Date Counter For Relationships

227-233 J / Episode II Incredible Colombian

L th day early, we take a minibus and we find our carefree Colombian family: son, mother, grandmother and friend. Three hours later we arrive in San Augustine, where we find a nice hotel, all wood with a large courtyard. We leave our belongings and set off to visit the archaeological site. Many tombs scattered in the forest, composed of heads monolithic guarding the graves, further down the path we will find a place carved into the rock of the river, a place that probably wise used for different ceremonies. There are few traces of this culture would have inhabited the area for roughly a thousand years. While we settle into our room, the grandmother Socorro Jorge comes to us and propose to continue with them tomorrow morning when the rooster crows to visit more ruins in the region and a waterfall and then continue the road towards Popayan, farther west. Starting to be really tired, we decline the offer. Time to take our shower and refresh our brain the same time, we change our minds, we appreciate their company and it would be stupid not to take advantage of the opportunity they offer to visit the region very easily accessible bus. We join them for dinner and express our change of course: smile Socorro us loose a little joke in passing. The only problem is that in the meantime they have offered a couple of Colombians met the day before the same course and they were quicker than us, no big deal for Jorge so we will be eight in the 4x4. A nocturnal stroll through the quiet streets of this quiet town in the Cordillera Central, stopping for a drink, a break in a small tourist shop and everyone joined her room. See you tomorrow at dawn. Everyone wakes up a little late and time to round up everyone, the sky is already clear. Our place is worth us backward in the trunk, 30 cm wide and 1.50 long. Soon we begin to taste the pleasures rocky tracks. Throughout the day we discover archaeological sites, passing through villages where the lost souls reign of the cart and mule is law nd'être forgotten admiring waterfalls that abound in the area and stopping in all the churches. In short, despite our position jigger, that's good! At nightfall the whole company joined San Augustine, the couple found their car in Colombia and we're en route to a town an hour away where we spend the night before leaving early for more than five Popayan Road. Arriving in the hotel see it is not in our class but we do not want to share hotel, especially since the departure will take place at dawn when we talk a bit rate. We have what we want but we will do without hot water, not serious we did the African campaign! Upon leaving, we will pay our hotel night but the waiter told us that the note is already settled. We'll see Socorro to give money to our night and we receive a final refusal and we will send our case load in the trunk of the car. The engine starts, we are only five in the 4x4, three of our companions we let go today to join Neiva. For an hour we were enjoying the tarmac, it does not last and after taking our desayuno (breakfast) to the local fashion in a little corn in the central mountain range we approach the runway. The sun shines behind us rises dust, Jorge foot to the floor reveals the power of its V8 4x4, the scenery scrolls, we eat the miles like a mustang dropped into the high plains. Unlike other roads are Colombian quickly we note the abscence of police, Jorge explanation: we are in a guerrilla zone, but do not worry right now is calm ... That's when the car chooses to show a slight weakness, nothing serious just a puncture. But the 5 nuts that lock the wheel, two are broken, we leave and give up the speed to pass the speed mustang mule. More than five hours before reaching Popayan. On the road, an old bridge destroyed by guerrillas, a village where one can see an incredible amount of shrapnel adorning the walls, sad garlands. Fortunately all is not guerrilla warfare and vendettas, as we pass by a beautiful waterfall and a plateau where some very strange plants grow in a soil sponge and only grow one centimeter a year. It is said in the pueblos that long ago we saw over 30 meters, the largest we have seen was only 2 meters. The rain comes along with us at Popayan, a beautiful town with white walls and red tile round which weighs today the heavy gray sky. By the time the family is a sign outside a church and we head back to Cali, we thought we stopped in cited, but time is short and the family continues north on the same road we then not too resist we accepted their invitation. Of course we end our journey in the guest room for Jorge to Santa Rosa. I think now that the kidnapping is deeply entrenched in Colombian culture. I recall the facts: we were hitchhiking along a dry and dusty track, we felt as strong as a goat cheese, they were kind enough to forward a few kilometers and we are three days later invited by them to sleep. Colombian amazing. We will spend three days in the coffee region. We visit Pereira, Armenia and we will taste in film Colombian probably one of the best in Latin America: "Pero Pero come." Our charming kidnappers eventually release us after a week of hostage taking more than pleasant. And here we are in a bus towards Ibague to finish our loop of the southern part of Colombia. Rafael has returned from the United States and ahead for good espresso. On his advice we pass by a park dedicated to coffee, we refine our knowledge and set off again towards his welcoming home.

