Five Days in Colombia: A Country Worth Exploring

Let me tell you, traveling can be seriously stressful and a LOT of work. This was not a vacation.

Not only did we literally plan the trip only hours before leaving, we had to catch a flight or long-haul bus every single morning for a week.

That being said, traveling is amazing.

I get the opportunity to shape my own opinions about a place rather than relying on preconceived notions placed in my head by the media or other people.

When I tell someone I went to Colombia, the first question is always “Was it safe??”

There are still so many misconceptions that Colombia is an extremely dangerous place.

These ideas are understandable, as it definitely wasn’t the best place to go 25 years ago (pardon the understatement). However, I felt completely safe the entire time.

In fact, the people there were possibly the kindest and most helpful I’ve ever met!

On multiple occasions, locals went so far out of their way to walk us where we were trying to go.

A taxi driver in Bucaramanga gave us his personal number because he lived nearby our hostel and could easily pick us up.

We truly traveled this country. It was an exhausting but beautiful journey.

Much to the stereotype of Colombia, on our first taxi ride in Bogotá, we were offered cocaine.

Our driver was very nice when we refused, and this was actually the only offer we received the whole trip.

After an 11-hour red-eye bus ride, Wyatt and I arrived in Salento. We quickly discovered that our hostel reservation had been messed up.

In addition to not being able to stay at this beautiful hostel overlooking a coffee farm, we suddenly had nowhere to stay.

There were several other hostels in town, but everything was completely booked. Apparently, we accidentally went to Colombia during Holy Week.

This is basically Spring Break, but for almost every person young and old in the country.

While being turned away by yet another full hostel, the owner told us her son had just opened up his own down the road above a gift shop.

She called him, and he promptly picked us up in his car and drove us there. It was much cheaper than our original accommodation, and we got a private room!

There was hardly anyone else staying in the bare bones hostel, but it was perfect for the night.

That mother and son were so helpful and kind– just the beginning of our experience with the generosity of Colombians.

Our first real adventure in Colombia was getting to Cocora Valley, a nature reserve near Salento. In order to get there, you have to catch a “Willy.”

We did this in full Colombian style by standing on the back fender during the ride. It was the first, but not the last, crazy Jeep ride of the trip (sorry Mom).

Wyatt and I got our first glimpse of the Valley while on the back of the Willy. We were awestruck.

There are some places that a picture could never do justice. Cocora Valley is one of those places.

It was GORGEOUS. The tallest palm trees in the world jutted up out of the greenest, lushest landscape I’d ever seen.

I was glad we got to do some hiking. The rickety-bridge river crossings were maybe the best part.

When you ask for salsa picante in Colombia, they give it to you in a plastic cup with a spoon– so fresh and spicy! This first happened when we were waiting at the bus station in Pereira.

That bus station breakfast was honestly one of the best meals we had the whole trip. That’s saying a lot because the food in Colombia was amazing!

Another one of the best meals (maybe the best actually) was at El Portón de Juako.

It consisted of fried plantains topped with meat, cheese, and salsa picante– essentially plantain nachos. Wyatt and I ordered the same thing, and we both ate our entire plates.

We rounded out our night by sampling three of Colombia’s national cervezas at La Granja. Some local kids noticed we were the only foreign patrons in the establishment.

They invited us behind the restaurant to play one of the country’s favorite games.

“Tejo” is played by throwing big stone pucks at a box filled with clay, hoping to hit triangular papers filled with gunpowder.

Typically the papers explode, but this version just had smoke instead… supposedly. We hit them a few times with no reaction. I think it was a sham. Oh well, it was still fun– and really hard!

We caught an early flight to Cartagena and walked to our hostel, only to find that this reservation had been screwed up as well. 

After a stressful and confusing fifteen minutes, it ended up working out in our favor. We got an inconvenience discount and paid the dorm price for a private room. 

Once we figured out our bed situation, we inquired about the interesting tour that we’d heard the hostel offered. The excursion included a mud volcano and a nice beach. 

Unfortunately, the bus had left hours ago. This was heartbreaking. We were only in town for a day and had literally come here just to do that tour. 

The hostel manager sensed our immense disappointment. She pulled some strings to arrange for a private tour led by one of her good friends. 

He quickly arrived and served as our guide for the next several hours.

Volcán de Lodo el Totumo was a very unique experience. We stripped down to our swimsuits and proceeded to climb down a ladder into the pit of this mud volcano.

I didn’t expect the mud to be so thick!

I wish I could describe the feeling of floating and also being stuck at the same time, but I truly cannot.

Luckily, we’d hired someone to take pictures of us from above while we were in the volcano. Those photos are the only way you can even begin to know what it was like.

There was even someone in the mud whose job was massaging people for a small fee.

After a long and relaxing soak, we climbed out and walked down the slippery steps to the nearby lagoon. There, two ladies make their living by scrubbing mud bathers clean.

I sat there like a baby in a bathtub as this woman used a plastic cereal bowl to pour clean water over me. She thoroughly washed out my hair and even made sure to get me clean everywhere… 

It was quite a different experience!

