a grass.

Back to Salento, an area known for coffee plantations and, coincidentally, we stayed at the Coffee Tree Boutique Hostel.

Everyone at the Coffee Tree was fantastic, everyone was helpful, everyone was young. Yes, we were the oldest people in the hostel.

Next day, ‘young hostel people’ and ‘old hostel people’ went in a jeep to visit a coffee plantation. ‘Jeep man’ surveyed the eager bunch of ‘hostel people’, pointed at the ‘old hostel people’ and said ‘frente’. That’s how Susan and I ended in the front seats. Then it was ‘chicas atras’ and all the ‘young hostel people’ climbed in the back, some sitting, some hanging on.

Susan and I had the best seats but these were obviously the pensioners seats. Furthermore, Susan was quite upset that she wasn’t regarded a ‘chica’. Worse than that, I was upset because I was obviously not considered strong enough to hold on for dear life at the back. Despite our smiles in the photo we were both feeling a bit huffy.

So off we went in the rickety jeep – ‘old hostel people’ in the front and ‘young hostel people’ in the back. Who said segregation doesn’t happen anymore?

The small coffee plantation was interesting to a point. We picked coffee beans, looked at the processes and tasted some very flavorful coffee. Then it was back to the jeep. This time, seat allocation was more of a free for all. Susan ended up in a comfortable pensioner front seat whilst I found myself in the back with the ‘chicas’. Don’t know how that happened. It was kind of the only seat I could see once I had pushed everyone out the way. As the old adage says ‘you can’t keep old hostel people down’!

That evening, I treated myself to what is perhaps the most popular dish in Colombia, Bandeja Paisa. It’s the national dish. Now let me start by saying we haven’t been impressed with Colombian food and this wasn’t my first bean dish since I’ve bean here 🙂

It included masses of refried black beans (obviously), rice, ground mince, plantain, a chorizo sausage you could use as a police baton, fried pork belly that was tasty enough but whose sole purpose was to take out some teeth, avocado, fried egg, and completed with a few other chewy things of interderminate origin.

Well I can now say I’ve tried it on your behalf and so if you’re ever in Colombia you can choose something else. Believe me you will thank me.

Susan obviously went for something less interesting. However, because some people are more interested in Susan than me here’s a photo of her dinner – trout in a muchroom sauce. They like their trout in Colombia.

After food we finished the day with a few beers. I was still trying to wash that pork belly down.

Then, suitably refreshed but feeling sleepy, the ‘old hostel people’ meandered along the back streets heading for the hostel and bed.

Guess who they met? About 25 ‘young hostel people’ going out for dinner and dancing.

Hola ‘young hostel people’ I said. ‘Buenos noches’ ‘old hostel people’ they replied.

Sigh!

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