Cartagena – Mampuján – Sincelejo – Finca Jalisco – Caucasia – El Quince – Ventanas – Santa Rosa de Osos – San Pedro de los Milagros – Medellín
9 days | 649 kilometers | 7644 meters elevation gain
I’m in the plane to Colombia, I can barely believe it. Finally I’m leaving behind North- and Central-America, chapters one and two of this adventure. It feels like these first two where just a warm-up for the raw, chaotic and rough South and the third chapter that I’m about to start.
The flight is incredibly short, and before I know it, I’ve arrived in Colombia. Upon landing, I eagerly begin assembling my bike. Curious guards approach me, striking up a friendly conversation. Everyone else had already left, and there were no later flights scheduled, so I found myself alone, tinkering away at the small airport. With the lights shining brightly, I hopped on my bike and set off. But something felt off. After spending 11 months together, I knew every inch of my bike, and I could sense every minute change I had made. The saddle was just 0.5mm too high, the mudguard tapped against the wheel, and the handlebars were slightly raised.
But something else, something bigger was off. My connection, my friction with the street feels weird. Strange: a flat tire. Did that happen in Panama already or seriously on my first meters in Colombia? I don’t feel like fixing it. It’s only a short ride to my hostel, so I decide to employ the good old pump and ride, pump and ride technique. The last 3 kilometers I walk. No worries, a good way to take in all these new impressions of a new country.
Once settled in my hostel, I take a refreshing shower and cannot resist to venture into town while it’s Friday night after all. I stumble upon an amazing cozy little square. It’s filled with people chilling on the steps of the little church. Street vendors carrying white Styrofoam coolers sell cold beers. There is music blasting from the bars and restaurants around the square. Any kind of food is sold from little stalls. People are chatting, having a drink, catching up with friends. I simply sit, watch and enjoy. Something that I can do for hours. I meet people that share their Aguardiente and Rum with me.
The next day after I’ve fixed my flat tire I move to a different hostel that I have been able to book with points I gathered via my American credit card.
Thank you, capitalist world!
One side note I have to make at this point is that I always have my phone in my ingenious click-clack phone holder on my handlebars. Mostly for navigation purposes. I crossed ‘dangerous’ countries like Mexico, El Salvador and Honduras without any problems of having my phone in sight on my handlebars. But I guess South America is just on another level. Five minutes into my bike ride to my other hotel a motorcycle comes driving next to me. It feels like he bumps into me and I see some sudden movements. But only a few seconds later when I look at my handlebars I notice that my phone is gone and that he just pulled the whole system very rapidly apart. When I realize what happened the adrenaline shoots through my body like a thunderstruck. I shout! I start pedaling fast to try and keep up with the motor cycle. Black helmet, white shirt. I am able to keep up with him for two blocks. We both run some red lights. But after that he is just faster than me and I loose him out of sight.
I am literally five minutes on my bike in South America and they’ve already robbed me! Later I will be able to laugh about this fact, but at the moment I am shook. I park my bike and sit against a wall for some minutes. Let the adrenaline flow away and catch a breath. I’m shaking. Also, without phone I have no idea how to get to my hostel. I ask for directions at a bike shop. The kind employees draw me a map on a little piece of paper how to get to my hotel and offer me coffee to help me calm down. Within minutes of trying to follow the directions on the little piece of paper I get lost already. I ask around many times and finally make it to my new hotel. I decide to buy a new phone right away because I’m going to need it anyway. All this goes down as a valuable but expensive lesson.
It takes me a while to get all my accounts working again because a sudden login attempt from a new phone in Colombia is just very suspicious so all these platforms want to confirm my identity by sending me either a text to my Dutch SIM card or a prompt to my old phone for verification, but both have just been taken away by a motorcycle with a black helmet and white shirt. It takes me a while but luckily I manage to get everything sorted.






