COLOMBIA, extracts from Karl's diaries prior to the Darien Gap

Tuesday, 12th September 2000. Pasto 30 kilometres.

I was on the move for 07:49, straight into a climb I started yesterday and that would be it for the next 23 k's. After 15 k's I was able to find somewhere to have breakfast. '

Gringos in Colombia = more war! Says the ELN.'

Paint sprayed across a passing truck.

' Burn Gringos!' Sprayed on another.

I'm still in a safe zone at the moment, but north of Pasto is the beginning of bandit country and where the trouble begins, where the FARC and ELN makes their presence felt.

It's hard work until just after midday when I reached the top and have lunch in the cafe at an Esso gas station. Outside is a checkpoint where the police are armed with Uzies. They seemed quite buoyant, slapping each other's hats off and chasing each other around like school kids. Obviously not too worried. From here it's down for 10 k's into a Pasto itself. The place is bigger than I thought and the outskirts certainly do put the heebie-jeebies up me. Unfortunately I'm getting a lot of attention here. The first day in any town, (I arrived at about 15:30) is always a little confusing. It's all very strange in its own way. I hunt around for a cheap hotel and it transpires that your average cesspit here will cost me $3, and that's as cheap as it gets. Foods also gone up in price and I suddenly realise I'm going to be stretched here. I won't be able to stay long as I'm paying 2-3 times as much for everything. Graffiti is everywhere, mostly anti-gringo.

' Gringos get out of Colombia!'

It's on every street corner I turn, like being in Belfast except it's a lot harder to blend in here. I haven't seen any other gringos so far so obviously I stand out.

Game-plan for Colombia, (or the 'Green Mile' as I've named it), is no different from that of any other country. There's little I can do except hope for the best. It's no good me trying to sneak around on the back roads as this is as dangerous as using the back alleys in the city, so I'll just have to crack on as normal down the 'Pan Am'. The following day I start with a cold shower, (love it), pick up some money sent to me by Mother and collect my bags. I need some maps yet we seem to have a bit of a problem here. The maps I find are not at all what I want, but they will have to do. My detailed maps of the Darien Gap are being updated all the time with new information. The maps I've recently bought here have yet more towns and villages marked on them which I can transfer to my 'master map'. This is now beginning to bridge the gap between the 'Pan-American' routes in Panama and Colombia. Rather like a dot to dot game, this is now beginning to show clear route patterns I may have to follow. One of the problems it is also beginning to show is the necessity to cross large rivers... very large rivers, and yet I cannot take a boat. Even though I've only been in Pasto a few days the urge to move on grows strongly, but I really have to try and slow down or I could find myself in Medellin early or mid November and that would be a mistake. I would not be able to afford to live in the city as I would have to remain there until January 2001, which would put me in the Darien Gap at the optimum time of late January/ early February, the peak of the dry season.

At present I'm bored and impatient as there's little to do, yet I have to be so careful with my money, even cutting back on food. I may simply be forced to move on due to lack of funds. I find I'm now imprisoned in the dimly-lit grotty hotel room as the hours drag. I have to force myself to stay in as going out will inevitably mean spending something. As I lay staring at the ceiling there's a rather annoying and constant din coming from the other side of my door, (which won't close properly and has two panels missing from the top half). There's a racket from the reception area, a TV room- where the TV never goes off. Kids scream, drunkards fight and women yell at their drunken husbands. The damn fleas are taking lumps out of me again. I hate these pits. The only hope is the possibility something might come up at the weekend, something in the form of socialising. If not, I'm out of here on Sunday.

Monday, 18th September 2000. 32 kilometres.

I woke, as per normal at 06:00, to the sound of screaming children, people yelling at each other and radios at full blast. How I loved this place.

