Columbia

Columbia!

Vino Tinto

Vino Tinto... red wine... literally translated it means tinted wine in Spanish. Allow me to create a new English translation. Perhaps it meant the comfortable haze I was in most of the time in our San Andres Island, Columbia all-inclusive resort. Not induced by alcohol mind you... just from the warm and steady winds off the ocean and forgetting the fact that the stress of my life up north called for me... Yeah, the mindset of vino tinto... I like the sound of that... let us go with that...

So I struggled with the fact of whether to organize this trip report into categories or simply go chronologically. Then I starting sweating bullets whether to use the standard Times New Roman font at size 12 or aim for something more sophisticated. Then I began shivering uncontrollably wondering whether I should send this report as an attachment or in the body of the E-mail. Then I sunk into hysteria whether I should once again censor the entire report in order to appeal to my more conservative readers. Finally, I muttered vino tinto... I'm okay now.

North Americans (Canadians and Americans) are idiots. We rely on technology to enable us to live comfortable lives. We rely on technology to entertain us, inform us, cure us, please us, enlighten us and most of all, modernize us. Well, congratulations! We are now even able to text message our teddy-bear hamsters to remind them not to knock over the water dish lest they wallow in uncomfortable soggy shavings for the remainder of the evening.

Mary and I didn't find out Saddam Hussein was executed until we arrived back in Canada five days later. The biggest piece of news to reach our ears was something about a parasailer who collided with a pelican in midair.

All-inclusive resorts really help the economies of these countries. They create jobs and bring in billions of tourist dollars to nearby merchants, cab drivers, tour operators, artists and prostitutes. Tourism is the number one economy in many tropical countries. Let us read on to discover how Mary and I contributed.

Typical conversation between family, colleagues or friends leading up to our departure...
"Hey Steve, where are you going for Christmas?"
"Columbia"
"Columbia? What the $#*@ for? Are you crazy?"

"No."
"Uhhhh…mind if I take the last shortbread cookie?"
"Yes, I do mind. The cookie is mine and you will never be able to have it. You are a misguided, grub eating monstrosity whose impending lack of geographical discretion will haunt you on your next venture into the absurd world of overzealous theme-park operations."

The Montreal Hotel

Somehow, my stunningly gorgeous wife and I found our departure city to once again be Montreal. Tropical destination departures out of Ottawa are usually limited to Montreal's biodome.

Our hotel of choice was the Best Eastern, which refuses to grant you their Best room until you reveal your Best hungry golden retriever face. Initially our room overlooked a seedy back door hotel exit laden with glistening ashtrays. Our upgraded room featured a glossy pizza menu. The pizza delivery dude had the foresight to include plastic cutlery with the order since we resided in such a prestigious enclave.

The hotel proudly advertises free long-term parking (which we paid $50.00 for) and supplies enough parking spots for all their short-term guests. We were diverted to a parking area with quite an incline. Coincidentally, this was also the test site for General Motors' line of high quality emergency brakes.

The pool generously enabled me to swim in an area at least twice the volume of my last aquarium. The decibel level of children playing nearby shattered any quiet tropical paradise I might have envisioned as I stared at a lone, plastic palm tree.

The Montreal Airport

So of course with Mary's do-it-yourself laser hair removal kit, we were over the limit with our luggage weight. Each kg over would of cost us $10.00 Quebecois. That meant $130.00 in our case... Creative repackaging resulted in us carrying our snorkelling gear and inflatable mattresses with us on the plane. That way we could at least enjoy the ocean if our plane went down...

The stores in the Montreal airport sold everything from magazines announcing how to build your own bomb using only breath mints to Swiss army knives the size of a sledgehammer. I selected a novel on how to keep blood flow in your legs while seated on a plane.

The Flight there (5 hours... nearly 4000 km straight south)

So I requested a seat with legroom hoping for the emergency exit but received the bulkhead instead. The ticket agent reassured me it was just as good. It was a fantastic location... for babies. Silly me... I had forgotten that this is where folding tables can be removed to allow parents to comfortably place sleeping babies. However, the concept of a sleeping baby does not exist on a plane. I requested a refund for the headset I purchased as the volume of screaming babies easily outmatched the terrifying soundtrack of the feature movie, Snakes on a Plane.

