Minca: from guerrilla territory to a little piece of paradise

This past weekend I ventured up to the 3,000 inhabitant strong town of Minca, a much-needed escape to the mountains! For the past 2 weeks I've been living with a local family in the bustling coastal city of Santa Marta. Unfortunately for me, I happened to have arrived at precisely the hottest time of year, with no breeze to speak of. Every morning I find myself wishing for the fog of San Francisco or even the snow I left behind in Boston! I never thought I´d be complaining about Caribbean weather but the heat and humidity combined with the persistent cloud of vehicle exhaust in an overcrowded, hectic city...it can be a bit oppressive. Enter Minca!


Just six years ago, Minca was considered much too dangerous for tourists step foot in. After being attacked twice by the guerilla, many residents fled the town in search of peace. Later, the guerilla was replaced by paramilitary forces which brought more violence and forced more residents from their homes. Fortunately, with changes in presidency, the Colombian government has been eradicating guerilla and paramilitary occupation with heightened military presence. With that, Minca has returned to its peaceful past.
 
My journey started this time not with a mototaxi, but a Jeep from 1968. I had the privilege of riding shotgun, where fumes and dust floated up through the holes in the floor. Not one of the gauges functioned on the dashboard, but Jeeps are made to last, and this one lugs passengers up and down the Sierra Nevada tirelessly!


Day 1: Los Pinos hike
With the blessing and direction of Fernando, the owner of the Hostal I was camping at, I set out on a day trek to Los Pinos, a lookout high in the Sierra. He was confident that it´s safe to hike alone and furthermore, that I would make friends along the way.


The first friend came in the form of a mountain biker that was too tired and preferred to walk with me to my first stop: the waterfalls of Malinka. A dip in the cool, clean water straight from the glaciers above was the perfect recharge for the next leg of the trip. Upon finding out I intended to go uphill, my biker friend bid me goodbye and I made my way to La Semilla, a small organic coffee farm and hostel.

At La Semilla, I stumbled upon some fellow travelers I had met the night before in town. With very little convincing, I had company for the rest of my hike!

Gabriel, roaming musician from Argentina and Ramón, a wandering Colombian.

At this point, the trail narrowed and the sound of motos was exchanged for the chatter of thousands of species of birds and even more insects. Just 10 minutes in, we had to stop in our tracks and yield the right of way to a striking, black and green snake as he slithered across the trail and up a tree.


Our next encounter was more amiable: a certain Fernando Guerrero, coffee farmer and resident since 1960. At first reserved, Fernando warmed up to us and shared his experience as a coffee farmer over the years. Basically it´s a story of struggle, with the selling price of a kilo of dried coffee seeds at about $2.50, barely enough to live on. Even so, he and his wife bid us farewell with 6 of the most delicious bananas I´ve ever tasted.

Just a little ways up the road, we arrived to Los Pinos. Pinos is pines in English, aptly named for the giant pine trees around. The views were impressive, though not quite captured by the iPhone. 

Stretching on a giant hammock overlooking the mountains.

After soaking in the views and streching out tired muscles the lads decided to accompany me to a little hamlet called El Campano. El Campano turned out to be not much more than a convenience store/bar equipped with a sound system intended for a much bigger venue. We had to use sign language to place our order and no sooner than we had the cold cerveza in hand we looked for a place we could sit and still hear ourselves think. 

The place was a neighbor's porch down the road.
 A salsa came on and I asked the guys if they danced (I'm still in search of the Colombian salseros I've heard so much about). Gabriel challenged me to prove my gringa skills so I had to oblige.  (This is a fairly common occurrence: no one can wrap their mind around a white person with any sort of rhythm) This drew the attention of all the neighbors and soon we had a throng of kids watching and then joining in. They switched the music to Vallenato, a dance typical if the region and we hesitated. That's when one of the little girls stepped up as profesora and showed us how it's done. And so it went til the sun went down: Lauren and her little Shakira hips showing us the moves to every style and us trying to keep up!












After filling up on some home cooking over the fire we had to part ways. Lucky for me, I just had to catch a ride down the mountain to my hostel. Ramon bartered a ride for me and I hopped on a mototaxi for the second time (I thought I wasn't gonna do that again!) This time I really clung on to my (maybe) 16 year old driver as he expertly maneuvered around the potholes of the unpaved, windy road.

Reggaeton demonstration

When we arrived to town and I breathed a sigh of relief, the kid informed me that he had been driving 'suave' for me. According to him, some people like to hit the bumps hard but he didn't think I was one of those-good call!