Next, our “tour guide” took us to his mother’s beachside restaurant, Donde Bertha, for a complimentary dinner of fried fish, plantains, rice and beans, soup, and beer.

I’d never eaten a whole fish before. It was a learning experience, and it was delicious!

Once our personal tour was over, we walked to the beach nearest our hostel. While there, we decided we were thirsty and went in search of some beers.

Two kind teenagers led us to a mini-mart about a mile away. I’m sure they had better things to do, but they were so sweet.

The boy wanted a chance to practice his English. He’s learning by watching American TV shows. “America’s Got Talent” is his favorite.

Cold beers in hand (and a few more in bag), Wyatt and I went back to the beach.

We watched a beautiful, blazing sunset over the ocean. There was enough light coming from nearby tall buildings to allow us to stay there well past dusk.

When we got hungry, we went in search of an authentic Colombian restaurant. Unfortunately, only a fast food joint was open.

A little kid was belting “I Want Candy” in Spanish at the top of his lungs. “Quieeeero dulce!” The bland burger and fries dinner was worth all the laughs we got listening to the mini performer.

Bellies full, we headed back to the hostel. I swung tipsy in the hammock on the patio while we drank beers with an Israeli guy who had just gotten out of the military.

An adventurous day was capped off by a chill night.

Our morning flight arrived in Medellín around 8 AM. We were here to go on one specific tour. We called the company promptly and found out that, yet again, the bus had already left.

And yet again, the owner understood how disappointed we were and worked some magic. He called the driver and told him to pick us up at the airport.

We had called at precisely the right time. The bus was only ten minutes away, and there were exactly two spots open.

There was no reason why the owner should have accommodated us.

It was our fault that we hadn’t planned correctly. We should’ve booked the tour the day before and been at the meeting spot at 7 AM.

I am so grateful to have met so many amazing people in Colombia. Our trip would have been far less exciting if it wasn’t for them.

To start off this tour which we were so ill-prepared for (I was wearing dress boots), we hopped on the top (yes, the TOP) of Jeeps. 

The vehicles made their way up into the hills on horrible, rocky dirt roads. 

We volunteered to go on top, along with a dozen other tourists, because it sounded like a fun, unique experience. It was unique to be sure, but ohhhh my were we glad to get down from there! 

The ride was much longer than expected, and our butts did not like the metal bars we forced them to sit on over all those potholes. 

Finally, we arrived at one of Pablo Escobar’s mansions, which was bombed by Los Pepes in the 90’s.

Here we played paintball (still in my nice boots) for a couple hours.

We hid behind burned-out cars, stormed up the stairs of a dilapidated building, and snuck around abandoned stables.

I got destroyed (I thought I was better at paintball?!), but nonetheless had SO much fun!

Most people in Colombia have an opinion on the almost mystical drug cartel figurehead, Pablo Escobar.

While some saw him as a strong supporter of the people, many dislike him and what the cartels have done to their country. They don’t enjoy discussing the topic.

Colombians are a strong and outgoing people with a vibrant culture. They want tourists to see the beauty and enjoy the post-cartel safety of their country, instead of dwelling on the past.

While significant progress has been made in shifting perceptions about the country, it has become difficult again in recent years.

The popularity of the Netflix show “Narcos” has reminded foreigners of Colombia’s bloody past.

It was completely surreal being in the exact location that such an iconic figure had been.

We even met one of Escobar’s only surviving personal bodyguards. He is now the groundskeeper because Pablo left this property to him.

A boat took us back to the bus, and we proceeded on to El Peñón de Guatapé, a massive rock with a staircase zig-zagging all the way to the top.

The rock is a geological anomaly, which is cool enough in itself, but the staircase is an engineering feat as well.

There are almost 700 steps leading to a few shops perched on the top of the rock.

Because it was Holy Week, we were touring this along with thousands of Colombians. It took a very long time to get up the rock because we were basically just in a line.

Wyatt and I had celebratory “summit” beers at the top. The view was incredible.

It was hard to peel ourselves away from the stunning scenery, but I was afraid our tour bus would leave us. We started to make our way down… or try to at least.

Remember those thousands of Colombian tourists I mentioned? The trek down took well over an hour.

We tried our best to squeeze by people, but it was really just one slow-moving single-file line down 700+ steps.

Once at the bottom, I was relieved to find out that a few more people from our tour were still making their way down.

We even had time to buy Wyatt’s souvenir shot glass (he gets one every place goes).

[Side note: We guessed what the shot glass was saying in Spanish and didn’t look up the true translation until we got home.

It was hilarious (like we thought) but pretty offensive too, so much so that I will not repeat here what it actually says.

We both speak decent Spanish, but we couldn’t figure it out there in the shop because there were so many derogatory Colombian slang words…oops!]

Close to the rock lies the petite town of Guatapé. An obnoxious guy on our tour bus tried to convince everyone it was a boring place and that we should skip it. 

Just one person in the front said that he wanted to go, so we did.

I’m so glad he spoke up! I really wanted to go too, but I was scared to say so because the loud guy bashing the town was sitting directly behind me. (Next time I will speak my mind!)