Dinner consisted of half of a turkey sub from Subway. It was so dry I became further dehydrated and needed to request another beverage. The stewardess actually scolded me for expecting more than one beverage on the flight. I'm not kidding here... she told me I should have brought some of my own. Yes, folks, the 100ml of liquid we are now allowed to bring on a flight would have sufficiently washed that sub down. I think the only thing 100 ml of any liquid could wash down is a grain of salt.

Longer flights have a cool feature on the TV's that allow you to follow the flight plan and view all the technical data. However, they are only on for the first 5 minutes before the latest award-winning movie takes their place. Why invest in all that technology if we only follow our flight path on the T.V. to the nearest Tim Horton's located to the airport?

Or course when a movie is over, EVERYONE gets up to go use the one washroom on the plane and EVERYONE seems surprised and voices their disgust when they see the huge line-up...

The two young siblings next to me decided it was time to turn their seating area into a fort halfway through the flight. They managed to scale my long legs numerous times to claim victory over one another.

Being at the bulkhead means the elite first-class patrons are only one row ahead of you. However, the stewardess always draws THE CURTAIN so you cannot witness the carnage that begins when this high society begins its rabid consumption of a full turkey sub and TWO Lindor chocolates. Due to my horrid cold, I manage to sneak my Kleenex box across the threshold of that menacing curtain and place it right behind the inclined leather back seat of an unsuspecting royal family member.

And why do people sometimes clap and cheer when a flight lands? Is that because they were ecstatic we made it alive or were they happy to leave their seatmate behind?

The Columbian airport

An uplifting moment... as we disembarked and entered the airport, the entire throng of Canadians waiting to return to Canada clapped and cheered for us. Is that because they were ecstatic to be returning home or that they felt our pain regarding seatmates and encouraged us that is was all over? And why they hell do they have the air conditioning cranked in the terminal? Don't they realize we flew south in order to sweat in the heat and humidity, not freeze to death as we arrive?

Customs in the Caribbean is on the same level as getting that fluoride polish at the dentist. It never seems to end, especially when three lines open up to six reporting stations and officials always encourage beautiful young ladies (my radiant wife included of course) to come forward first. I held up my line for a good ten minutes before the dude behind me jabbed me in the back and told me to have a spine. Once I actually made it to the station, they entered all my passport information manually. No wonder it took over 1 ½ hours to clear everyone on the plane through customs.

After enduring the long line up, the luggage conveyor belt seems to spit out one suitcase every 5 minutes. Mary and I were brilliant enough to purchase Black American Tourister Luggage. As hundreds of Black American Tourister Luggage items slowly fell on the conveyor belt, barely audible gasps were heard among the 300 or so flight passengers hoping that item was theirs. Mind you, some people like to single out their Black American Tourister Luggage by personalizing it with a Death Metal Slogan from the 80’s. Why didn't Mary or I think of that?? A picture of Mozart would have sufficed. And why did our second piece of luggage arrive a full 15 minutes after the first? You all know that sinking feeling... they must have loaded the second piece right after the first so how come?...

Of course a shuttle bus to our resort would have been way too easy so taxis were called for all the passengers. So instead of waiting endlessly on a shuttle bus for all of our particular resort patrons to arrive, we waited endlessly in line to finally have our very own personal taxi assigned to us! None of the gauges in this cab worked and the seatbelts were nowhere to be fond. We felt safe.

The Resort Welcoming Committee

The first impression is always check-in and this resort did not disappoint. We received our T.V. remote control, key and indestructible wristband (in that order of importance) and had the combined weight of all our luggage carried on the head of the local bellboy up three flight of stairs to our room.

The briefing the next morning consisted of endless information spewed forth at the speed of light regarding anything we needed to know. The most attractive feature was the "stay at one, play at six" which meant we had access to all six Decameron resorts on San Andres Island. Of course the predicable stupid tourist questions arose at the end of the briefing like, "How hot is the sun here?" or "Is the food safe to eat?" or even, "What do I do about my husband's sandals? They really smell..." (thanks Mary).

