Stories of jungle, jokes and murders

I had never seen a tarantula from this close before. The spider was hiding behind the fire-warmed brick of our improvised jungle kitchen and had not caught our eye until it put one of her hairy legs around the corner. First one leg, then the second, shortly after I can see four of them moving harmoniously like the hand of an accordion player. It does not take a long time until the whole creature dares to move around the corner. If you only look at its face, the tarantula almost looks cute, it has got six big rolling eyes, which it uses to look carefully where place the next leg. Suddenly I have to think about my friend Max and how happy he would be in my situation. He belongs to the one percent of people that actually feel some admiration for spiders rather than just disgust and dislike. Well, I belong to the other 99% and would have loved to set that bastard on fire right away.

We are in the middle of the deepest Amazon forest, the next road is about 800 km away, some rumors say there are still cannibals around this area and we probably would not survive the next 24h without our guide. Diego, a close friend from Italy, flew over to Colombia to visit me for two weeks. We had started our first evening immediately with a heated and never-ending discussion about politics in Italy, after all elections had only just taken place. This time we do at least agree on our aversion towards tarantulas. The evening program of our tour includes a night hike through the jungle. We have to take a boat, as our hut is flooded – it had been exposed to the gradual rise of the river over the last weeks. However, the trip is worth is, already after few minutes we are rewarded with some more poisonous frogs, scorpions and heaps of spiders.

But besides all the insect, the real highlight of our tour is our tour guide himself. The first encounter could not have been any weirder: Ramón, whose real name I do not remember, is a skinny, rather small and almost 20-year-old native Peruvian, that has a giant machete wrapped around his body. The first handshake with Ramón left both Diego and me with the same feeling, a mix of being surprised and scared at the same time. When we tried greeting him as we are used to, with a firm handshake, we grabbed into “the nothing”, we were kind of shaking an empty hand as the poor boy is missing more than half of his fingers. Well, not really the most trustworthy thing to start with, considering that it is going to be him that will lead us right into the jungle.

But despite his handicap he manages the tour in the best way that I could imagine and with total confidence. When we get stuck with the boat in the middle of a field of floating plants, he just grabs the machete with his two fingers and smashes all branches and trunks away that stand in our way. Ramón knows every damn river, every branch, every tree of this incredibly huge area. During our night walk, at a certain point, he asks us to turn off all of our lights. As we follow his instructions he jumps into the bushes and comes back proudly with a caiman baby. I have no idea how he made that. As we keep on walking I use the chance for a little chat and discover that he has never been to Bogota – as a traveler and someone who wants to see as much of our planet as possible, I find it damn hard to believe that the one and only things this guy has ever seen is the Amazon. Ramón really does live in a different world, but one he might know way better than I will ever get to know my world.

Two days later Diego and I are sitting in the bus that takes us from Medellíns airport to the city centre. While I am on my mobile phone trying to find our hostel is, Diego is joking around with Rubi, a young Colombian woman we met on the plane. I am very happy to be back in civilization and I am really looking forward to the two nights in Medellin as I liked the city a lot and as I feel the urge to go out, to dance and to have some action that has nothing to do with crocodile hunting. Sooner than later there should be some action, after a night spent in one of the salsa clubs on the Carretera 70, on the next morning, we decide to go on one of the controversial Pablo Escobar tours.

The Pablo Escobar tours are hated by the people of Medellin. No person has had a greater impact on this city than the once richest mafioso in the world, more in bad than in good, every Paisa – as the inhabitants of Medellin call themselves – has lost at least one relative or friend, the wounds are not healed yet, too little time has passed since the bloodiest chapter of Colombian history. The idea of making money out of this part of history, just to make some adventurous gringos happy, is seen as badly as the adventurous gringos themselves. It’s not unusual that a few angry people crush the Pablo Escobar tours, even some attacks on tourists have been reported. Diego and I luckily don’t experience anything of the above, we are actually really lucky as our entire group has cancelled their tour at short notice and we basically end up alone with one of the former chauffeurs of Pablo Escobar.

