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The impression that people in this region are more introverted found evidence when I cycled from Pasto to Ipiales, the transit town next to the frontier to Ecuador: when I greeted they mostly just stared at me like an alien without answering or smiling. But this was only the beginning of a great day: climbing up by almost 700m to a pass at 3200m offered a splendid view on the montains around, each parcelled with cultivated fields in different colours. Then came a stretched out and perfect descent to the valley of Río Guáitara at about 1700m where I stopped at a fruit stand to refresh with some delicious Guayabas, grown at masses in this area. It became an extended rest of about 1,5 hours when the whole family gathered to ask for my experiences during the journey and to hear about my homeland far away. I continued with new energy thanks to this lovely encounter. Just behind the next curve, a motorbiker, after a risky overtaking maneuver, lost control of his bike, hurtled and laid on the ground five meters from my feet. He (and me as well!) had more luck than judgement: he seemed to be a bit dizzy but ok.
A few kilometers later, when climbing up to Ipiales, I met for the first time another travelling cyclist: the Panamericanista Andi, a crazy guy from Scotland traversing the country coming from Venezuela and now heading for the same direction. We continued together.
In a small town on the way, we heard Andinean music en vivo and stopped amid the festivity on the church square to admire the traditional suits and to have a dram of aguardiente. It was the midsummer fiesta for the god of the sun, Inti Rajmi. In the sunset we reached Ipiales: three apparently worried policemen accompanied us kindly on the search of a hostel. After 87km and 1835 altitude meters, I felt sufficiently tired.

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After a sweet time in Morpheus arms I went for a late and (due to the delicate state of my stomach) light breakfast: from the table nearby the familiar sound of the southern german accent. After more than a month a welcome occasion to speak german! So I joined Andreas and Yvonne, who had worked for two months as school teacher in Popayan, for a day on the Laguna de Cocha. We enjoyed the refreshing air of the lake and the rich fauna on the small island.

Pasto itself is a lively city in the middle of the mountains and just in the neighbourhood of an active volcano who time and again spits his dust over the gray streets. The residents are more introverted than in the other parts of Colombia and seem rather reserved to strangers on first sight. But this shell only covers a kind and cordial hospitality: for dinner we were generously invited by Adel, my seatmate during the flight, eager to learn and share between the cultures.

Just when I wanted to leave the next day, I ran into a severe problem with the screws of my shoes which I could not turn due to their rotten thread. Luis from my comfortable hostel solved it by manually carving a suitable hexagon key: muchas gracias por todo!

In the centre of Santa Marta, I met Nancy Estella, who had taken a week of vacations from her work and studies in Pereira, to pass with her a wonderful time discovering scruffy corners of the town, hiking in the Tayrona National Park and enjoying the village Minca on the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, the highest coastal mountain of the world.
The first day after our happy encounter was all occupied with preparations, namely searching a large cartonboard box to pack the bicycle for the flight to Pasto a week later. Crossing in a torrential rain the dirty streets flooded up to 15cms by gray disgusting water from our hotel in the poor port area and asking a countless number of grumpy bike shop owners, we luckily enough found one in the central collection station on the periphery.

In the afternoon, we happened to encounter various groups of musicians performing the traditional vallenato on the central Parque Bolívar – a friendly experience which somehow reconciled us with the tiresome heat and the run-down appearance of the town center where frequently even the metal gully covers are stolen for some bugs leaving dangerous holes in the street.

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When I left Ibagué rather late at twenty past eight in the morning, the temperature was already at 28,5ºC. The steadily mounting street spiraled up in a marvellous landscape with splendid views into green canyons and on mountain ridges covered with palm tree plantations. Along the way simple huts with grounds of soil and sheltering large families. When passing by, after a moment of amazement, many of the farmers watching the traffic laughed brightly and cheered me with raised thumbs. At times, motor cyclists accompanied me for a while asking for my plans and whishing all the best. Nevertheless, at noon I decided not to continue further in the suffocating heat and after a meal in a restaurant along the street where I was the main attraction for passing bus passengers I found accomodation in the beautifully situated pueblo of Cajamarca.

The next sunrise saw me climbing steadily upwards to the pass of Alto de la Linea at 3288m. The palm trees gave way to green meadows covered more and more by thick clouds. At the peak rain and 11ºC – I enjoyed the hot coffee for breakfast. The fast descent down to Calarcá again was pure pleasure.

After a good rest in this nice town, I completed riding through a lovely milde landscape in the afternoon the 137km to Pereira where in the falling darkness I was warmly welcomed by Nancy Estella, her husband Alex and his mother Norris. We passed the evening eating delicious arepas at the street stand of her sister Lijia. What a delight to see all of them again!

It was the first day of my marvellous and dearly caring stay with this family in Pereira.