A Room with a View and some less attractive features...

When morning came, it was in fact the most stunning view of our lives. All we could see was a 180 degree view of 10 different shades of blue ocean. When we looked down, all we could see was ocean. You see, our room was part of a pod that stuck right into the ocean. I don't think you could ever have a better ocean view from any hotel in the world, period. Only a lone shipwreck 400 metres from shore blocked our eastern view of an endless horizon. This was a start to one of our most memorable tropical vacations ever as we stood on our balcony wondering how we ever got so lucky!

The paths around these pods were usually occupied by patrons of the resort moving approximately the speed of a large snail. Again, I envisioned poor Mr. Bean trying to get around an elderly patron climbing up or down the stairs.

Okay, you were waiting for it... here goes. The bathroom... Two signs were prominently displayed with two distinct warnings. Do not drink the water and do not throw the paper into the toilet. Huh? So the waste paper basket becomes the toilet paper basket? Yup, we read that right. You know that analogy of the toast buttered side up? Well, we made sure that side of the toilet paper was always facing DOWN in the wastepaper basket. No need to gross out your spouse or the maid...

And don't get me started about the showerhead. Out of a possible 15 exit holes for the water, two were not clogged. That meant all that water had to go somewhere. Well, one thin spray drilled a hole in my front tooth and the other SOMEHOW found a path to my nether regions. I cried out in panic, dropped the soap, bent down to pick up the soap and scalped my bald head on the cold water faucet. This in turn ruined the ideal temperature of the two pronged spray that took me over 17 minutes to achieve. Those of you who will see me in the next month or so will see the healing scalp wound live. Of course, to finish off my self-destructive behaviour, I was clotheslined by a lower than normal complimentary clothesline while hastily exiting the shower.

One of the light switches in our room controlled the light beside the bed as well as the outdoor balcony light. I was faced with a dilemma. How could I read outside on the balcony without keeping Mary awake? She adapted and managed to build a pillow fortress around her head to prevent any light from shining into her face... what a good wife.

The Weather

Islanders tell us it has never gone below 24C and never above 32C . And the wind... wow! Constantly blowing day and night at least 50 km/h. When rain did come, it lasted no more than five minutes and those winds blew the rain sideways. This created quite an uncomfortable stream of miniature needles to any hapless beachgoer stupid enough not to duck under water to escape it (yours truly)

The wind also made the humidity and temperature completely bearable which gave a false sense of security. I have never seen so many burnt tourists at one location. I was only burnt slightly on my head but have since grossed out the front row of my band shedding dead skin off my scalp everywhere.

A friendly fellow Canadian at the resort had this to say about the wind: quote "It's so windy here all the time that I have whitecaps in my coffee in the morning!"

The Food

Rondon- the official Columbian dish and the official ticket to the toilet for anyone with a weak stomach. Fatty pig tails and conch meat (a large snail pronounced conk) floating in fish oil broth and coconut sauce. I ate it...a bit salty...

Breakfast consisted of potato chips, meatballs, deep fried squid and a fruit that when cut in half looked exactly like that desert pit monster thing that swallowed up Jabba the Hut in Return of the Jedi.

Lunch consisted of beer.

Supper consisted of beer accompanied by Vino Tinto. We had a choice of five restaurants, a Thai, an Italian, a seafood, a steak and a buffet. Selection was endless and quite good. Rum raisin ice cream or sweet coconut with raisins were the best desserts. However, booking these restaurants was quite a different story. All patrons needed reservations that were taken at 7:30 in the morning. The line-up procedure turned into a game of musical chairs. We all seated ourselves randomly in the reception area (where chairs were lined up in rows of 12 x 20 with a middle aisle). Imagine the confusion as tardy bleary-eyed resort-goers stumbled into this frigid air conditioned room wondering where to take their place in this "sit-line" without causing an uproar because they sat in the wrong row or god forbid, wrong chair in that row.