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224-226 J / Interlude: a desert in the rain

The minivan slowed down, we go down and get our baggage. At the crossroads, dark and warm. We walk to the center of SIPA, the time to sweat but not too much. We find the hotel that we recommended Rafael without difficulty. An old lady rocking in her rockincher we welcome the cigarette in his mouth and smile. She called her daughter who shows us a room in the back of the court. The price is good, nice place and there is a fan. We sit, smoke a rod with the grandmother and leave the village in the atmosphere and smell it is as good as the beer we're cool on the terrace of a purlin which overlooks the main square. We glean some info to get to the desert del Tatacoa, we will take tomorrow morning a boat to cross the Rio Magdalena Villavieja to reach a village across the river where the desert begins. We ask if we can leave our big bags at the hotel on time to our little desert crossing, this does obviously not worry, unlike the hotel where we stayed in Venezuela we had lightened a few hundred bolivianos for the same service. After a good night's sleep under the good hospices fan and a good breakfast we head towards the port of CCI for us to go on the other side. Soon we leave the village and find ourselves on a path where n flooded a lady who lives a regular travelers, unfortunately it is not found. Finally he kindly offers to host us and we go with him to his home. In the show his wife hypnotized by the TV we just hello. The room comes down to the simplest terms, a bed surrounded by four walls of concrete block covered with a corrugated jail. This will be great to spend the night, especially as we get up well before dawn to see the sun rise over the desert which is an hour a half walk from the village. We visit the archaeological museum, where we can admire some beautiful specimens of fossil turtles dating from the age when the sea covered the area. Then we go off to the observatory which is located near the laous must move from stone to stone to keep us dry. After crossing a field, we view the harbor: a bench on the edge of the shore in the shade of a tree several hundred years. Three Colombians are waiting near their motorcycle. We expect the boat will come for an hour. Instead of a boat, it is a wooden boat motor that is dawning. We ship with the bike and we just hope that we will not capsize because the Magdalena river is wide and powerful in this rainy season. We landed safely ten minutes later on the other side. The sun is already strong, and we arrive sweaty to the central place largely deserted at this hour. We go into the only restaurant-hotel in town, beautiful colonial building. We take a solid meal and ask for a room, unfortunately the hotel is full. The boy informs and reminds us of Cusco versbyrinthe which marks the beginning of the desert. We leave a little late and unfortunately we miss the sunset, but we will not fail to see Saturn through the eyepiece of the telescope. We return to the village in the heat of the night. Fortunately, the astronomer who also returned to the village by motorbike taxi takes us to stop halfway. But only a few hundred yards away a tour bus filled with girls stops at our height. Our astronomer hearted abandon us and we finish the race solo. We join our digs; awakening in 4 hours. Two hours after we fell asleep we were awakened by a sudden downpour. The noise is amplified by the incredibly jail. Hope that the rain will stop, we fall asleep again. But it t is not the case when the alarm rings, the rain has diminished but not stopped. Our march towards the desert begins to rain, we lucky few, the rain did not stop and we do not see the sunrise over the desert. Strange feeling to go to a desert when we get wet, it's like to walk to the North Pole in a swimsuit. On this disappointment, we take a solid breakfast and we set out for our long walk, hoping the rain stops, it's still incredible desert in the rain. Gradually our shoes become plateformboots taking care of a sticky mud, they gain weight at each step we take. We still have 5 hours of walking before reaching a natural pool that lies deep in the canyons of the desert del Tatacoa. Fortunately as the day goes by, the weather changes, clouds go away and the heat starts to come, at last! It does not take us long to complain in good French that we are. Our tee-shirts did not even have time to dry in the morning rain they are soaked with sweat. Soon the water level drop of our water bottles. It is noon and we finally understand why we are in a desert sun, little vegetation and lots of cactus. It is an hour when we finally arrive at the outskirts of the natural pool. Hopefully the water will be cool?