The hostel is incredible, with rooftop pools, parties, chill-out areas, cozy film areas, comfortable beds and hot showers. It’s time to spoil myself and regain my trust in Colombia a bit.
Cartagena is stunning. The old walled town is filled with picturesque alleyways that are perfect for photography. The hip Getsemani neighborhood is bustling with chaos, music, street vendors, and wanderers. After Costa Rica and Panama, where everything seemed more orderly and polished, I’m suddenly back in the mess and chaos, but you know what? I love this kind of chaos.
I have to visit the police station to file a report. After three hours of waiting in line I’m on the verge of canceling this mission, but I manage to hold on just a bit more. After waiting for a whopping four hours it’s finally my turn. When I enter the first office the lady greets me with a not so friendly “Why is it always you tourists that get robbed?”.
After three offices, waiting a bit more and telling my story to three different officers I can finally leave. I have told them everything I know: where it happened, how, what the thief was wearing, etcetera. But to be honest, I don’t have high hopes for the police to find my phone back. The main reason I am putting myself through this torture is to get a report that I can send to my travel insurance company to get a compensation.
Afterward, I take it easy and stroll through town a bit more. I am shocked with amazement when I see sloths and monkeys hanging out in the trees in a central park. After all the trouble I (and my parents) went through to see a sloth, now there just hanging here for everybody to see? Crazy. In the evening, I head to a karaoke bar with some people from the hostel. Of course we end up drinking too much. Having an Aguardiente after party in the hostel probably wasn’t a good idea.





I wake up rather late, around 10AM, feeling a slight hangover. After a hearty breakfast and packing up my belongings, I mount my bike. Time to leave Cartagena and indulge into rural Colombia. The scorching heat bears down on me, and my head feels heavy. The road ahead seems monotonous, and I haven’t quite gotten into the rhythm yet. All the people I met in the city and in the hostel as made me get used to company again and it’s going to take some time to readjust to the solitude again.
Also I really can feel that the robbery has dented my trust in Colombians and people in general. Every time a scooter drives passed me now a little shock goes through my body. Today I was more careful than ever and I have to say it doesn’t enhance my interactions with people either. Simply because I believe that anyone’s behavior is a mirror for the people they interact with. Since I am a bit reserved, hesitant and suspicious this works two ways now. I hope I will regain the trust in humanity back in the coming week whilst making my way to Medellin.
After cycling for about 20 kilometers, I stop at a gas station for a quick nap. At the end of the day I venture onto a small gravel road to look for a place to camp. The area is bustling with motorbikes and fellow cyclists. The surroundings are a treat, with lush green fields, towering palm trees and the setting sun shining its golden sunbeams. However, everything is fenced off with barbed wire. In my head I remember my options: that little piece of land there, maybe behind that little shed there, but keep cycling on for a better spot. In the end I see a house on a big patch of land that looks fit for camping.
The gate is open and it doesn’t seem like there is anybody home. I roll up to the house and start calling out to see if anybody is home. It remains silent in and around the house. I take my chance. These people probably wouldn’t mind if I spend a night on their land would they?
As dusk settles in, I find myself being driven inside my tent by a swarm of mosquitoes. Exhausted, I fall asleep around 8PM. Around 9:30PM, a bright light suddenly illuminates my tent, the beam is coming from the direction of the ‘supposedly’ empty house. Damn it. Startled and half-asleep, I’m unsure how to react. I wait anxiously, observing the man in the doorway shining his flashlight towards my tent. Finally, he retreats back into the house. Uncertain of what to do, I stay alert, drifting in and out of sleep.
The situation repeats itself later in the night. I see that the man begins walking towards my tent, prompting me to hastily put on some clothes and unzip out of my tent. But just as I emerge from my tent, I catch a glimpse of him returning to the house. Confused and on edge, I wonder what his intentions are. He obviously has spotted a tent on his land without being granted permission. The big question is, whether he will come out wielding a machete to chase me away? Or is he fine with my presence here? I decide to wait until the man appears again after I will approach him and apologize to him and show him I only have good intentions. But after half an hour of waiting, I grow restless and retreat back into my tent. The rest of the night is spent in a state of hyper-awareness. Every single minimal sound, the braying donkeys, crowing roosters, and the contented munching of cows in the nearby pasture, jolts me awake.