The Drink

All sweet alcoholic drinks taste the same. Period. I know all women will argue with me on that issue. The beer was palatable and we assumed it was a light Caribbean beer like Crystal or Corona. To my horror, I discovered it was brewed in Milwaukee and came out of cans labelled Red Dog. Mary discovered a concoction called Yellow Bird (brandy, amaretto and orange juice). She enjoyed it readily... I attempted a Tom Collins at the suggestion of our friends but managed to call it a John Collins and a Steve Collins to the bartenders before I eventually got it right.

There was a discotechque that had impressive pulsating lights and pounding music at one end of the resort beckoning all regular consumers of alcohol. However, it was a phantom discotechque because no one was ever in it!

Pool Etiquette

Simply put, there is none. Speedos should not be worn when the size of the belly covers the entire groin area. Thongs should not be worn when the entire garment falls beneath all the crevices. The towel exchange is always run by mindless teenagers who cannot figure out that two used towels returned will equal two news ones being offered. You will most likely stub your toe on the pool bar’s underwater barstools before you even drag your sorry ass halfway out of the water. Pool activities always consist of music at a volume heard throughout the resort (ba-dum baaaa dum) with infamous activity co-ordinators dragging shockingly white Canadians up on the stage to make complete arses out of themselves. Coincidentally, this resort was only full of French-Canadians, Torontonians, mainland Columbians and two very brilliant, attractive, friendly and outgoing couples from the Ottawa area. More on our amazing friends later!

Snorkeling

Snorkelling at our resort was not a wise option. There are 15 pods all three stories high consisted of 18 rooms (6 rooms per floor). They all jut into the ocean bordered by canals dug around them to allow the water to create a Venice-like atmosphere. Docks connected all the pods and adjoining restaurants, dive center, bars etc. UNDERNEATH these docks were all the pipes... We wondered what these pipes carried...

However, there were natural ocean swimming pools all over the island that provided endless opportunities to view the colourful marine life. We were not disappointed... The best marine life we saw were eels, nurse sharks, blue crabs, sea cockroaches, fish adorned with bright blue neon stripes and my favourite... the yellow/purple fish. As you can probably suspect, I have been gifted with the impressive vocabulary of a marine biologist while describing these creatures of the sea.

A common occurrence is my knee connecting with coral due to my freakishly long legs. I end up with damaged knees on every Caribbean vacation. It is rather fun to watch other tourists suffer by struggling with their rented equipment. They usually swallow more water than a humpback whale and see more fog than London's Heathrow airport. The sand that accumulated in our water shoes is quite an annoyance though. It managed to find its way all the way back to Ottawa once again.

The Island Tour via Open Bus

Diesel fumes... from our own tourbus, diesel fumes from the scooters and motorcycles, diesel fumes from cars built in the 70s and 80s. Folks, when an island is only 15 km long and 3 km wide and occupied by 100,000 residents and probably 5000 tourists, it creates quite a scene. No one has a driver's license on the island and this is quite evident. However, inhalation of diesel fumes was worth it! What a fascinating island full of warm, friendly people. No one drives over 30 km/h and really doesn’t need to! Our tour operator spoke excellent English but unfortunately the speaker system on the bus turned her voice into a Charlie Brown teacher voice on acid.

The most famous attraction on the island is the blowhole. This involves stupid tourists looking down at a hole along the coast imbedded in lava rock. The incoming tide pushes excess air from underneath upwards at a force greater your father-in-law's intestinal eruptions. The Columbians have taken one page (and the only page I might add) from the Americans at this location. Literally hundreds of tacky souvenir shops line both sides of the street hungry for the tourist dollar. All this for a hole in the ground...

We had live guitar and vocals on the tour bus as well which sounded splendid aided by that stellar speaker system. This music accompanied us as we viewed extensive unspoiled coastline, quaint houses, pirate coves, palm forests, busy harbours and drunken tourists.

The Urban quarter...

