Colombia Adventure

Phoenix airport, 24hrs before the first decade of the new millennium end. My mind is racing with anticipation of my first overseas paragliding holiday. A local couple invited some friends to stay with their families and spend a week flying in and around Medellin, Colombia. An opportunity impossible to resist. Even flying without a vario, the sink and soft drone of engine deceleration tells me we are close.

The city of Medellin is home to almost four million people; it’s the world’s 66th most populous city behind DC, Houston and Dallas, but still only half the population of its big sister Bogota. I raise the shade, revealing a carpet of cummies billowing lift. Glass-off from above. Cotton balls; undulating puffy peaks; pure potential; adventures await, in the air and on the ground.

Clearing immigration I walk out to cheers of Feliz año Nuevo from a gathered crowd. Maria appears past the throng and we’re soon headed to her parents’ estate. It’s a short drive away before I’m celebrating the New Year with new friends and old. First order of business is sampling the local firewater, a literal translation of its name, “Aguardiente.” Tradition dictates it’s consumed by the shot, following a rousing exclamation of “Salud” and then a beer or water chaser. Who am I to argue? We drink, we dance, and we talk with awkward fervor.

New Year’s Day. After a shower and hearty breakfast we join the Andrew who arrived earlier, for 9 holes on the backyard golf course. I’m pinching myself, already. Every meal brings wondrous new treats. I try a tangy salsa, Encurtido, delicious. Washed down with a mildly tart citric punch, Lulo, made from fruit of the same name. It’s all a fabulous taste revelation.

A potential new site turns out to be surrounded by power lines, which aren’t buried in Colombia. The panorama spans Rionegro, the town at the heart of the Spanish mining push that opened the country up. Driving back through town provides full immersion in local traffic etiquette. Overtaking on either side is standard and two cars can pass simultaneously in opposite directions on a two lane road. Speed limits are largely irrelevant, but police will stop motorists without headlights on at all times in rural areas. The region is very green and sparsely populated outside of the towns. Jorge went to high school here and told us stories of riding horses or motorcycles to isolated bars known as “fondas” that are now surrounded by housing. He’s been away for 10 years and sees much has changed.

Saturday will be an early start so… we’re off to play pool and drink. Jorge has also promised some excellent and unusual “street food”… even for a vegetarian. My first experience of an Arepa is incredible. I devour the Arepa de chocolo, which is a sweet corn tortilla topped with cheese. Sweets? The Arepa de Queso is made with white corn and cheese and topped with sweet condensed milk. The others devour assorted meat dishes, including a local specialty of grilled pork intestines. All sourced, we’re assured, from happy animals raised without chemicals or drugs. We wander the town square where a casual night market offers even more food, sweets and keepsakes. Hypnotic salsa rhythms fill the air as we head to one of Jorge’s old hang-outs, a bar with billiards and pool.

Saturday morning delivered another taste sensation, Granadilla, an orange skilled fruit with scores of sweet small seeds inside something like a passion fruit only more citrus flavored. We finally hit the road to Medellin. Much bigger than I remember flying in at night, partially as large shantytowns on the hills have little access to electricity, running water or any of the usual amenities. There are lots of high rises as valley space is scarce. Now the sprawling capital of Antioquia state, it’s hard to imagine that this was once the humble overnight stay on the route to Rionegro.

Crossing town, we climb into the hills around San Cristobal on the other side. Around the 101st bend we see wings in the air. It’s warm but pleasant. A short steep hike up to launch at 8000 ft/asl takes all our breath away. It’s the first time I hear the word, “Parapente” Spanish for paraglider and learn that I am now a Parapentista. Cool. Today’s target is San Jeronimo, a climb above launch and over the back. Dustin is quickly up and away, but as the rest of us languished over launch. He headed back and almost made it all the way. Andrew and I had big collapses within seconds of each other as we rose to 10K. We all top landed and had lunch at a cantina above launch, while Jorge went to retrieve Dustin a few miles down the road.

The food was awesome. Another Arepa, a thin crispy tortilla with tomato onion and herbs. The afternoon flying was Torre Pines on steroids. We boat around for an hour and had to pull ears to top land. Jorge’s sister Clara and husband offered to let us stay with them at their weekender, in a beautiful gated community. Ample dinner followed by lots of beers chatting with the extended family around the pool. While the big turnout for New Year seemed less unusual, now the importance of family and personal interaction become clearer. No one is sitting around watching television. Instead everyone gathers in a circle and talks, jokes, teases and shares.