I got my bags off on a bus to Cali then change my remaining cash down to smaller denominations so that I could use it 'in the field'. Unfortunately this involved spending most of the morning queuing in the bank. I was on the road for 11:30 and straight back onto the hills for a few hours climb. What goes up must come down, and I then began dropping for the rest of the afternoon on a winding mountain road. The upside was that there are some pleasant views of this very impressive country. Conversely the downside was I was now on my way into bandit country... a dangerous place, as people kept reminding me. They had pointing out places on my map which were now in the hands of the bad guys they said. A group of small villages just north of Pasto and close to the highway. Yesterday's front page news was all about the current military operations now underway here in the South, part of 'Plan Colombia', using equipment that had been supplied by the US.

Come the point it was time to find somewhere to sleep, I was in the area of a small town, which turned out to be oddly middle-class suburban, with nice houses, swimming-pools and tennis courts etc. I simply couldn't find anywhere to sleep as there were hotels and fancy restaurants for k's along the route. I eventually ran out of time, stopping in a gas station restaurant until it got dark. The TV news was full of accounts of recent happenings here with the ELN very active in this part of Colombia. It would appear they have kidnapped a lot more hostages by stopping cars and taking the people from them. The TV showed the army on patrol in the mountains north of here, and also captured members of the ELN. There's then some news of operations based around Cali, and more firefights between the army and FARC in the North, 40 killed.

A bit later I decide to leave to find somewhere to sleep, and also cook as I can't afford to eat at the restaurant. Off the road I can see packs of dogs roaming about. Close to the restaurant is a small construction site, where they're building a large house. However it's right by the side of the road and next to two occupied houses. Across the road from that is a raised piece of waste ground with some dead ground on top, it looks like that might have to do. The tent is so low it should be out of sight to 90% of the population around, here except for a few overlooking houses across the way. I move off and follow the road around the side of the gas station so that the people inside don't see me climb onto the waste ground. Once around the back and out of sight I have to climb a steep dry mud bank. As I begin, a motorcycle leaves the gates of an airfield a few hundred metres away and heads in my direction. I climb quite quickly, but as I near the top of the bank it can't support my weight and gives way. I slide down to the bottom in a pile of dust and dirt, just as the motorcycle passes by. The two people on the bike stare at me as they pass and I begin my scramble back up. So much for my covert insertion.... bollocks! I creep around on top, looking for the most covered spot, there's not a lot of room, and it's right next to a house that I know has a dog. I slowly erect the tent and get my kit inside, all very silent in the dark, eyes like a barn owl. Just as I get settled inside and breath a sigh of relief, a torch beam catches the top of the tent...Oh for Christ's sake, now what? I wait as the beam of light swings about. Someone's seen me from the house above I thought. I stick my head out to have a look. There's movement... and it's a group, possibly four. The torches go out and a figure appears on the skyline. He's got a rifle, looks like an old carbine, an M 21. He's wearing a civvie jacket so as yet I don't know who I'm dealing with... a second figure appears and they're only a few yards away. They can see the tent but not me. Number one brings his weapon into the aim and I'm ordered out of the tent. Bloody great! day one in bandit country and I'm already at gunpoint! I suspect from the way they're acting it's the police. The second figure, who turns out to be a woman but wearing a hood, is also armed and repeats the demand to come out. Showing my hands, I tell them not to worry, be calm, it's just a gringo.

" Hands on head!"

" Who are you?" I ask.

" Police!, Who else is in the tent?"

" I'm alone."

" Come forward!" shouts the female, and keeps the drop on me as the man nervously creeps forward and fumbling with his torch, shines a beam inside the tent.

" Who are you and what are you doing here?"

" I'm English, passing through and just sleeping here for the night. I have a passport."

" Where's your rucksack?" At that I realise it's been the people on the motorcycle that tipped them off."

Just there, at the front of the tent. I'm going to take out my passport," and slowly reach inside my jacket. The woman is still looking at me over the barrel on her gun.

" Come forward and give it to me." says the man and the woman joins him. They seemed to wearing half civvies/ half uniform which isn't uncommon for the police around here. They start to relax and within a second five armed men come over behind me and some more appear in front. They're dressed in combats with webbing, rifles and side-arms. The next thing I know I'm in the midst of a 15 man unit. Torch lights everywhere, dogs howling from all angles.. well isn't this just dandy! All that's missing now is some music and shagging strobe lights! But by now they find it all very amusing and I sense relief on their side. Everyone seems in good spirits. They explain that just over the way is a police post that is there to defend the airfield. Not surprisingly my activity so close had caused them some concern. Well by now I'm wondering if there is anyone around that doesn't know I'm here. At least I can appreciate how they feel, I've being on their side the fence before. They leave me to it, and I spend a nervous night being harassed by the dogs. I sleep little.

