No, it’s not the name of some Wayuu warrior prince. Or a jungle city in Colombia. I am still laughing over a conversation I had with my mom. I was so happy and excited to bring her back something she actually wanted (Colombian coffee, yay!), that I sent her an email to let her know I got her some exclusive beans from a gorgeous finca in the Sierra Nevada. She wrote a cute note back, something about “Alexihendie” and me deserving some extra chicken cutlets and I had no idea what that meant (not the chicken cutlet part), but Alexihendie? Thought it might have been a typo or some weird autocorrect of my sister’s name.
Anyway, we were chatting about all the coffee I brought back and I started yammering about Juan Valdez again and then she asked me if I saw what sounded like “Alexa Hente”. I asked, “Yeah, what’s that about? I forgot to email you back and ask you who that was.” She said “He’s that guy from the coffee commercials in the 80s.” “I only remember Juan Valdez,” I said, but she was sure there was a guy named Alexa Hente that fit the description of Juan Valdez. After saying Alexa Hente out loud a couple of times, I wondered out loud if they might have been saying “El Excellente” in the commercial, we got a good laugh out of that, but she was still sure it was a coffee guy’s name. Some googling got us to this classic Juan Valdez commercial but there are quite a few web and image search results for “Alexa Hente”. Turns out lots of people have been wondering who this Alexa Hente guy is and what coffee he was peddling. Alexa Hente is actually “El Exigente” which means “the demanding one” and it was from a Savarin coffee commercial in the 60s and 70s, http://blog.manorhallsoapcompany.com/2010/06/calling-alexa-hente.html. I remember Savarin coffee, not sure if I remember the commercial though. El Exigente, Alexa Hente, hahaha, I’m still cracking up.
Okay, back to Colombia. So my last morning in Parque Tayrona was mostly peaceful until some little kids tried to rob me on the beach. Yes. Little kids. Now, they weren’t going to rob me at knifepoint. Or kidnap me, but they definitely wanted some plata and probably my camera.
I took a walk to the beach to shoot some photos, read a little have a late breakfast and asked a few kids walking by me if I was going the right way. They started giggling and then followed me and then kind of crowded around me on the empty beach. I didn’t think much of it, and almost let the oldest child take a few pictures when he asked about my camera, but something in my gut made me hesitate. And I actually felt bad because I always let curious kids use my camera, at home and anywhere I go, but something was off from the get-go. If I moved, they were right up my ass. Not saying anything, looking at each other. Then looking at my bag. They were totally trying to grab something off of me, but they were just so bad at it that I actually wanted to give them instructions. “Tell the little one to kick me in the shin to distract me. When I bend over, grab anything you can get in my bag and run, because you are really going to have to fight me to get the camera from around my neck.” I mean, was I really about to be mugged by children? “Yes officer, there were three of them. Oh, I dunno, maybe 7, 9 and 10.”
So, all kidding aside, my initial reaction was to help them rob me, well not really, but I did want them to know I knew what they were doing, but to cut it out. “Que, que quieren? Comida? Tengo fruta y agua y una arepa.” What do you want? Food? I have fruit and water and an arepa. “No, no, no” the girl shook her head “plata plata plata“. “No, no, no, money money money.” “…por los pobrecitos” her brother taunted “for the little poor kids”. The gap between rich and poor is so great here, I can’t even begin to describe the injustice of it all or how torn I feel in situations like these. It’s not just the lack of jobs or money, it’s being denied access to basic resources and opportunity and healthcare and education. It’s always heartbreaking coming face-to-face with the level of poverty where begging or stealing are just a common part of a small child’s daily routine. And while I’m not a flashy traveler by any means, I did stay in a fairly nice hotel and I’m sure my hiking boots alone cost more than their family makes in a month. Guess that’s a little flashy. And while I’m most likely considered borderline middle class at home, I’m filthy rich in rural Colombia. And I don’t like the way that feels one bit.
So I mock scolded them gently in bad Spanish and made them take my food “La comida es igual como la plata“. Food is the same as money. Sure, easy for me to say. Uggghh, I hate feeling helpless and not knowing what to do. Last time I stayed in a mid-range hotel in a developing country was in Nicaragua. Usually I look for locally-owned, low-cost places and was so happy when I found Hotel Con Corazón in Granada. It was an impressive business model that offers a more socially-conscious travel experience. They use 100% of their profits to fund education initiatives in rural Nicaragua and they employ and train locals to be upwardly mobile. I forgot how uncomfortable comfort can make me feel.
So on that rather un-fun note, I said goodbye to Parque Tayrona and headed to Minca, a tiny village in the Sierra Nevada. Arrived in the late afternoon at Minca Ecohabs Hotel and was welcomed by Maximo (French guy) and his lovely wife (Colombian, I think it was his wife) with a lovely passionfruit boozy cocktail. Then a cute little cabana boy carried Stanley through a jungle path to yet another hut/bungalow with an unobstructed view, this time of mountain jungle and Santa Marta in the distance. Yeah, I know. I suck. I argued with Maximo for at least 10 minutes that I could carry my own bag to my own room…man Bobo was right, I’m a freakin’ pain in the ass, so then I just gave up and let him do his thing.
I LOVED this bungalow. It was rustic and open and had a spiral interior staircase, a terrace with a hammock AND a chair swing, and a super hard platform bed (with requisite mosquito netting). Wanted to check out Minca a little before nightfall so walked around this sweet little town a bit and went back to unpack, unwind and rest my tired man feet. Settled in, read a little Gabriel Garcia Marquez while I swung in my chair swing and then mosquito-proofed myself for dinner. Needed a flashlight to get back to the main hut. Had a delicious cerdo y albahaca (pork and basil) dish with some more cayeye, mashed buttery gooey platanos with grated cheese on top, yum yum yum. It’s similar to Dominican mangu. The Colombian cook had those crazy green beige gold-speckled eyes that freak me out and mesmerize me at the same time. I felt like Costello in that Abbott and Costello Meet the Killer movie when Boris Karloff hypnotizes Costello and then he gets that blank, unblinking stare. Like I can’t move my eyes. And then they don’t move their eyes. And then it’s just kind of weird and uncomfortable. Oh well, had one last Happy Tucan, pulled up my socks, turned on my flashlight and tripped through the jungle path back to my bungalow…I mean, my “jungalow”… in the dark (I’m going to buy this domain!)
So after another weird crazy-eye staring contest with the cook in the a.m., I set off to hike up to Hacienda La Victoria or Casa Victoria, a continuously operating coffee finca founded in 1892. And I found out that right across the way was the Nevada Cerverceria, a new craft brewery in the Sierra Nevada, makers of Happy Tucan cerveza artesanal. It was about 6 or 7 miles from Minca and then I was going to visit Poz Azul waterfall, another 4 or 5 miles round trip from the main road, so all in all I’m going to round up to about 20 miles. Stunning scenery, great tour of an organic coffee farm, delicious coffee and a nice, slightly disappointing waterfall were all part of great, exhausting day, best told in pictures:
The volcano mud bath is next! I might actually finish this trip!! Wow.