We commit ourselves in the labyrinth that forms this part of the desert. When we finally find the pool is the disappointment: only 40 cm of muddy water, no doubt due to the downpour of the night ... Half turn to take a nice cold drink and not leave for the maze of Cusco to be dry at this time and therefore accessible. We are tired after eight hours of walking and we decide try the stop, the first 4x4 stops being full, the driver suggested we hang out. We're just a few yards when we stop the car so it is difficult to remain hanging. Finally we hold the driver in the trunk and we leave. We stop in Cusco and after a little discussion, the driver Jorge proposes that we go the next day in San Augustine with them, pre-Columbian site in 5 hours away. It is so insistent that we accompany them as we take his number and offer to remember tonight when we return to our hotel to arrange an appointment for tomorrow where they will be less numerous and where there will be room in the car. They continue their journey after the grandmother has largely insisted we join them tomorrow in Neiva, a half hour south of CCI. On this we descend to explore the maze of red Cusco and we get lost in the maze for an hour, sweating blood and water as the heat is concentrated in the grooves of this labyrinthe.Nous Villavieja us get to stop in and once again a full 4X4 stops and invites us to cling to the sides. This time it's more comfortable and we accept without hesitation. We arrived at our hosts p waiver shower bien méritée avant de les saluer et de partir pour Aipé. Quand nous abordons l´autre riv e, l´eau a inondé une bonne partie des champs et nous regagnons difficilement le village . Heureusement nous trouvons un bar ouvert où un e bière bien fraîche n´attendait que nos grands gosiers assoiffés. Nous prévenons Jorge que nous les rejoignons demain matin pour faire la route avec eux. Une bonne pizza dans un bouiboui à roulette installé sur la place et nous allons nous écrouler dans notre chambre.

Gps Phone Multiple Cheat

217-224 J / Episode I Incredible Colombian

Nous voici avec Rafael, spécialiste coffee in Colombia, 100% Arabica coffee. We som my therefore the best place in the context of our world tour of coffee. We climb to 4x4 board, the same as the father of Laetitia, another good sign for those who like to see wherever it is possible to see, I think I'm one of those there, especially when omens are good! We are happy to see us and Rafael is delighted to welcome us into his country.

We arrive in the re presidency of Rafael, we come to the gate, the guard opens. We feel that the patient ys is not safe. The residence consists of a set of small buildings rather modern. Ana-Lucia-wife of Rafael, is there and she is also delighted to see us. Time to put our affairs in a room they had prepared for us and we start dinner in a mall, not just any Carrefour. When you go around the world, we must expect toujou rs to experience new and novel. Rafael and Ana Lucia are very curious about our journey, we tell them everything in detail. Obviously the conversation drift itself to the cafe. Rafael is inexhaustible, we can grant him the title of professor as his knowledge is extensive on the subject. We also p Arle program he has prepared. Visit the factory where he is the manager, a sorter coffee, but also visit a farm that produces one of the best c EFA in the region of Tolima, the local headquarters of the "Federació we Nacional de Cafeteros de Colombia ", visit one of the warehouses largest exporter of coffee Col umbilical, a natural fertilizer company that specializes in coffee ... the next few days will be charged, we will no time to rest, but whatever. Back to the Appartem nt, Rafael offers us coffee, how could I refuse? He released his roasting machine, a few minutes later the sweet smell of coffee starts to spread throughout the apartment. Green beans begin to brown and to take this beautiful coffee color. Then he grinds and still other flavor ss'en emerge. Happiness and bliss when it serves us coffee, coolest we had the opportunity to taste from our visit a farm at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro. We want a good e each night and will reach our rooms. We jump da ns a double bed with thick mattress, fitted with sheets, fluffy pillows. What happiness today.