With the first light of morning, I make the decision to pack up and hit the road. The dew has left everything soaked, but I’ll deal with that later. I just feel super uncomfortable with being on this piece of land and with the mysterious man shining a torch at my tent last night. By 6AM I’m back on the beautiful gravel path that leads back to the paved road. This unusual early start has thrown my biological clock off a bit. I have breakfast at 6:30AM and lunch at 10AM. It’s the first time I really experience the fact that everything here is so incredibly cheap. I indulge in two fried tortillas filled with egg and salsa (I think they’re called “arepas con huevo”) for just over a euro.
Thanks to the early start, I have ample daylight and can cover a good number of kilometres. I cycle through lowlands with cows grazing by the roadside. Those not interested in grazing seek shelter together beneath the immense shade of the towering trees. In a stunning little village that exudes the energy of a metropolis, I have my second lunch. Stacks of avocados the size of coconuts are stapled against storefronts, crates with food are strapped on the back of mopeds and chickens freely roaming around.
As the day draws to a close, my destination becomes the bustling city of Sincelejo and a hotel. Yesterday’s restless night has left me yearning for a good night’s sleep. I find a very decent hotel and manage to negotiate the rate down to 30,000 COP (about 6 euros).
I never really keep track of how much money I spend but for Colombia I’m just curious to see what my monthly expenses would be, so I start keeping track. Including dinner and some groceries, I’ve spent around €15 today. Multiply that by 30, and it amounts to €450 per month. Quite manageable for the fact that today was a pretty expensive day. Occasionally camping and cooking my own meals will bring that cost down further. I can live with that.
The hotel feels like paradise. I hang my dripping wet tent out to dry, do a quick hand wash, send some messages using the Wi-Fi, and indulge in a delightful shower. In the park, I meet a charming girl, and we enjoy a meal together. I have a blissful night’s sleep, feeling refreshed and ready for new adventures.


Another flat and hot day along the road south towards Medellin. I’m amazed how flat it is here, I thought this part of the world was swamped with big mountain ranges. Signs along the road promise me all kinds of wildlife like monkeys, ant eaters and sloths but I’m not provided with any of those. I do see a funny viaduct for monkeys, a kind of small hanging bridge spanned across the road for wildlife to cross.
At the end of the day when I’ve just activated my sixth sense for camping possibilities I see a car leaving a fenced hacienda. Of course I take my shot. After some small talk I ask if I can camp on his property and I get a positive response. “Just cycle down to the house, there are some people there. I will make a phone call and everything will be alright”. I take the beautiful gravel road one kilometre to the end which leads me to the hacienda. I push my bike through the gate and I am curiously being greeted by a guy. Looks like the owner in the car did not make his phone call yet to announce my arrival. So I explain that I just met the owner and that I could camp here. Just like always, when I mention his name (“Jorge”) his distrust vanishes like snow in the sun and everything is fine. Another reminder to myself to always try to get a name when I’m talking to someone or asking for something.
“Ah! Please come in. Follow me.” I tell the guy where I can put my tent, but to my surprise I immediately get a (dusty) room to my disposal. Great!
You see the same setup almost always and everywhere: a country house (different names in different countries like hacienda, finca, villa) that is owned by somebody with money from the city but is permanently occupied by a family that is taking care of the property. The guy normally does the labour on the land like taking care of the animals and fixing fences. The woman is taking care of the property, cooking and cleaning. The big boss swings by once in a while.
I get mangos, coffee, dinner and every time the woman says “a la orden” to me, something they say in restaurants and means something like at your service. Everything is so distant and I don’t feel good about being put on a pedestal. I’m just a traveller and I just want to talk to these people and be one of them, learn about them and their lives. However I’m treated like a guest. I try to break this hierarchy by being amicable but fail. I give up and just let me be treated as a guest. I enjoy a book and a small walk around the finca to see the sunset.


