I have to admit, that I was a bit wary about guerilla activity in Latin American. While those groups have lost their political cause, they are now cooperating with the cocain producers, the "narcos". We consult maps that detail (known) cocaine production zones - and avoid going there. In Colombia, we felt incredibly safe: All along the main roads, and at every bridge, are armed military posts. The main guerilla organisation, the FARC, has suffered many blows by the military, and has been pushed back into the most remote corners of the country.
Only once we are a bit unsure about the safety situation, in the mountainous and remote region above Coconuco (southern Colombia). Two years ago, this place has been terrorised by the presence of guerillas. Nowadays, the extremely fortified police station is the only testimony visible to us of this period. Our cabdriver tells a story, that he was once forced at gunpoint to work as a transporter for the guerillas for a whole night, driving back and forth to move around a hundered armed men and women (the only compensation he received was a single cookie). We visit a remote sulphur mine in the mountains and speak to the manager there. He casually mentions that yes, there used to be some guerilla activity in the area, and they caused trouble. But the guerilla had since retreated into the higher regions and are hiding in wet and cold forests, far away from any settlement. We ask him, what they are doing there. He answers:"catching a cold!"
While we never came across any non-governmental army in Colombia, we unexpectedly encountered it in northern Peru.
On the dirt road between San Ignacio and Jaen, we see a banner flying that this road is protected by some "vigiliancia". Natasha spotted a man next to he banner, sitting on a motorcycle with a rifle. Sure enough, after another half an hour riding on the bumpy road, our taxi is waved down by a few men on the roadside. They all wear black combat trousers, dark T-Shirts with yellow prints: "Vigilancia" and "Ex-combatante". They are also armed. One of the men walks up to the cab, and asks for "a contribution" for their efforts. The cab driver declines, the passenger on the front seat frowns and gives a few coins, we, on the backseat, just stare ahead.
The next day, we take a public bus, and pass another checkpoint: again the armed men with their self printed T-Shirts. A man with a gun boards the bus while his "comandante" (at least that's what the t-shirt says) waits outside. The man walks down the isle in the bus and collects the contribution. Some passengers pay, others don't. I can't help but thinking that I would gladly pay if these guys took to shovels instead of guns and filled the many potholes on the road - now that would be a service. And by the way: their rifles don't look very modern, more like hunting rifles. I wonder if I could take a picture with them in exchange for a contribution (like with the indigenous girls in Cusco), but decide against making such a proposition.
We later ask a district judge from the south of the country about the "vigilancia". According to him, ex-dictator Fujimori encouraged such paramilitary groups made up by villagers from the area, as they knew the local territory and people better than the regular army. The judge thinks they were effective in fighting terrorist organisations. Seems that the terrorists and the dictator disappeared, but the vigilancia stayed.
Navimag is the name of a Chilean ferry company which had a brilliant business idea several years ago. Formerly a cargo only ferry servicing Chilean Patagonia, it rebuilt its two ferries to accommodate passengers and now charges these passengers a nice little fee to ferry them between Puerto Montt (Chile's lake district) and Puerto Natales (Chilean Patagonia). It is actually one of the more straight forward ways to travel to this isolated southern most part of the continent, often referred to as "el fin del mundo". So we booked ourselves a cabin on board this ferry hoping for the best. We had a cabin to ourselves with comfy little cots (though a bit small for Gaudi). Life on board was as follows: around 8am we got woken up by our 2 ferry guides and were given one hour to have breakfast; then we hung around deck watching the wonderful scenery of forest and snow covered islands and peninsulas; a daily info session in the morning and normally a lecture on fauna of the region or glaciers; then 45 min for lunch; more hanging out on deck or in our cots if feeling lazy; 45 min for dinner; movie in the evening.
One day we visited one of the world's few expanding glaciers, Pio XI, it was impressive especially as the ferry kept getting closer and closer. Along with the other tourists we braved the cold, wind and wet to watch the approach. The tourists all went nuts with their cameras, clicking away, pushing left and right, no " excuse me's" when there are pictures to be taken. Then the ferry turned around and we left the glacier behind us, the weather cleared up offering us an even better view but most people had already disappeared from deck (probably now inside checking out the pictures they took).
Another very interesting excursion was to Puerto Eden. Wow this place really gives meaning to the expression "in the middle of nowhere". It is a tiny port town whose only contact with the outside world is the once a week ferry that comes by. The ferry passenger getting off and strolling around the town actually at least doubles the number of people. We did a lovely little walk around the island (on a board walk built by the ferry company) but hardly saw any locals or any activity at all except for a few souvenir sellers. We wondered what it would be like to have to stay here for a week until the next ferry arrives (let alone life there) . . . hmmm . . . then we rushed back to make sure we did not miss our ride back to the ferry, we were the last two to board the Zodiac.
The passengers. Most people looked like they had walked straight out of an outdoor shop, showing off the latest fashion in outdoor gear, from their super hiking boots to trendy caps. There were some exceptions such as the large English group which appeared to lack any sense of fashion, the group of Chilean bikers with their jeans and leather jackets and always at least one bottle of whiskey at hand to keep them happy during the trip, and of course the two of us who at times felt like a couple of hobos. There are lots and lots of Swiss Germans on the boat (easily identifiable by their Switzerdütsch, and the Mammut brand outdoor clothing), closely followed by German and French. Very few locals.