Seven o'clock Rafael tape to our door, it's time to get up, take a shower, a coffee and go visit his factory in few miles away on the road Bogotá. But before I talk about this visit, we will cause the farm we did the next day, which will facilitate understanding of the process. We leave very early for a farm to two hours drive from Ibague, for a good hour we knew ivone Road Bogot to before turning my the mountains where the coffee grows, usually be 1000 and 2000 meters for arabica. We begin to snake on the sublime Colombian roads before arriving at farm we take a break o p take breakfast to Colombian fashion: Hot , patacones (ban asses crushed and fried). U not ten minutes later we approach roads muddy and stony as the 4x4 goes without any problem. We park and finish the journey on foot. Medium sized farm from the multitude of those who produce the famous Colombian coffee that you find at your favorite grocer regularly. A woman greets us very gentian and we start the tour. First we start on the green hills where seasonal workers are reaping huge hand on red berry-laden branches like clusters of grapes. Then we headed toward a building where sanitary landfill of baskets in a machine that will remove the skin, then the berries pass on a conveyor which takes them to a machine that will wash out with plenty of water. The final step is drying in a dryer that will dry the berries very quickly. Once dried the bay, which still have their yellow hull, are bagged, the bags will be transported to warehouses for sorting plant as Rafael. Now I can go back the visit of the day, the plant Rafael. I'll spare you the details but I will still describe to you the essence of the process. Trucks loaded with sacks of grain to arrive the factory, they are weighed and then discharged. Once in the warehouse they are emptied 're in the sorter, 30 meters high, 20 wide on a good Quaranta ine long. It to this time that the grains are separated from their shells, then they are sorted for re learn the wrong seeds. Depending on demand the client, the sort can be very precise s, and for most demanding clients, a manual selection can be made. Usually only the best coffee s undergo this final step, because it increases the price significantly. The grains are then repacked into bags which are sampled that are enjoyed by people from the laboratory to evaluate the different properties, defects and grain qualities and aromas that are rated at the catation, a process similar to the wine. Subsequently bags for export controls will face Colombian Customs and sometimes very harsh U.S. before leaving for different parts of the world. Only by entering the destination country that the grains are roasted, each country has its method, but also for a simpler reason is that once roasted coffee loses its flavor quickly and must be ground and drunk within two months. One of the biggest names in home roasting is Illy in Trieste, Italy, also on our return we intend to take a walk, to complete our round the world enjoying the best coffee the world.
During the day we will visit the headquarters of the local cooperative of coffee, one of the most important institution in Colombia because it manages about 50% of domestic production and help farmers through programs of education for children, helps construction of roads in rural areas and coffee plantations, but also involved in health programs ... We also go to a farm that produces organic fertilizer by industrial means. All this took us three big days. Our knowledge of coffee is now almost professional!
For our penultimate day in Ibague, friends of Ana-Lucia invite us to a concert. Laetitia saw the `poster in the street and tell me that it might not be our best gig. We are in the queue and we quickly separated into two queues, one for men and one for women. That of women is much longer than that of men if I were I would say that misogyny is a bad sign! We enter the VIP tent side, strangely it is the most seats at the back. Tables and chairs surround cabaret tent. All Salsa music in the background, and so far everything is going well. We are all seated at the six tasting glasses until the concert begins. We have time to finish the first bottle and initiate the second broadly. We entered the room about 20 hours, it is now more than 22 hours. That must be quite a star to afford much delay. Hall finally gets impatient when gently to 23 hours the lights go out, to thunderous applause, spotlight on the scene and at this moment it goes wrong for us. A Chilean fifties-like Julio Iglesias begins his repertoire boring to the delight of the public who takes every word in chorus about love of their idol. Our torture will last no less than two hours, also we are not alone, Rafael did not look very excited either. We say it is there because Ana Lucia invited us and it was in bad taste it left in him ... At the end of the concert comes the time when the dreaded "so what did you think of the concert?". Laetitia very diplomatically answer that is not his cup of coffee! As they say, it all started from a good feeling ...
The next day is Sunday but that's not to say that Rafael is resting. He spent the day enjoying the cafes for note. In the evening we prepare a meal to thank Rafael, Ana Lucia and friends for their invitation. They offer us gifts coffee color, and we will have a much better evening than the day before to discuss coffee, politics and the upcoming wedding of friends of Ana-Lucia to be held next week. Rafael the next day to leave for the United States for an international fair of coffee, meanwhile we take the road south towards the desert del Tatacoa.

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213-217 J / Off to a good coffee

