Colombia part 4. Coffee and Wax Palms

Our next destination is yet another birdwatcher’s paradise: the Tinamú Nature Reserve. We will only stay here one night so we are going to make the most of it. Allocation of the available rooms at the lodge is decided by a weighted draw, so we end up with quite a good one. A few well-spent colones, we reckon. 

A local guide takes us for a walk through the forest. It soon becomes clear to me that it is not wise to lag behind. The guide has exceptionally keen eyes and finds a perfectly camouflaged pootoo, a kind of nightjar, high up in the branches. He points it out to us and after a long search we eventually see it. When the rest of the group arrives a minute or so later the guide has already walked on and they are left staring at the treetops in vain for the next ten minutes.

Common Pootoo

 On returning to our accommodation, birding becomes a lot more relaxed. Armed with a cold drink, we sit down at one of the garden tables, surrounded by all sorts of bird feeders. Chatting amicably we point our cameras at a white-necked jacobin or a spectacled parrotlet every now and then. We don’t want to give the impression that we are not fully involved in the programme. The tour leader may be watching us, you never know. 

Spectacled Parrotlet

White-necked Jacobin

 Far too soon we leave this beautiful spot and arrive in Salamina, another picturesque village. The skies have turned grey and ominous, but our dedicated leader suggests a walk al the same. His app says it is going to stay dry. "If you are afraid of getting wet, take your ponchos with you," he says with a smile. And we do. Five minutes later we are sheltering in some barely adequate doorways, while a tropical shower washes the streets clean. It was a free app.

 The next morning things have brightened up again. Which is fortunate as we have a special trip lined up for today. Two local jeeps arrive, to take our group into the mountains. The guides who accompany us, are lying on the roofs on thin mattresses, but don’t seem to suffer too badly from this. As a courtesy, I suggest we exchange places. In Dutch, to be on the safe side. There’s really no need, they reply. In Spanish. 

 Our goal for the day is the Valle de Samaria, home to the so-called ‘wax palms’. Wax palms can grow up to 45 metres high and have become quite rare now. The leaves were often used in the celebration of Palm Sunday, but that is strictly forbidden now. It is a bizarre and impressive sight to see the towering, bare palms rising above the mountain slopes. What the trees do not realise themselves, is that they are all doomed. The forest around them has been cleared for stock breeding and the seeds of the trees now fall on bare soil. They burn away in the sun or are eaten by the cows. We’d better not tell them yet. 

We make a stop in the village square of San Felix, a mountain hamlet high up in the Andes. The coffee in the local bar is simply divine, as is the case everywhere in Colombia. The regulars look at us curiously. Not many tourists visit this remote spot. One or two locals try to strike up a conversation. With a broad smile. Friendliness is written all over their faces. And without any ulterior motive. We don’t have to buy anything, we can just smile back innocently. I’m not really used to that. Back at home not even my neighbour says hello. But that could me me, of course.