One pitfall of traveling for such a long time is the fact that at some point everything is becoming a bit too normal. Already now I sometimes think like Yes that’s a beautiful beach or park or whatever, but I’ve seen so many beautiful beaches already, I think I’ll skip this one. I’m very aware of this natural process that’s been overcoming me and I feel like I should be really careful about this.
When my phone got robbed I also lost my US SIM card that my friends from San Diego gave me that has unlimited data. Which means I’ve not been having data and been relying on WIFI for a week or so. I thought it might be a good opportunity to do something about my phone/always-being-online addiction. Because face it: we’re all addicted to our phones. So for the past week I’ve been going through the process of cycling a bit, then after an hour I start to think about some messages that might have been send to me that should be important for me to read. Like possible reactions from Warmshowers hosts to my messages that I’ve send out. Or possible replies from friends to a message I’ve send. Then I start looking for a WIFI spot, connect to the internet and find out that I’ve absolutely missed nothing. No replies, nada. I guess it’s a normal process to go through when trying to rehab.
I have my first rainfall in Colombia and wait it out. There are many small livestock farmers in this area. I see cows everywhere and many open trucks with cows in the back being transported.
Another phenomenon that I’ve been seeing is people on scooters, cars, bikes stopping next to the road, finding a big stick and hitting the tops of trees with it. I think the mangos are mature.
I reach Caucasia and decide to look for a hotel. I walk into like 5 or 6 hotels but the minimum price seems to be 30.000 here. In the last hotel they only get me one for 50.000, so I tell them that that’s alright and that I’ll be circling back to the first hotel that could get me a room for 30.000. So they offer me one for 30.000 as well because they are just being super friendly to me. It’s a pretty chic hotel and it makes for funny scenes when I start making a spaghetti on the parking lot on my little stove. The hotel ladies come outside to see what the hell I’m doing. I guess they’ve never seen any of their guests prepare a dinner on their parking lot.
It’s Friday night and I walk into the centre to see what’s going on in this city. It seems like this city is having one big party, but when I arrive to the place where the music is coming from I see a street full of empty bars and restaurants. The only places occupied are establishments where man play billiard. Everywhere I go I’m stared at and I feel like the first Caucasian that has ever set foot in this city. I don’t seem to be able to find the Colombian atmosphere here with rum, beautiful ladies and a lot of dancing so it’s time to go back.


My morning on the bike is filled with wildlife. I see two little guys fishing in a pond with a big net that they throw into the water. Iguana’s and salamanders shoot passed my front wheel into the bushes. I almost cycle over a snake and out of shock he almost bites into my foot. I see signs with “be aware, crocodiles” along the road. And all this time I’m accompanied by the smell of sour overmatured mangos that are squished on the side of the road. I see big families that spend their Saturday afternoon sitting on the side of the road with in front of them neatly stacked mangos that they try to sell to the cars that are on their way from Cartagena to Medellin. Boys and girls kick around a football on dusty courtyards surrounded by palm trees. I get chased by three giggling boys on their BMX and I take them on for a sprint. The whole day I’m cycling next to the big, wide and amazingly brown Cauca river. Lanchas from which you won’t expect they still have the ability to float shoot passed. Everywhere colourful laundry on the lines spanned across two banana trees. With this ruthless sun I don’t think it will take an hour before everything is dry.
I don’t know how I got to these thoughts, but something that has been occupying my head this afternoon is the following. All my friends are getting children and getting married. But how many times did I already hear the following sentence being addressed to me? “Marijn, my friend, try to enjoy everything you are doing now because before you know it its over”. I can’t help but think that if you were having such a good time in your twenties, why did you voluntarily choose to stop with all that? You choose to get kids, you choose to get married, you choose to settle in somewhere. Is it you that is making that decision? Or is it strongly affected by your surroundings? Your mom and dad that once in a while make some remarks about the fact that they would really have to have some grandchildren one day? Your aunts and uncles that never seem to miss their opportunity to ask about your love life at some family gathering? Also during my travels many local people have been asking me: “but don’t you want children then?”. Yeah, maybe I do want children, at least that’s what I always thought. But that’s also not something that is done and dusted with the snap of a finger. First of all you need a partner, second of all both of you need to want children and third of all both of your bodies need to be able to reproduce.
But lately I’ve been wondering of I want children. Me. Deep down, not influenced by my surroundings. Trying to ignore all the signals that my environment is beaming into me. And I came to the conclusion that I don’t know. Purely because you would be giving up your freedom. Your freedom to live life as you like it. Alone you have the opportunity to just make a little bit of money to sustain yourself. If you don’t fall into the trap of getting an expensive house or car you can maintain your life with a bare minimum. Which gives you the opportunity to live life a little bit. Travel, do the things you like. Whenever you decide to have children, you have to be able to take care of them. They need food, diapers, a place they call home, an education and maybe a heritage. This automatically means you need a stable, good paying job and to buy a house that they can call home. Goodbye freedom. Of course I would love it to have a little Marijntje that I can raise with my norms and values and my view on the world. To see my own blood grow up like a beautiful person. Years ago I would think this is normal and yes of course I want children, but as the years grow and grow on me I am not so sure anymore. The scale has tipped back a bit and is more in balance now. Of course the fact that I’m 34 now also weighs in and the chance of me getting children is just decreasing everyday. But maybe I can have more peace with that now.
I cycle into a town where everybody is greasy and dirty. Labour is being done here. It’s Saturday afternoon and the ones that are done with their work have found their way to the pub. There’s a unwritten rule here to not clean the tables and the empty bottles so you can see exactly how many beers the guys have drunken already. I drive into town and see a street filled with heavy armed army guys. They march in the streets with big automatic guns. I think it’s scary but the rest of the people act like this is the most normal thing in the world. At the end of the day I find a gas station with an empty parking lot behind it that is open but not in plain sight. The gas station also has a very clean shower that is free to use for everybody. Hallelujah. I chat around with the employees from the gas station and they let me use their kitchen to make my dinner. I wait out the rain for like an hour and start to think that camping is not going to be that fun tonight. But then I spot a communal building with a roof and the employees tell me that that would be a perfect place to camp for the night.