Guatapé was SUCH a cute, colorful little village. Each building is marked with its own “picture,” which is repeated all along the base of the siding. 

We enjoyed tasty Colombian espresso and street food while we explored. I didn’t want to leave. 

However, when traveling with a tour, you don’t get much say in how long you spend in a place. We reluctantly headed back to the bus and started the long journey back to Medellín. 

Normally this commute would’ve taken a little over an hour, but remember those thousands of Colombian tourists? 

The Holy Week traffic was backed up for miles and miles, and the ride took almost three hours. 

I took advantage of having nothing to do by finally getting some sleep, but everything else we’d wanted to do in Medellín went out the window. 

Luckily, the restaurant we planned on going to (Cafe Zorba, a specialty pizza café recommended by one of Wyatt’s friends) was open late.

Exhausted and starving, we took off on foot to find this hole-in-the-wall and get ourselves some cabernet and grape pizza.

Technically the restaurant was open, but the kitchen had literally JUST closed when we got there.

We were so disappointed (again) and hangry. It was past 11 PM at this point, and we couldn’t find anything open except a fast food empanada restaurant.

It was definitely not the fancy, chic dinner we’d wanted to have, but it alleviated our appetites.

We went to bed around midnight, knowing how hard it would be to wake up for our 5 AM taxi to the airport.

Our final destination in Colombia was Bucaramanga. We didn’t know much about this city, except that we had to stay here to access the national park we wanted to go to. 

I was shocked to find out that Bucaramanga has over half a million people! This huge city was the only slightly sketchy place we visited in Colombia.

We didn’t see any other foreigners. This was clearly not a touristy area of the country.

Our taxi driver (the one who gave us his phone number) pointed out where we should and shouldn’t go. He didn’t speak English and had the voice of a Hispanic Gilbert Gottfried, but we were able to communicate just fine.

This kind man was very adamant on our safety, and served as our personal chauffeur during our stay in Bucaramanga.

While the city itself is enormous, dirty, and not very safe for tourists, our hostel was just far enough down a dirt road for us to feel perfectly protected.

Instead of a typical hostel, Hostel Chitota was a collection of small “fincas” (a term referring to rustic Colombian countryside cottages nestled in nature).

A nice elderly couple built this up on their property and lives here in their own small finca. Our taxi driver had never seen anything like it and quickly befriended the owners. 

Late at night, we drove around town looking for an open pharmacy because the old man had a stomach ache, and our chauffeur wanted to bring him a Pedialyte-type drink. 

The next morning, our taxi driver drove us to a very random pick-up point near an odd little snack shop called “Papi Quiero.” (We never would’ve found this place on our own.) From there, we caught a bus headed up a massive mountain to Chicamocha National Park.

It’s an amusement-type park located on top of this huge mountain with breathtaking 360-degree views. You can’t understand its beauty by simply looking at pictures.

The scenery wasn’t the only thing that was alluring. Women here (both at Chicamocha and everywhere in Colombia) were dressed to the nines.

I was severely under-dressed for the entire country. My running shorts and hiking boots were embarrassingly informal compared to other women’s fancy sandals and blouses.

Chicamocha was a strange place, and SO much fun. The park encouraged us to act like kids, while also drinking copious amounts of beer.

The zip line was our first adventure. We were pulled up four at a time backwards. As soon as we got to the top, the operator released with no warning.

I let out a scream as I took in the crazy beautiful views at thirty miles an hour—absolutely surreal.

The next attraction was a gigantic swing perched on the edge of a cliff.

The attendants hooked our seats to a little rope and slowly pulled us up until we were looking straight down at the ground. And release!—no warning again.

It was my favorite thing we did in the park! I laughed out of pure enjoyment the whole ride.

Time for dinner. The onsite restaurant did not have an English menu, but with my knowledge in Spanish I felt confident I knew what we were ordering.

The steaming dishes came out, and we could not help but laugh.

In front of us was a small plate of potatoes and plantains and an enormous mound of assorted meats.

There were no less than ten varieties of carne. It was the first time I had intestines. I’ll try anything, and I was so pleasantly surprised by how much I liked it!

The following day, we had a daunting 10-hour bus ride back to Bogota. I’m sure it wasn’t up to USDA health code, but we snacked on leftover, lukewarm meat for the entire journey.

Can’t say I recommend it; however, no one got sick!

Despite knowing a good amount of Spanish, I only halfway knew what was going on at all times. Wyatt and I had great teamwork during conversations. 

I’m formally trained from years of schooling, and he’s more familiar with slang and street language. 

However, we are far from fluent. Hardly anyone we encountered knew English (constant exhaustion didn’t help our comprehension either). 

There were several times when we were completely guessing what was happening. Even so, we did okay. Ultimately, we always got where we needed to go when we needed to be there. 

This was truly an amazing experience in my first South American country.

Colombia is a stunningly beautiful, surprisingly safe destination. But don’t take my word for it! I encourage you to go and find out for yourself. Just don’t forget that I told you so.