We call it a night, having set our plans to fly a new site in the morning. After a long night dashing back and forth to the bathroom, it’s clear I won’t be getting more than a foot off the ground the next day. Laura, another of our group was suffering a similar malaise, which turned out to be virus that literally went through all but one of us. Our new hosts were very sympathetic and regularly checked on us. Family is everything here. Clara told me that during the week, everyone works long days and can only share one meal together. But on weekends, it’s three meals a day and as ever the food keeps coming until you say stop. I’ve read elsewhere that the hospitality of people in Medellin is legendary throughout South America and don’t doubt it. All our crew have said the same, it’s like being family, only family like we’ve never known. Conversation is constant, as is laughter. No big egos survive here.

Waking from a long sleep, then big breakfast, we return to site flown by the others yesterday. Dustin and Jorge managed about 20 miles, but said the wind was light and inconsistent. Jorge suspected the unusual southwest direction on launch was possibly the result of weak thermals mixed with late catabatic flow. The site is above Sopetrán, Antioquia, and hosted the national in 2009. It’s 1500 above an lz known appropriately as the aircraft carrier because you don’t want to overshoot. Dustin is off and away, then Andrew, and Manuel and I follow. As Dustin disappears into the distance Andrew and I make it to the next spur and wrestle with the punchy inconsistent lift. Dustin radios that he hasn’t found much but seems to be making steady progress around the valley. I’m at 7K and can’t seem to make it much higher, as I wait for Andrew to join me. He has no joy and heads back to launch. I battle heavy sink and get back well below, fearing my flight is done. Jorge has joined the gaggle and is above launch with Andrew and Dustin. I take a big collapse in front of launch, but recover and try to work up to the others. As they’re all heading I make a rash decision to follow. It’s a bad call. I sink out and am forced to make a side hill landing deep in a gorge. As Maria radios she on retrieve, Jorge and Andrew make solid progress and manage a nice xc. Back on launch I take a final flight with Manuel. I climb back to 7K to quash the demons of the last flight and then gently spiral down and then pull some ears to top-land after Manuel. Orchestrating xc retrieval from rural roads is challenging, even for former locals. Jorge and Maria did a phenomenal job getting 7 wings and often more people to and from all the sites. Their tremendous effort gave us all confidence to take the plunge.

Back to the villa for a swim, dinner and then we decide to hit town. Probably a quiet night, right? Santa Fe was the first capital of Antioquia, with cobbled streets and the same architecture of its early 15th century Spanish origins. We drink in a park filled with locals, young and old, enjoying the relaxed social setting.

Tuesday’s new site borders a former guerilla infested no-go area. The Uraba region was plantations and prime kidnap zone. Calenton, which roughly translates as the heater, is on Alto de Cativo is 4880ft asl. It has a reputation for punchy thermals and raises of hope of getting up and out somewhere. It’s on the opposite side of the valley from Sopetrán and above the intersection of the Cauca and Tonusco rivers. Dustin is first away and soon turns into a speck over the town of Santa Fe de Antioquia, Colombia. It’s light on launch, topping 5-8 mph, I wait but get away cleanly only to wonder where the lift went. Following the sagely advice of our local guide X, I head to the hill left of launch and soon have the familiar explosive lift punching half my wing. It’s really at the top of my comfort level, but there’s little option except to bring my ‘A’ game and ride it out. Dustin coached Andrew and me to stay on top of our wings after taking whacks at San Felix. It’s helping, no big collapses, but lots of very active flying. Andrew is not joining my thermal and as Dustin returns from town I head over to join him on the adjacent ridge. I arrive above him in the thermal, but three turns and he’s above me – the guy has serious skills. I follow him back over town hoping some distance over the ground will mellow the lift. Not much to work until the other side of town, then some moderate smooth gains next to a reservoir – just what I was hoping for. Dustin crosses the river but returns to where I’m climbing. Again he’s climbing faster and I realize I’m probably coring the side of a thermal, not the whole thing. As I broaden my turns, things get interesting again. The vario goes nuts and it’s explosive, literally punching my wing. I wasn’t comfortable and decided to push out to the “yellow-bridge” and road home. Either I’d find more lift or land. I had glide to cross the river and saw some foothills that might work. They did but it was patchy and drawing me away from bigger lz’s. In this part of the country at least, if you can’t see power lines, you’re not looking hard enough. Dustin had reminded us to look for poles, not lines. I head for the downwind end of a small cattle ranch. A fallow pasture free from cattle and power lines looks ideal, but the incendiary lift forces a few extra passes and deep turns to set up the landing. As I pack up Dustin lands in another field closer to the road. Soon after the ranch owners appear and call to me in Spanish. I muster my limited lexicon and utter, “ Escusa. Gringo.” After and uncomfortable pause they reply, “Ah, you gringo, ha ha ha.” I follow them to their palatial homestead where they insist I have some coke, to drink. When Jorge arrives, keen to get going, I tell him I’ve been kidnapped. “No, no, no,” insist my offended hosts. Major faux pas, as kidnapping is not something to be joked about in Colombia. I apologies and make a hasty exit. Dustin is already in the car, we head home, swim and pack for the drive to Maria’s uncle’s place in La Pintada, south of Medellin. We’re on a deadline as the road there passes through an area you don’t want to be caught on at night. It’s a poignant reminder that while safety has improved, we’re not in Kansas any more, Toto.