Monday, 25th September 2000. Popayan. 37 kilometres.

After a breakfast, which I received for free, I hit the road. It's hot and hard work with a lot of climbing, but I'm in good nick. I take a break at the small place called Timbio, where I buy bread and a Coke with the last of my pesos. Just outside Timbio dark clouds close in and a storm descends. Lightning flashes all around and it absolutely throws it down with rain. For the next 15 k's into town I'm soaked to the skin. It was nice to note that loads of cars stopped to offer me a lift on seeing this poor gringo being hammered by the storm. It was getting late when I reached the town, and I was starting to get cold. I needed to find a place to sleep for the night and with a bit of luck there'd be a shower to. By Christ I need one, and also the chance to sort things out and have a good night's sleep as well. Wet and soggy I combed the streets looking for the cheap places, a Residencia. But they're all so expensive and I'm forced to settle for p/8000 ($4), not far off a third of my remaining cash and quite a blow. Already cold, wet and shivering I'm then forced to take an ice cold shower under a single pipe. Having spent all I can really afford here anyway I have to settle for a meal of bread, nothing more... and not much of that either.

Thursday, 28th September, 2000.

After just a few k's I actually find some bananas. It's up down up down all day, like walking over a giant landscape of 'wriggly tin' (Army term for corrugated iron). The damn yapping dogs have been at it all day and they're driving me insane, plus on top of that I've got diarrhoea again, but I suspect it's just my failing diet. I'm drinking water instead of eating food and I'm starting to feel the pinch, feeling weak.

On reaching Mondomo I trail from shop to shop trying to find banana's and at last managed to buy five bananas and one apple. The bitch charged me p/150 each so I paid almost p/1000, well above the norm. I can sometimes find banana's for p/50 each, but it's more likely the case that you'll pay p/100.

It's raining again, but only lightly, with the odd clap of thunder. The problem now becomes- where to sleep? The land at the side of the road is heavily occupied. Rows of houses ensure there's nowhere to be found without someone watching you or the dogs yapping crazily, which of course brings the folk from their houses to see what all the fuss is about. They watch intently every move I make, I'm under surveillance every damn second of the day. There is no let-up from this pressure, I'm being closely studied by extremely poor campesinos constantly. There's nowhere to hide without them knowing where you are, it's enough to make you totally paranoid. Could it be they're all thinking alike, that I'm so rich I will have so much money in my pocket that they could never count it all. I am scrutinised by those dark sunken eyes, is each one plotting my demise, there's certainly no escape. And what's in his backpack, it's so heavy? He is a gringo, it must be money, more money than we've ever seen in our entire lives. Why don't we take his money brothers, it's no problem, and he's got so much more at home. That's the reason he can spend so much time travelling the world doing nothing. Why don't we kill him? Who would know? The police are too busy fighting their war to worry about one stupid gringo who ignored all the warnings and pranced about Colombia as though it was Disneyland. Gringos die all the time here, it's easy. This indeed would be paranoia, however I have to say that there is this fear in the form of a worm that gnaws away at the back of my mind non-stop. I suspect in fact that I have less to fear from the paramilitaries than from the common bandits and cut-throats, who in this climate rightly believe it's easier to get away with murder. There are areas in Colombia that have the highest murder rate in the world.