Carlos is perhaps around 50 and tells us enthusiastically about his rides with the “Patron”, he leads us through Medellin’s luxury prison “La Catedral”, probably the most exclusive property around here and the place in which Escobar has been locked up for a little more than a year. Of course, Escobars lock-up was largely staged in the media. Of course, Escobar never really had to feel like a prisoner for even one day. When we are finally on our way to the cemetery, Carlos proudly tells us about his friendship with Popeye, the most bloodthirsty hit man of the Patron, he even calls him in front of us to show off a bit. And as soon as he hangs up, he continues telling us more about his wild parties during Escobar’s time with the purest cocaine, the best clubs and of course the prettiest women of Medellin.

This guy is small but full of energy and knows a lot of amazing stories, which is exactly the reason why I like him. Nevertheless, something doesn’t convince me, I cannot get rid of the feeling that he keeps mourning after the glorious times lived during the Escobar regime. Two minutes later we pass a funeral, Carlos suddenly stops his stories, he pauses the car and even stops the engine. He turns over to us and points at the far away coffin, his usually lively voice suddenly sounds melancholic, but also a little bit instructive: “Amigos! You can do whatever you want in your life, but I tell you one thing, never you lose your modesty, never you think you are better than others, because in the end we will all end up in one of those boxes, the question is only if with or without a bullet in our head!”! These words have a lot of potential for reflection, but nevertheless we decide to get some more action on our last night in Medellín and hit the infamous dancefloors of the Poblado, together with our hostel dream team, before we continue south the next day.

Colombia has a lot to offer in terms of nature: dry deserts, deep jungles, icy high mountains, rainy hilly landscapes, the fantastic Caribbean beaches, endless canyons and the rugged coast of the Pacific, just to name the highlights. Diego is only staying for some more days, and Gianluca, Stefano and Giovanni, three more friends from Roman university times, join us, so that we spend the next two weeks travelling around and exploring as much of the country as possible. I am particularly impressed by the Valle de Cocora in Salento, the Tayrona National Park and the Pacific coast, which I visit with a Colombian friend of mine on my very last weekend and after all Italians have already left.

The time is intense, but also passes very fast, and so I happen to find myself on a bicycle on the Avenida El Dorado just four hours before my final departure. I had only arrived in Bogota the evening before and had decided to go on a bike tour through the city on my last day. My opinion about Bogota has not changed, the city is neither a cultural nor an architectural highlight, nevertheless the Murales at the Avenida impress me. The biggest one shows Jaime Garzón, probably the most famous comedian of the country, or better, it shows him in his most important role as Heriberto de la Calle, the naive innocent and at the same time cheeky shoe shiner from the street.

Jaime had become famous through political satire, he was able to make the entire nation laugh even in the darkest and bloodiest 90s. Somehow typically Colombian. But his jokes were anything but lame and simple, like a clever fool he messed around with all kinds of celebrities, politicians, but also with his most loyal supporters: after a fiery speech in front of the mainly left-wing students of the Universidad de los Andes he received a standing ovation, only to approach the microphone again and to tell the audience that he had just quoted an entire speech by Benito Mussolini. Brilliant! And again, typically Colombian. And well, also the way he left this world was typically Colombian: Jaime was murdered on August 13, 1999. At the time he was 38 years. It is assumed that the murder had been commissioned by a right-wing paramilitary group around Carlos Castaño. I look at his weird facial expression again and cannot get my eyes off the wall, even as graffiti the comedian looks damn funny. I am only torn out of my short daydream when our bicycle guide calls me. I guess it’s time to go, or I’ll miss my flight.

A few hours later I watch the roofs of Bogota as they get smaller and smaller, we have just taken off. Leaving is surprisingly easy, which is kind of weird considering the wonderful months I had spent in South America. But well, for me there is only one explanation: it was certainly not the last time that I set foot on this extraordinary continent. Sudamérica, nos vemos pronto!