Right down the road from our hotel no less. What a great scene... Everyone sits outside their house at night while a T.V. blares to no one inside. Stray dogs are everywhere but keep to themselves. Even their waste is nowhere to be found, a testament to the oath of cleanliness the island seems to have taken along the public beaches. Christmas decorations made out of colourful foil paper shaped by chicken wire adorn numerous palm trees. 19-year old police officers are on EVERY street corner. They are Columbian males who upon high school graduation must serve in the military or police force for one year before they are allowed to hold a permanent job, attend University or even get a passport. However, the island is so peaceful these officers seem quite bored most of the time. One was actually operating a remote control car along the boardwalk and chased a stray dog with it.

The island is tax-free so duty-free shops are everywhere. I purchased two bottles of cologne and a bottle of pepper flavoured Absolut Vodka. Mary bought a brandy that she vowed to use at home to create more Yellow Birds.

The only minor incident was the scampering of a rat across the street from one patio of a restaurant to another. Islanders laughed and cheered as the tiny little rodent seemed to follow a female tourist who shrieked hysterically.

I got lost twice in this area foolishly wandering around on my own. It became apparent to me that I was not in the touristy area anymore when locals began gazing at the shine off my bald, white head in morbid fascination. Fortunately, the ocean is never far to regain my sense of direction.

The wife

Well, she had so much downtime that she painted her toes silver. The moonlight glistened off them at night causing a nightmarish scene of alien toes. I kept my distance but many fish were attracted to the shiny flashes when we snorkelled.

My wife also ordered all the shutters in our room closed every time she changed (this occurred over 40 times per day). It was a laborious process that involved covering at least 20 square meters of glass. What she failed to understand was we looked out on the OCEAN and only the occasional seabird from our height would even be able to peek at her impressive curves.

The application of sunscreen every morning usually took close to a quarter of an hour. I was always expected to combine a massage with sunscreen application on her back but somehow I was treated with firm slaps when it was my turn.

Mary complained she was always blind on this vacation. Her glasses were continuously fogged due to high humidity and were covered in seasalt. Thankfully, her limited sightlines kept her faithful as there were many Daniel Craig look-alikes at the resort.

My wife also constantly reminded me that during our siestas, I would snort myself awake on numerous occasions. I do recall hearing myself snore. It was by far the most unpleasant experience of the trip. One of Mary's siestas lasted over 3 hours from 3:30 to 6:30 p.m. Incredibly, she went to bed three hours later at 9:30 p.m. and slept until 9:30 a.m. the next morning. How does she do that?

My wife also expected me to catch her as she entered our boat for a tour of the cays surrounding the island. I figured she had balanced herself on the edge of the boat comfortably so I attended to our gear. Unfortunately, she slid to the bottom of the boat and landed on top of a large steel anchor. She has shown me the colossal bruise on her behind every single day since that incident.

The Boat Tour and Island Cays

While on the subject of this boat tour, allow me to help you, the reader, visualize what is essentially a rowboat with 10 wooden benches (5 people per bench) propelled by a 400 hp motor. There was no dock from which to board or disembark the boat hence Mary's unfortunate boat entry slippage. Alas, the first people to enter the boat (us) are not the luckiest. Forced to sit in the back, we are required to pass out the 50 or so body-odour soiled lifejackets to the tourists up in front. Picture a life-jacket mosh pit if you will. It was always the worst when the jackets were being returned. And when the boat zoomed across the waves?... my poor wife had to close her eyes the entire way to avoid losing her contacts. She missed out on seeing more Daniel Craig look-alikes but did mange to get soaked to the bone.

Cays are essential the deserted islands you see in so many cartoons. However, unlike the famous cartoons, these cays were environmental disasters. At one cay we visited a massive garbage heap tucked away in a corner that was labelled a recycling depot. It stunk so bad even the seagulls wouldn't go near it. These cays looks like tropical paradises from the "mainland" of San Andres, but once you got closer...

Mary and I soon discovered the real reason we were left on this particular cay for over 3 hours. There were tourist traps everywhere waiting for you to spend your money out of complete boredom. Most tourists took the bait. Mary and I decided to photograph the numerous colourful iguanas that populated the island instead.

