From the once most dangerous city in the world, Medellín, we took the bus to Guatapé, which lies on what is probably the most picturesque reservoir in the world: the Embalse del Peñol. Naturally Pablo Escobar had a finca here as well, which was destroyed in an attack. He himself managed to escape through an underground tunnel. Incidentally, in Colombia you had better not say his name out loud in public but refer to him Harry Potter style as you-know-who.
The journey to Guatapé rattles for almost two hours through the Colombian back country. As soon as we approached the reservoir and caught our first glimpse of the water, we knew: Guatapé and its Piedra del Peñol would pull us out of our travel slump very quickly!
After the bus dropped us in the town centre, we grabbed a tuk-tuk to our slightly out-of-town hostel (Boutique Hostal de Encuentro). It is really only a 10-minute walk, but for the equivalent of 1 euro you can treat yourself to having the luggage carried.
Guatapé enchanted us at first sight. So we spontaneously added a second night to the one we had originally planned. So much love has been put into the hostel; you can see it in every corner. It also has private lake access from which you can watch the sun go down - with a view of the Piedra del Peñol, no less.
And it was to exactly that rock that we set off first after checking in. The Piedra del Peñol, or Peñon de Guatape (nobody agrees on the name), is a monolith rising 200 m above the reservoir. 700 steps have been set into its side and its summit has been crowned with a little tower, so that after the climb you are rewarded with a 360-degree view.
And what a view it is!
A rather funny piece of background: the two towns of Guatapé and El Peñol are still arguing over which of them the rock belongs to (hence the two names). In a cloak-and-dagger operation the people of Guatapé started painting their town’s name in large white letters on the monolith. It did not go unnoticed for long, though, so the operation was broken off when they had completed just the G and half a U.
Back in Guatapé we strolled through the village’s colourful lanes. Because not only is the reservoir the most beautiful in the world, Guatapé itself is also one of the most picturesque villages in Colombia. Here you do not have to look for photo subjects or photogenic corners - the village is like a postcard you walk around inside.
A visit to the Paisa region naturally also involves eating the national dish bandeja paisa. Following the motto one of everything, please!, the platter consists of pork crackling, sausage, beans, rice, fried egg, plantain, arepa and avocado. It is possible that bandeja paisa is delicious elsewhere, but in the restaurant where we ordered it, it was just about the most revolting thing we have ever eaten!
With completely overfull stomachs - although we did not come close to emptying our plates - we returned to our hostel. Sadly the sleeping comfort in our room was not as high as we had hoped. That was mainly down to the highly peculiar arrangement whereby our private room and a dorm shared a bathroom that adjoined both rooms and was open at the top. Well, you can imagine the state of the “noise insulation”… On top of the lack of sleep, the cold Jan had caught during our tour through the Guajira desert had caught up with him again.
Our hostel had recommended a walk along the reservoir for the next day, so I set off on it alone. Since it was only supposed to take three hours and it was fairly cloudy, I did grab a 0.5 litre bottle of water at the last moment, but no sun cream or hat.
Around the lake it seems to be mainly wealthier Colombians who live or have their holiday homes. It really was idyllic! What I mostly got to see were their diligent gardeners, who never tired of telling me how much further it was to the Piedra del Peñol.
At a fork in the path a monastery was signposted. Why not? I had time, the weather was lovely… Sadly the detour turned into quite a long climb. In return I was rewarded with wonderful quiet! Neither the path nor the monastery seems to be visited by tourists.
Barely back on the main path and half an hour of walking later, the next monastery was already being advertised. Oh, I am so bad at leaving things out. So up the hill it was again. Luckily this one was a little shorter than its predecessor. What a location for a monastery! And here too: not a soul.
Slowly the cloud cover had cleared completely and the sun was beating down mercilessly on me. The path high above the lake along meadows and woods offered no shade at all. Sunburn alert!!! So I pulled the hood of my jumper over my head and, as far as possible, down over my forehead.
I had been going for two hours already, and a glance at Google Maps revealed that I had covered barely half the way to the rock. So from now on it meant: fewer photos and more walking! But every time I checked the GPS after ten minutes of walking, I had barely moved. I could already feel the sunburn coming.
When I had covered three quarters of the way and worked out that it must be about another hour to the Piedra del Peñol (from where it would still be 4 km to our hostel, but at least you can take a tuk-tuk from there), a motorbike pulled up beside me. The rider asked whether I needed a lift. Mum, stop reading for a moment, but I thought: thank goodness and jumped on. When we then tore over the rutted track at what felt like 70 km/h, that turned rather more into oh God, what on earth was I thinking?! Especially when I properly lifted off the seat over a hill.
The rider simply said Es seguro!, which roughly means do not wet yourself, little one!, when he noticed my frightened expression. Or perhaps he wanted my fingers to dig a little less deeply into his shoulder. Above all I was wondering whether my travel health insurance would cover an accident or whether that would somehow count as negligent behaviour…
My benefactor, by the way, was the owner of the café in the tower on the Piedra del Peñol, which I quite believe given his top-of-the-range motorbike. After ten sweat-inducing minutes of riding we arrived at the foot of the rock, I jumped off and the Colombian rattled away. Survived!
From Guatapé we travelled back the next day to the 4-million city of Medellín. Here, before our trip to the reservoir, we had already joined a tip-based city tour (better known as a free walking tour, which is not quite so free).
Even though Medellín is no beauty to look at, the city tour was very compelling thanks to all the information about Colombia’s political history. Above all because the guide, Juan, grew up in Medellín in the 1990s himself and experienced life in what was then the most dangerous city in the world at first hand. Two of his uncles were kidnapped and he witnessed four of his friends being killed in a random shooting. He himself got away with a bullet in the thigh.
These personal stories are, for me, the most valuable thing we get to learn while travelling, every single time.
Also fascinating - but an entirely different subject - were our flatmates Hannah and Xavier at the AirBnB in Medellín: the Australian-French couple have made a film about a coffee cooperative in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta that offers indigenous young people a prospect other than fleeing to the cities. An interesting counterpoint to the futureless prospects we were shown during our walk to the Ciudad Perdida .
Of course we also took the cable car over the poor districts up to the Parque Arví recreation area:
A small tip: do not get the idea of trying to buy earplugs in Colombia. I used the sentence ¿Se vende tapónes para los oídos? at least twenty times in twenty different pharmacies before we finally struck lucky in Gringolandia (Medellín’s Poblado district)!