We set to explore the tallest waterfall in Colombia the next day. After a restful sleep, we prepared our belongings early in the morning and alerted the hotel owner to open the door for us. We journeyed on the road towards Bogota, and then veered left onto steep, rural roads. Riding on the damp ground, we could feel the cool moisture in the air and observed the morning sky filled with clouds. The temperature was warm. Despite the passing of time, Chris’s condition hadn’t improved.
We climbed for a significant amount of time until we arrived at a small store. An enormous billboard of cyclists took up a lot of space over the tight turn over the paved road. Two police officers parked their motorcycles and savored a quick snack, relishing the taste of their well-deserved break. We bought some kind of cake as well and sat at a two-person table. The air was even more misty by then, and we reached elevation over 10,000 feet. We had our thin jackets on. Chris captured the image of the police officers. They were grinning. We were preparing to ascent for another thousand feet and then descend over five thousand feet into a deep valley. After another push over 11,000 feet, we started quickly riding down the twisty road. The entire experience seemed like a dream. The views were breathtaking. For a while, I trailed behind the bumper of a passenger car, my eyes fixed on its every move. I passed it soon. We came to a halt as soon as we spotted a woman walking on the edge of the road. She smiled and let us take a picture of her. Golden teeth filled the gaps between her natural ones. She pointed to a shrine of St. Mary’s on the right side. She intended to pray. I immediately pondered the distance she had covered on foot from her home to arrive here. Her resemblance to my grandmother, with her dark hair and eyes, made me realize I share a partial gypsy heritage because of our Balkan ancestry. To hold on to the fading memories of my grandparents’ house, I clung to the image of my grandmother’s spirited stories of riding unsaddled horses, desperately searching for any connection to the past. I remember her gentleness. She never scolded her grandchildren, although we often deserved it. The resumption of movement tore me away from my contemplations. WEEEEE! We were accelerating and tilting almost sideways to maneuver through the curves. Chris took a wrong turn after crossing a bridge and descending. I waited for a bit and witnessed him climbing back, feeling relief. The path we took led us onto a road with a gravel surface. Shortly after, the village of Choachi came into view, revealing its remote location. The small homesteads adorned the stunning but beautiful valley. People were working hard on the slopes of the ragged farmlands. The beautiful vegetation in between added to the picturesque world. So different from what we were used to. When I was mapping the route back home to the falls, I connected it with a trail that was clearly visible on the map. When we arrived at the spot, there definitely was a trail. At least at the beginning. Concealing our bikes behind large boulders, we began ascending the trail. It became apparent that the jungle-like forest became unpassable after we lost our way a few times. We were trekking through dense vegetation, checking offline maps on our phones. The falls were visible to us from a distance. As we later found out, the view of the falls was only accessible from the top. Joke on us.
After hiking back and riding more, excitement filled our hearts as we arrived at the hotel marked on google maps, envisioning a cozy night’s rest, but our smiles quickly faded when we realized there was no hotel, while there was a man working in the field, as we approached him to ask about it. He chuckled and gave a disapproving shake of his head. It was getting late, and his reaction didn’t seem entertaining to us. He pulled out his cell phone and called someone. The only thing we could comprehend was ‘dos gringos locos… hotel…’ He seemed to have a great time talking while we stood there bewildered. Having concluded his phone conversation, he explained to us the directions. Hope invited itself into our souls and we cheered up a little. Following his guidance, we entered a certain property. It wasn’t very far from the man we just talked to. Maybe a couple of miles. Another man welcomed us as he talked quickly in Spanish. The dusk already chilled the surrounding air. He attempted to clarify something, but realizing that we didn’t grasp it, he impatiently gestured for us to follow him. We were totally at his mercy. This was the instance when you wholeheartedly embraced placing your faith in another person, in a faraway land that filled your senses with vibrant colors and exotic scents. Through a level field of grass, he took us into a small building. Inside, we saw tables where two women were occupied with food preparation. Without delay, they poured juice into two glasses and filled bowls with fruit. We were famished and extremely appreciative of this warm gesture. The man told us to wait and left. As we sat there, he was gone for at least fifteen minutes. He came back with a young woman. She spoke English! We found out that she was traveling often to CT in search of work. The world is tiny indeed! She aided us in deciding on a price for the meals and accommodations. Chris was accompanied by the man to see the tree house designated for our sleep, while I engaged in conversation with the woman and observed the other two cooking our meal. Chris came back excited. He described the place as fantastic, and to add to that, there was a hot shower. We paid the man and finished our meal. We left our bikes outside the small building and climbed the staircase to the tree house. The ‘palace-like’ to us appearance pleasantly surprised us, despite the initial expectation of sleeping in a cow pasture.
Of course, there was breakfast waiting for us in the morning. Following a restful night’s sleep, we were ready to return to Bogota. Our plan was to have our plane take off early morning the next day. We exchanged goodbyes with the host. We made a brief stop at the house of the English-speaking woman to have a chat with her and meet her family. She gave us directions to the falls. To our disappointment, the path to the falls turned out to be much longer than we had initially thought, and we still had a substantial journey ahead of us to return to Bogota, navigating our way out of the deep valley. Chris was still unwell. The food had no positive effect on his condition, but exacerbated his stomach issues, resulting in an unexpected restroom breaks. We spent a considerable amount of time climbing and then went even further for many miles until we arrived at the very place where we had encountered the police officers the day before. The ease of our journey increased as we started descending towards Bogota. In Colombia, cyclists are allowed on the highway, but it was rather crazy to ride with the cars and try to avoid potholes big enough to fit a person. It was both terrifying and thrilling all at once. Adventure all the way through! The excitement grew as we navigated through the city on the main road alongside the bustling traffic. On the bright side, we saw other people riding bicycles.
We reached the building where we initially stayed during our trip and messaged Antenea. She brought our bike bags into the multilevel garage. We disassembled our bikes and changed our clothes. Poor Chris rested on the unforgiving concrete floor, hoping to grab a quick snooze. He experienced severe dehydration. While we were waiting for the transport vehicle to pick us up for the airport, he left to use the restroom and never returned. Antenea and I began our search for him. We found him in the main lobby. The building guards kept him there. Luckily, he encountered an English-speaking doctor who informed him about a medication to purchase for his diarrhea. Together, we walked to the pharmacy and successfully acquired it. With a sinking feeling in our stomachs, we reluctantly climbed into the truck, knowing that our thrilling adventure was coming to a close. We glanced back at Antenea, her figure growing smaller and more distant as the vehicle sped away.