Gone wetness Amazon. We are comfortably air-conditioned buses in a direction Ciudad Bolivar Venezuela, 2000 km further north. Bus change expected at dawn in Boa Vista, the latest big Brazilian city before the border with Venezuela. After some mechanical problems, we loupons correspondence. We are now stuck in Boa Vista for 24 hours. It's hot, flat landscape, a deserted station, in this dream we find a seedy hotel close to the train station and a shower to wash the sweat of the journey and we go in search of the city center. We walk along a huge avenue, few cars and no buses. In this heat the end of the road seems far away. Hail to us a taxi, only slightly more expensive than a bus. A few minutes later we get off the taxi, we are in the center. Regular and desert, Sunday, 13 am 30 in a provincial town in the Amazon. One area in this city on the horizon cleared and the sweltering heat. A snack here and there by a mirror, an air-conditioned supermarket, squares connected by huge gigantic void, without the pace car. What a strange city. So there is not much to do in this city of more than 400 000 inhabitants. Even the main cinema that shows films does not open until 4 in the evening and we do not see a single open Internet. We understood, we return to our shabby hotel for a good nap in the shade of our fans, almost twenty minutes before finding a taxi. We spend the evening in the parking lot of the station in a tavern to restore us. What a great day, curtain and tomorrow.
7:00, we are only three with another English tourist in a huge bus to the Venezuelan border. Once there we make a change for the better, about 25% above the official rate, a sign of an economy that goes wrong. A few kilometers later, the English abandoned us to go the region where the Tepui, tray assembly where you can discover unique ecosystems and different from the rest of the region. Gradually the bus fills As the stops. Long after nightfall, we arrived in Ciudad Bolivar. A woman tells us of a basic hotel not far from the terminal, we prefer that than through an unfamiliar city at night. Indeed the hotel is within walking distance. No bell, so I gave the vote, a lame taciturn open ourselves down and it shows us a room and returns without having landed a word. This is rudimentary but given time it suits.
The next day I go explore the neighborhood while Laetitia continues survey the land of dreams. An incredible number of old American cases haunt the streets of the city, each more beautiful and dilapidated as each other. Walk on sidewalks requires attention at all times to avoid tripping (slabs shifted, gaping holes ...), especially if you want to watch the walls decorated with political graffiti, much of which the image of Hugo Chavez . Electric poles and soar hundreds of son cling to cross in the sky like cobwebs loose. After an hour of wandering to sweat under the sun of Chavez, I agree to attend Laetitia wake of the princess and it's not always easy! We ship breakfast and we start exploring the city side of history. We are in the late morning, the population has already left the burning city streets to let the few tourists, only people who can brave the heat of the noonday sun to watch a few colonial buildings left by the powerful English crown. We'll obviously by the Simon Bolivar before our wanderings, and a final bit of insight will take us in the shade of trees in the botanical garden. The heat finally falls, we return to our hotel, on the way we pass by a cemetery, we will see some graves with names Corsican well. Besides this are not the only evidence that the Corsican diaspora left the country, we also find the souvenir stands of good luck that strangely resemble those of the island of beauty: a clenched fist with the thumb between the index out and middle fingers, but apparently the Venezuelans who sell among other biblos unaware of its origin. All is explained when we know that many Corsican settled in Venezuela and two former presidents of the country were Corsican.
At night we're at the bus station and wait patiently for our bus to the Colombian border. One night, a day's drive over to the west and we come San Cristobal Venezuela side. We spend the evening around the station, charmless buildings, noisy and polluted streets. We eat a piece in an empty room with only a few policemen nearby sipping sodas, all against a backdrop of salsa music, Colombia is not far distant, lit by neon lights flooding we `d light dim . The next day, we climb in a slow train to the border town, an hours re road further. We pay an amazing right to leave the country but that seems quite formal and resume a bus to the border it is overloaded with people, no air conditioning, ten minutes to sweat and smell the sweat of all the pretty people. We're in line at customs to stamp our passports, we discover on the walls the heads of most wanted persons in Colombia including Manuel Marulanda, who has since died. We cross the border on foot, we arrived in Cucuta. Sidewalks piled hundreds of cans of gasoline and expect the client `s` a lookout for Venezuelan fuel, surely contraband and much cheaper at the pump Texaco ... we jump in the first bus to the bus station, we still have road ahead. We have an appointment tomorrow morning with Rafael in Ibague, Colombia's friend we met in Peru, during our walk-in Matchu Pitchu. We wander from window to window before finding the right price and the timing. We choose a bus leaving in late afternoon and arrives in the morning. We warn Rafael and we start dragging our spats in town, nothing extraordinary but lively. Back at the station, we see the full search of our bus through customs, no need to explain what they want, Colombia produces 80% of the cocaine consumed worldwide. It is 17 hours bus starts, for a good hour we can enjoy the scenery before the sun sets behind the mountains. Gradually hunger begins to be felt, but apparently the driver is an ascetic and is not willing to take a break, we fall asleep almost empty stomach, the few chips that we really do not feed. The sun rises, he goes another two hours when we finally stopped to eat breakfast in a sort of restaurant giant roadside, but adapted to the rural community that should be plentiful in the region. A huge stockyard adjacent to the restaurant, funny mood to take these cornflakes among cows mooing and a mild smell of dung. We leave on a full stomach, not for very long. We fall down, we wait half an hour to change buses. A new half-hour and again we immobilize. Before us, a long line of vehicles are stopped, people are sitting on the roadside and pa tientent. We leave ourselves, and learn a bike race is held in the region, we will wait two or three hours before leaving. It's hot, very hot, we eat much ice cream and a tricycle like a miracle happening and offers all sorts of refreshments.
We arrive in Ibague with only 5 hours late, we call Rafael, we settle into a small booth outside the station and command two espresso with freshly ground coffee. Rafael
happens:
- "Hola amigos, ¿The gusta nuestro cafe de Colombia?
- If mucho, el mejor desde el Kilimanjaro. "