I can't find a gap to break off the road and begin to grow tired, there are just so many people everywhere. What I'd give just to be able to relax for a short while. Eventually I seize a chance to dive into a hedge, scramble up a bank and into some undergrowth. It is in fact thick, tightly-packed, bamboo and I fight my way through hoping to find a space. Before I do I come to the other side, where I find some tracks. Crossing these tracks I scramble up a hill..... there must be a place, but come across more houses and the dogs begin to howl. I withdraw back down, slipping and falling in the rain-soaked mud, back into the bamboo. There are tracks everywhere yet this will have to do as there's a chance no one will venture up here tonight because it's now throwing it down and will be dark soon. Finding the only flat space I can, I pitch the tent. I have a few spoonfuls of sugar left and intend to boil my bananas and apple with a spoonful of sugar. I'm in a foul mood and the slightest thing makes me snap. Trying to erect my tent in the thick bush and the rain has me mumbling and cursing to myself, while trying to keep the noise down as the houses are not far away.

Anyway, I get settled and my food on the boil. Lo and behold, somebody turns up! A local, with red glazed eyes and a bottle of booze, I could weep.

"Wwwhat ya dooing?"

That's it, it's all blown now. His presence enrages me. As he stands there, with his stupid toothless grin staring, little does he realise I'm planning to stab him to death with my spoon. There will be no rest tonight. He mumbles on for a while before wandering off down the track... and it's only a short time before a group of kids come creeping in to have a look. The word’s out then, and everyone knows where the Gringo's camping-- all alone.

Saturday, 21st October 2000. 34 kilometres.

It rained for most of the night. In fact it's still raining this morning so it's a wet start by way of a change.

Just before the town of Zarzal I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of someone in the fields wearing combat kit. They were just too far off to make out just who or what they were. I'm really missing my lost monocular, I have needed the damn thing constantly in this country. Eventually I saw that it was soldiers searching the field. I came across a patrol making its way down the road, and asked if there's a problem. One of the soldiers tells me of a colleague who has been smoking pot, has done a runner, and they're now out looking for him. That sounds about right. A little further on, I'm stopped and searched at a military roadblock. One very young soldier finds a string of small plastic sachets and examines them with a puzzled look. He hands them to colleagues to get a second opinion-- I watch with a broad smile. His two friends explode into laughter and he gets the ribbing of a lifetime. They return the sachets to me with "One day he'll be old enough to know what condoms are!" Justin gave them to me back in Loja, being in the Peace Corps, he got them by the lorry load.

I carry on into town and parked my backside in a small restaurant. A large woman comes over, asking what I want. Behind her I catch a glimpse of the kitchen.

"Ohhhh!... I'll have.... nothing!" and move on to a slightly more acceptable dive.

The day continues and just after midday it rains very heavily and I'm quickly soaked to the skin. This continued for the most of the afternoon. It starts to get late and I can't find a spot to sleep, so I chance it at a large house. This place is set well back from the road and it looks like it has a lot of land I could use. Wet and soggy I plod up the drive, finding the owner of one of in fact two houses. Both houses are very nice, the larger has a swimming pool. Now that I'm a bit closer I can see that it's all part of a milking plant. The chap gives me permission to sleep anywhere I want, and after I've set up camp I realise I've chosen possibly the worse spot ever. The ground is so lumpy beneath me it's impossible to get comfortable at all, but it seemed to be the safest spot to me so I relax. An hour or so later I get a visit from the people of the house and I'm invited to sleep indoors. It's raining again but I decide to take down the tent as there's cows in the field, so strip down lock stock and barrel and retire to the house. The journey up to the house turned out to be a bit of a nightmare. It was dark by now and I was slipping around in piles of cow crap, cracking my shins on farm machinery and I ripped my bergen cover almost in half on a wire fence.

Once at the house I showered and was then fed well. Again on the news there was nothing but death and destruction. This time it was a town to the north of Medellin that had been hit by home-made mortars from the FARC. There seemed to be lots of dead civvies. I couldn't seem to work out the logic behind it, but then I can't get an accurate picture as I cannot understand all the newsreaders say. I just have to guess the rest. The situation north of Medellin looks increasingly grim, and for some time now I've been pondering the possibility of moving north from Medellin disguised as a hobo, dying my hair and altering my clothing and appearance. It might be worth the hassle, --death sucks.

