For some reason I was headed to Colombia… don’t ask me why? Maybe my libido was leading me, maybe I didn’t want to commit too much to a distant land in what was already a half killed winter as I waited to return to Alaska where I have been somewhat haphazardly laying down roots. Maybe I was chasing some vision of contemporary history, wanted to see the search block give Pablo a Hitler stash, or see where Joe Arroyo sashayed the nights away and Shakira began her days, see the legendary pretty ladies and the price of 40 years of war, and just maybe see a glimpse of a nature I have never seen. Somehow this led to a continuation of a trip begun in San Francisco ended a year and a half ago at a hilltop in the Darien Gap, all of Mexico and Central America seen by bus, boat, and motorcycle, and the submitting to the taunt of a barrier I succumbed to in not crossing into Colombia. I can’t say I love Colombia, or Latin America for that matter, even though I will grudgingly admit I have learned to love Mexico, but in searching for a reason to come here, I stumbled upon something I found truly and not just relatively impressive: The Peaks of the Sierra Nevada De Santa Marta, at their highest 18,000 Feet (5700 M) high, and only miles from the Caribean Sea. The Highest point in Colombia, Pico Cristobol Colon, which edges out Simon Bolivar by a matter of Meters, I have not been able to confirm a single ascent of in years… Many Colombians don’t even realize it is their highest point, pointing instead to a 4000 m or so mountain somewhere near Bogota. Not many nations would leave their highest peak unassaulted for so long.. the why is an intriguing combination of war and some honest to goodness pre colombian native groups who haven’t changed significantly since first contact and act as protectors of the mountains.. it’s all just intriguing enough to make me blow off the beaches of Palomino and the Clubs of Medellin to have a look, to see what might be possible, to ponder if now is the time for a notion of nationhood to push out with the pride it’s usually associated with to somehow tame these mountains, turn them into a destination of sorts, and turn colombia for better or for worse into one more modern nation, or wether the notions of the past, either backwards or exotic and noble, shall keep this mountain unconquered… what follows is my mental siege.
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