The second cay was much smaller and less commercialized but still managed to fit a restaurant on its shores. We were fed exotic fish here and if you were lucky, you were served the head. The restaurant floor was so full of sand and sea weed, you could swear it wasn’t swept in months.

Water Sports

For the record, I can’t stand jet skis. They are noisy, disruptive and annoying (boy I sound old). But kiteboarding is a fascinating thing to watch. Imagine yourself tied to a gigantic kite as you surf across the water. The wind on San Andres Island really helped to propel these pros sometimes over 20 feet in the air. Windsurfers also performed some amazing tricks. The neat part was, we could watch all of these athletes from the comfort of our balcony.

New Year's Eve

As usual, Mary went to sleep before midnight. I haven't experienced the New Year's Eve countdown since my single days during the last millennium. Ah well, small price to pay for being married to the most wonderful human being in the world. We did venture into the city to see all the celebrations around 10:00 p.m. but alas, the streets were empty! Later we found out most Columbians attend a two-hour church service on New Year’s Eve from 10:00 p.m. to midnight. Only then do they start partying and do not crawl into their beds until the sun rises. Coincidentally, I did have enough champagne, lobster tails, shrimp and cream puffs to alter my judgement before tucking Mary in that night. I remember saying to her as she stood in front of the toilet: quote "I thought you were going to stand peeing up." All she was simply doing was checking out her sunburn in the overhead mirror. No wonder she sent me to bed early too!

The most memorable resort patrons

One of them had to be the old lady sitting at the bar when asked how she was doing answered: quote "What am I doin? Anything that'll do it with me."

Another memorable moment was watching an inebriated Canadian man in his 40's attempt to kiss a female Columbian police officer on the lips as she escorted him away from the all-inclusive bar...

Okay, one more... the obnoxious man who laughed at everyone's Canadian tan. It was only later that we all found out he was from Toronto. Enough said...

The Personal Taxi Ride

After the unforgettable bus tour earlier on in the week, we decided to get a more personal island tour from a cab driver named Emerson. For $25.00 U.S. he drove us to other resorts that we wanted to explore, waited while we snorkelled and ate lunch (don't worry... we snuck some food out of the resort for him) and guarded all of our stuff. He took us to a pond filled with crocodiles, showed us the interior of the Baptist church many Columbian parishioners spend New Year's Eve in and enthusiastically told us all about this history of the island and its people. This is the way to go folks...

Our Last Day

Okay, let's see here...

1. Five out of control siblings ranging in age from 5-10 pounding each other to death...parents stroll by whistling completely oblivious
2. Our first taste of deep-fried octopus
3. The last walk on the beach AFTER checking in at the airport
4. Watching our stacked luggage (at least 10 feet high) being loaded on the plane on giant wooden platforms with no sides. These carts were being pulled manually!
5. A violent cougher on the plane that sat directly beside Mary and behind me (I was lucky enough to secure an emergency exit seat this time instead of the bulkhead) She never covered her mouth...
6. Arriving in Montreal on January 5th at 12:30 a.m. in the rain with a temperature of plus 10C with no snow on the ground. Why did we even go south?
7. Checking in at the airport hotel in Montreal only realizing then that I had accidentally booked the room for the previous day
8. Driving to Ottawa the next morning and going straight to Costco to stock up on the necessities! Welcome home Steve and Mary.

Hats off to our friends from Ottawa

Have you ever thought no one could be as perfect a travel companion as your spouse? Well, Mary and I hung out with two wonderful people that were just as perfect. We met them last March on our trip to St. Martin and a couple months ago invited them to come to San Andres Island with us. Luckily, they accepted our offer. We will never forget the sand pits they dug to double as beach chairs to avoid paying for a lousy chair on the cays. We will never forget the chaffing suffered by our male friend after a day of swimming in salt water. We all laughed as his walk resembled the after effects of riding on an overweight horse. We will never forget how they caught up on all the National Geographic magazines dating back to September 1988. And finally, we will never forget the great time we had sharing this vacation with them They are more experienced travellers than we are so we’ll keep learning from them.