It has rained the whole night so I’m really glad with my decision to have put my tent under this roof. The roads are wet and the trucks puffing by leave clouds of mist. I guess it’s going to be a wet day. The first 15 kilometres are flat like they’ve been in the past 5 days. But after that I’m leaving this valley to start climbing into the Andes and onto Medellin. Luckily the dark clouds vanish and most of the morning and afternoon are dry and sunny. I’m climbing higher and higher and am being presented with beautiful sights on the lush green mountains. At one point I climb into the clouds and become a cloud myself. I’m dripping wet with sweat but also with the mist of the clouds. Even the smallest hairs on the back of my hands are capturing little drops of water. Luckily the temperature is still comfortable as long as I keep moving. So that’s what I do.
After a brutal climb of 37 kilometres with 2070 meters of elevation gain my tank is empty. I pass a truck stop and they have some rooms as well. I’ve not been paying attention to my wallet and realise I only have 40.000 COP left. Luckily I can bargain a night’s stay, dinner and breakfast for exactly this amount of money. The room smells like mould, the curtains are crooked and just by looking at the bed I can see the springs popping out but when the lady tells me the room has a warm shower I almost get into a state of shock. That’s exactly what I need! Ever since I arrived I’ve been shaking from exhaustion and cold. I take of my wet clothes and get under the warm shower. It’s hard to get out the shower. The lady that runs this Inn is a sweetheart and makes sure I’m alright. Around 7PM I have dinner surrounded by truckers and not much later I am in bed.





A second day of hard climbing today. In the morning sunshine greets me as I step outside the truckers hotel. I get told that it’s rare for the sun to show on this altitude so automatically I look forward to riding my bike. After breakfast I set off. I first reach the mountain city of Yarumal, here I have breakfast get some money from the ATM and check my messages. Still no response from any of the five WarmShowers hosts that I send out a message to for a stay in Medellin. After a short but steep descent it’s time for my final climbing meters to what will be the top of two days of hard climbing. It marks my first victory over the first set of Andes mountains. I celebrate with some food and coffee at a little shop at the top.
After that I descend towards Santa Rosa de Osos and it feels like I’m cycling in a cartoon movie. Green rolling hills wherever the eye meets. Little farm houses on top of these green hills. Black and white spotted cows eating an abundance of grass on those hills.
The clouds shaped like a child would draw them: puffy white and in sheer contrast to the bluest of skies. The sun beaming through those clouds an creating all kinds of amazing shadows and colours. Just wow.
I reach the town and have my traditional feast meal after a hard day on the bike: ice cream and a beer. When I reach the bomberos I am greeted by friendly faces. Of course I can spend the night here. They are curious and want to know everything about my life on the bike. I get some warm beverages to heat me up while I put my tent amidst rusty children bikes that our provided to children that need them. It’s the perfect setting.
In the meantime one out of 5 WarmShowers hosts that I’ve messaged has returned my message: “Yes you are welcome to stay. I am also hosting another Japanese bike tourist. So if it’s okay for you, we’ll have to put you in the attic.” Absolutely no poblem! I’m glad I have an address to stay in Medellin now.






