Salento had a café, restaurant, hotel, souvenir shop, or tour operator hidden behind every colorfully painted door, but we liked it just the way it was.

In search of affordable places to eat and cozy spots to linger, we strolled up and down the pretty little alleys until we’d seen every single little house. One of them was the Casa de la Cultura, which had a small “movie theater” in its covered courtyard. We didn’t want to miss the chance to watch a movie on the big screen again. Admission was 1.10 francs, and we treated ourselves to a bag of popcorn for the same price. Together with two other guests, we watched the highly recommended Colombian film “Lejos Aqui” and let ourselves be carried away to the small Tatacoa Desert, which was on our planned route too.

But it would be a few more days before we got there: In glorious sunshine, we pedaled from Salento up a good forest road to the “La Linea” mountain pass. From there, the route was rocky but offered wonderful views of wax palms and coffee plantations as we made our way to Ibagué over two strenuous days. We had reserved affordable lodging in a residential neighborhood just outside the city. This wasn’t in some anonymous hotel, but in the guest room of a nice couple with two adorable cats. Our bikes were given a spot in the living room, and breakfast was included in the price, as were the cozy Santa Claus-themed toilet seat cover and the colorful star-patterned blanket on the bed. Aww… that’s how we unexpectedly got a glimpse into a Colombian household… though the only time on our tour through the country.

From Ipiales, we let our bikes roll all the way down to the bottom of the Magdalena Valley. At 300 meters above sea level, it was very hot again. For once, the persistent but cooling headwind came in very handy. We were also glad for the clouds, which provided shade as we rode through the previously mentioned Tatacoa Desert. The high humidity didn’t feel like a desert at all. And with annual rainfall roughly equivalent to that of the city of Bern, it’s not really a desert at all. But at temperatures over 40°C, the rain evaporates so quickly that very little grows. Nor did the goats, cows, and a multitude of Disneyland-like lodgings give the impression of a national park😉. We still enjoyed the ride through the barren landscape with its red and gray rock formations and found a nice campsite among large cacti in the evening. The only nuisance was the sand flies, which attacked our legs and left behind bites that itched like hell.

After bumping along the gravel roads of the Tatacoa Desert for a day and a half and making many photo stops, we reached the paved main road again just before Neiva, which didn’t offer much to see. We mostly stayed in cheap trucker hotels, such as “Las Mulas” (the mules), whose forecourt was packed with crude oil trucks. That evening, we cooked in a hotel room for the first time on our trip in order not to attract too much attention with the flame of our gasoline stove😉.

To our delight, from Hobo we headed back into the mountains and over our first pass to Mocoa. Up to this point, we’d been lucky with the weather and only got caught in a downpour as we entered the city. That made the decision easy: we’d check into another simple hotel. As I stood under the shower, the faucet just gurgled, but no water came out. This surprised no one but us, as the water supply in the city center is unreliable. The water is frequently shut off and often stays out for hours, especially after heavy rain. Quite inconvenient for a place that gets 4’500 mm of rainfall annually. A bit later, we managed to take a shower thanks to the hotel’s own water tank.

Actually, we would have liked to stay another night in Mocoa to explore the town on the edge of the Amazon Basin and recharge our batteries for the next leg of the journey. But a glance at the weather forecast made us hurry on, as nonstop rain was forecast for the entire following week starting the day after tomorrow. So the next morning we set off along the 60-kilometer-long unpaved road with the intimidating name “Trampolín de la Muerte.” Contrary to expectations, the climb to the first pass turned out to be pleasant. The road was in good condition and (even for me 😉) not too steep. Slowly but steadily, we wound our way up the steep slopes through dense forest into the fog. However, we got the impression that the route didn’t really live up to its name. Anyway, during the ride we saw no reason to worry about plunging into the depths anywhere.

We almost made it to the first pass without rain… but only almost. For about half an hour, we pedaled wrapped in our rain ponchos before reaching the snack bar at the top of the pass. Grateful for the shelter, we waited out the heaviest downpours with hot milk coffee and arepas. Not to be envied was Christian, a cyclist from France, who arrived a little later completely soaked. During a brief break in the rain, we covered the first few kilometers of the descent and camped there under the porch of a restaurant.

When we heard the pouring rain pounding on the roof in the morning, we rolled over in our sleeping bags. But staying put wasn’t an option. So we took down our tent, fueled up with oatmeal and sweet coffee, and set off once the rain had let up a bit. The road led downhill at first, only to climb another 800 meters in elevation to the next pass summit. The rain followed a similar pattern: it had let up, only to pick up again immediately. Awful! But what can you do? There was no shelter, and at least we weren’t getting covered in dust from the many minibuses😊. Soaked to the bone, we didn’t stop at the second pass summit and immediately began the descent to San Francisco. Our joy and relief were immense when it was dry and much more pleasant down there. At the first opportunity, we enjoyed a hot chocolate and a delicious, warm lunch. Mmm…, that felt really good!

We spent the afternoon relaxing with coffee and cake at a bakery. We didn’t want to ride too far, since the next climb was just waiting for us. We tackled it the following morning, fresh and well-rested. The gradual 10% incline in thick fog drew the occasional groan from us. The effort was quickly forgotten, however, when we caught our first glimpse of the páramo, a unique type of vegetation found in the northern Andes. An equally steep descent brought us to the tourist town of El Puerto, the Venice of Colombia. Well, we found the comparison a bit ambitious, but there was a canal, many boats, bridges, and countless restaurants.

Soon after, we’d conquered another pass and were happily rolling down into the town of Pasto. There, we treated ourselves to a two-day break in a charming hotel we’d booked. Unfortunately, the hotel didn’t have any facilities for cooking or boiling water. But in the middle of the hardware district, we quickly solved the problem by buying an immersion heater for 3.0 francs. We had to abandon the idea of using it to make pasta with lots of vegetables after the first try, but at least we had hot coffee for breakfast😊.

We found Pasto to be a very charming town, which was likely due in part to the pleasant temperatures at 2’600 meters above sea level. Aside from visiting the Carnival and Gold Museum and an Oriental-style church, we spent a few hours looking for new chain locks. When we tried to install them, we were in for a nasty surprise: The chain locks wouldn’t close, even with pliers! We confronted the bicycle dealer with this, and he admitted that the product he had sold us didn’t work. Annoyingly, refunding us the purchase price was too complicated for him.

From Pasto to the border town of Ipiales, we only had 90 kilometers ahead of us. We split this into two daily stages and rode along the old Pan-American Highway through the beautiful Guáitara Gorge. Along the way, we visited the spectacularly situated pilgrimage site of Las Lajas and were happy to see the French cyclist Christian again. With good weather and dry clothes, we were in the mood for a cheerful chat this time. With our last Colombian pesos, we refilled the gas canister for our stove and are now spending the night in a hotel right before the border to Ecuador.