We’re warmly welcomed by Maria’s aunt Mema and family into a stunning hilltop home, overlooking a river. True to the climate, there are few doors and no glass in the windows, only shutters. We settle in and get some sleep. Birdsong heralds the morning, accompanied by the delightful aromas of breakfast. Eggs, toast, fresh juices and coffee. I feel like I’m in yet another exclusive resort. We’ve been surprised to find that in this part of Colombia at least the coffee and beer isn’t as strong as we’re used to. Breakfast devoured, our attention turns to the locals climbing in the house thermal out front of the patio. It’s time to fly. The lift junkies are a local turkey vulture, but there are also often hawks. Several beautiful smaller varieties frequent the gardens, sharply contrasting red and black, pale blue and yellows & of course the obligatory pet parrot.

We drive to Cerro Amarillo above the valley cradling the riverside town of Pintada, south of Medellin. Down river further south is home, marked by a road of palm trees leading to the riverbank lz. Jorge took wind tech duty, finding little lift heading into the valley. After a masterful low save he drifted north gaining fast. Manuel was next away, headed to town and heavy sink. My turn, lift right in front but took a big collapse in a pocket of rotor whipping around a knoll next to launch. Weight shift away from the hill and all is ok. Lift was strong, tracking back over launch and north over the back. Andrew then Dustin joined the air, both scratching before finding lift. Dustin heads NW as Andrew works a great low save out front before joining me over launch. We top out at 6K as Jorge radios to say “8K ladies”. He’s way back above the valley behind launch. I follow Andrew as he pushes out. Lots of sink so we both step on some speed bar, but almost everywhere is an lz. A big orange dust patch near a homestead takes me back up to 4500 and glide to the home lz. Andrew calls it and sets up next to the river. I relay for the retrieve and focus on goal. Jorge radios that he’s setting up for the home lz, Dustin replies he has him in sight. Dustin and a flock of locals are climbing close the lz, I join them for an easy extension as he exclaims “I’m back at my max for this flight, I love this place.” I set up over the water and enjoy some deep banking S-turns to burn altitude and land in the lush green pastures. Dustin throws a spiral and lands next to me yahooing all the way down. Life doesn’t get much better. Spend that night laughing, eating and drinking as Maria’s parents arrive to join the party. A lavish BBQ, MC’d by Maria’s uncle Jorge, who keeps everyone in stitches with his bawdy humor, while converting a slab of beef into savory morsels. We eat, chat, drink, dance - today was another good day.

Wednesday. Solid sleep, bug bites, big breakfast, go fly – repeat. That’s pretty much the way it went.

Andrew, Jorge and I all make the lz. Dustin worked a wide circuit SW towards Tamesis, but lands on the other side of the river. With the retrieve is on the way, we settle into the pool with beer in hand, more than adequate compensation for missing an xc opportunity. All of the pilots on this trip are P3 or above, but only Dustin and Jorge are seasoned in the art of xc. It’s an incredible learning opportunity to have a couple of seasoned veterans leading the way. Yet the best conditions and thermal scouting don’t necessarily translate into posting big miles. I’ve flown further on my own than I did on any of my flights in Colombia. Either I wasn’t making the most of the lift or wasn’t comfortable in the conditions. Regardless, the experience has taught me more than the past year flying familiar sites.

Today I took wind tech duty, finding only sink I headed for flatter ground and better retrieval options toward town. Fortune smiled and 100ft off the dirt, I passed through a small bubble of lift. Patiently working flat turns that only registered a beep for half a circle; I nursed my wing higher in 10ft increments. Gradually the beeps became more consistent, until eventually the pitch and pace intensified as I reached launch height. Patience hasn’t been my strong point in the past, but the dividend was the difference between waiting for a retrieve and celebrating in the home lz. The lift was definitely lighter today, but Jorge found enough to soar over the homestead for a while before throwing down a nice spiral and wing-overs into the lz. Back to base to sample more local delicacies – small fresh baked corn tortillas with a tomato tapenade, sesame paste and cheeses.