I didn’t sleep well because I didn’t feel so well during the night. And this morning a sick feeling throws an overcast to what should have been my last ride into Medellin. I have breakfast near the town’s square and take place in a breakfast bar that is swamped with people. However the only food they offer are deep-fried and that’s not something my stomach is screaming for right now. I eat anyway. Maybe it’s just what I need, who knows?
After spending a morning with Yaneth The Female Bombero showing me her city it’s time to get on the bike. I still don’t feel well and it feels like my legs are made of spaghetti. After a while my stomach starts hurting a bit as well. Every hill is taking my breath away and I have to stop many times.
The surroundings are absolutely beautiful again but I cannot enjoy it. I wanted to go to Medellin today but decide I need to rest my body.
In the beautiful town with the beautiful name of San Pedro de los Milagros (‘Saint Peter of Miracles’) I check into a hotel that is far above my budget. But I have no choice. In the meantime I’m really not feeling good and I really need a warm shower and to lie down. After this much needed shower I crawl in bed. I feel my forehead which is glowing. Not good. I need some pills for my fever but unluckily I don’t have any paracetamols left. It takes me 10 minutes to drag my weak body to the nearest pharmacy to get medication. I sleep. I wake up. I puke. I sleep some more. I wake up. I have diarrhoea. And then I sleep a lot.



I’m really glad that I decided to stay in a hotel tonight, because I really did not want to be this sick in Luis’ house, my WarmShowers host. We’ve been keeping in touch and I told him yesterday I wasn’t going to make it to his house and that I felt sick.
Tomorrow I feel a little bit better but far from being 100% cured yet. I have breakfast with things that I feel are easy on my stomach. In the meantime I’m lucky to witness a big catholic festival and parade that is being held in town. It is fun to watch the parade and the town is buzzing with people. I take maximum advantage of the hotel and its check out time.
It’s only 30 kilometres to Medellin but I take it very slow with my still very weak body.
I stop every 5 kilometres to have some necessary rest. My legs fill rapidly with lactic acid every time the road goes up the slightest percentage. I’m having a tough time but I can feel I’m going to make it.
The last 10 kilometres are almost all downhill and I am presented with some amazing views over the Valle de Aburrá of which Medellin is one of the metropolises. I get welcomed by Luis and Hiro, they are both my age and we seem to get along well. We go out for food and get to know each other. I unfold my mat and sleeping bag in the attic. My recovery will take some days, luckily not weeks. Still I’m in doubt what cause my illness. Was it altitude sickness again? Did I catch a cold? Was it something I ate? Maybe a combination…


Next up: Falling in love with Medellin and Colombia, a crash with a scooter, a twisted knee and a prolonged stay in Medellin because of that.
Mooi verhaal. Veel vragen en de oplossingen komen vanzelf wel! Doe wat bij je past! En het gras is altijd groener bij de buurman!
Wat een prachtige fleurige foto’s en een verhelderende opsomming van feiten over belanrijke levensvragen
Ieder hoofdstuk beschrijf je weer een andere mogelijke kijk op de toekomst , we zijn benieuwd wat het uiteindelijk gaat worden
Xxx
Thank you for sharing Marijn, your stories are amazing and so entertaining.
Thanks a lot Davide!! ❤️
Wou even zeggen dat ik die overpeinzingen een mooie toevoeging vind aan je verhalen! Keep them coming!
Thanks blauwman! Much appreciated 👍