Talking about our flights, I learned that Andrew’s save the previous day had been almost identical. Our short xc’s weren’t going to set any records, but our skills were being tested and bump tolerance improving every day. While one pilot pushes onward, another decides to stay with the known. One of our flock refuted my self-satisfaction, saying 100 miles was an achievement worth celebrating. Absolutely, but I believe small victories are as important as big ones. Big flights come from small flights, sledders lead to soaring. We all stepped into unfamiliar air and each one of us found their own unique challenges to overcome.

We thanked our wonderful hosts and drove back over the mountains to Medellin. Tonight we’ll stay in the city, Maria’s childhood home in the neighborhood of San Diego a big apartment close to a popular nightlife strip of bars. Dinner is a novel taste of local fast food at Mario’s restaurant that has the iconic video game figure as its logo. I opt for Jorge’s personal favorite and house specialty, Maicitos, a bowl of corn niblets smothered with a kind of cheese and mayonnaise sauce. Others choose ribs or tender steaks. Suitably stuffed, the short stroll to nearby Parque LLeras is a welcome belt loosener. We find a seat at a corner bar and soak up the rich social pageant. Music is pumping from every bar, as a constant stream of enthusiastic revelers drive past the curbside parade. Another timeless ritual, as girls and guys, dressed to impress, gather to see and be seen. Back to the flat to upload and sleep.

We wake for our final flying day in Colombia and the familiar narrow winding climb to San Felix overlooking Bello, which borders Medellin. Conditions are a little light, with few locals flying and they’re working hard to stay up. Others on the hill say conditions are unlikely to improve. We briefly slip into the old habits of weighing effort vs reward before snapping out of it with the realization that we’re here to fly. Not bad words to live by. Dustin is first off the hill and I soon join him. As the lift picked up and I was cruising 500 above launch, waiting for Andrew, when Dustin radios he’s at 10K about 2K over and looking to head xc. Andrew joined me on the carousel over launch, but clouds slowly blanket the ridge, threatening to shut us down. We barely sustain for 20 minutes until the shadow passes. As the lift strengthened I headed back to launch, musing that it was better to top-land than risk sinking out again.

Ironically, by the time I made it back to launch, it was too strong to make a normal approach. Pull big-ears to set up then, oh, darn still going up in ears. Houston we have a problem! Push some speed-bar to get out front and add ears again. Still going up! Dustin radios, “You are going to have to spiral down.” He’s right, but despite having practiced spirals at several SIV clinics, it’s never been a strength or favorite maneuver of mine. Another factor, I’ve never done it with any intensity on my Sigma7, which I’ve flown for roughly six months. My hesitancy is obvious as I didn’t correct enough to stop the wing coming out again. “You’re going to have to go deeper,” Dustin instructs. I’d held down the inside brake during the exit and now throw my weight into the turn, letting up the outside one. The wing winds faster each turn and soon my head snaps back, pinned on the outside of a blistering spiral. I don’t need any encouragement to pull outside brake and exit this airborne carnival ride. The exit is as poor as the entry. Failing to bleed off the energy, but anticipating the huge surge that follows, I straighten and resume climbing. Shaken from the spiral I head to the lz and eventually start to sink, holding half-bar and ears. Once a few hundred below launch Dustin encourages me to return and crab up the face to top-land. I land with further direction. Dustin and Andrew fly again, but sink out.

The need for more dynamic pilot input came up at the start of the trip, at this same site, as the strong conditions buffeted our wings. Once again, my skills were tested and found wanting. I now know what I’ll be focusing on at my scheduled a SIV session in a month’s time.

We went back at the flat and packed to return to the mountains, ending this merry roller coaster back where it began. What an incredible experience. So much joy, some heartache, and a ton of learning opportunities. Our many hosts welcomed us into their homes and family, with immeasurable grace and generosity. Their openness offered a glimpse into the heart and soul of the proud and passionate people of Colombia. The food was unfamiliar but a gastronomic delight: Arepas, so simple yet diverse. Almost as many new fruits as I ever knew existed. Stunning flora and fauna, lush majestic mountains, brimming with exotic flowers and birds. Music everywhere, infectious rhythms, the pulse of the people. Great contrasts of wealth and power, but a deep rooted common drive to share life’s simplest pleasures, a meal and conversation with loved ones.

All our crew owes a huge thanks to Jorge and Maria for their kind invitation and selfless sacrifices shepherding us during the trip. It would be hard for a tourist to recreate our magical journey but with careful planning Colombia’s wonders are accessible. A reputable local guide, who can coordinate retrieves, is a must for anyone planning on going xc and I can recommend some if needed. Our trip touched only a small part of what Colombia has to offer. The prime flying season is September to April, although the rest of the year is often flyable, just mellower and rainy. With so much still to explore, I hope to return in the future and recommend you consider Colombia too.