I'm having a problem with cockroaches at present. For some time now I've had an infestation in my bergen. I'm not quite sure where they're living, but they always make an appearance at embarrassing times. When I'm talking to people one will suddenly run across my shoulder and face etc, and they beginning to piss me off in the tent at night, running all over me.

Tuesday, 31st October 2000.

An initial 8k's on the hill finally gets me into Santa Barbara, which is way up in these damn mountains. It's been hard work getting up here. I buy milk and bread only as the money is now definitely short.

It's now 45 k's to Medellin, so I have to burn some time off. Mind you that's not hard as I have plenty of kit to dry out and more holes to stitch up on my bergen cover, which has about had it I think. From here there's still another 5 k's of climbing. I'm suffering from hip sores. I've had them for as long as I can remember and now they're just scar tissue and scabs, i e they don't slow me down. However here in Colombia they're not healing very well. They are a result of friction from my bergen waist belt where it sits on to my hips, mainly from when I pulled the beast. Presently they smart like hell, as they become soaked with sweat and the scab is rubbed off, it's getting a bit messy.

I meet some more soldiers on route and they insist on seeing my passport. I know they're only going to look at the photo, I don't have to bother bluffing them with some barely credible story as this is not the first time. They never bother looking right through. So I give them my passport feeling fairly safe... and sure enough, they look at my photograph and give it back to me. They are only young lads and somehow these things amuse them. After the soldiers I then come across a number of police checkpoints... they don't get to see the passport. Instead they get a photocopy of my details and the bullshit story of how in Popayan my jacket was stolen, along with my passport. I smile a lot, make it funny and they just sing along. Both the police and the soldiers are armed to the teeth, combat vests chocker with bullets and grenades.

Later on a climb down a steep bank attempting to find a place to sleep I ended up in freefall and nearly broke my damn wrist. I thought I had at first but it appears it's just sprained. I still end up having to splint it and it throbs like hell all night.

You hardly need me to tell you at this stage, but of course it throws it down all night. However, this time I manage to stay dry as my tent is on a slight angle, and the water runs into the tent and down the far side from where I'm sleeping and out again. Down to my last few grams of pasta and a piece of bread. I'm hungry and will be for the next few days. I can only hope there's something for me when I get it into Medellin.

Excerpts from the diaries during Karls stay in Medellin

Progress was swift and I made good time, too good in fact. I was bimbling along in a deep cutting that ran through a large hill and coming to the end of the cutting I raised my head. I was stopped wide-eyed in my tracks... before me lay a world of skyscrapers filling a large valley. It was like finding a lost world. Medellin... Paradise City, where the grass is greener and the girls prettier. With its big, bad and beautiful population, 2 million in fact, (though this is occasionally culled by right-wing death squads.) The second largest city in Colombia, and my last in South America. I stood for a little while and gazed... for such a long time now it had been a focal point in the back of my mind. I had heard so much about his place, I could hardly believe I was looking at it. I could hear Kumari telling me about her home city with passion in her voice, back there in Arequipa. The home of Colombia's cocaine industry, loved and feared, either way I'm about to find out!

I still did not want to enter the city penniless so began to look for a gas station. I found myself forced on to a long dual-carriageway packed with traffic. It was now about 16:00 so I had to work fast, yet once again I could find nowhere. Within an hour I was in the city and my priority switched from gas station to residensia. I battled my way towards the city centre. In a way I was pleased to reach Medellin on this day, the anniversary of my second year. I now began a frantic dash from place to place across the city centre. There were loads of cheap places to crash, very cheap, some as little as p/4000, yet a number I saw at this price where frightening death traps, that I wouldn't have stayed in if they had been free. Absolutely stinking, with beggars sleeping on the hall floor, doors that wouldn't even close never mind lock. The filth and stench was appalling. However, more of a concern was that no one would allow me to stay and pay on Friday, all demanded cash up front.

So it was I found myself on the streets as darkness was falling. In these narrow backstreets it was indeed a little scary for a lost looking gringo backpacker. I got a lot of attention from my fellow homeless.

" Hey Gringo! What you doing here boy?"

Sniggers from dark doorways and drunks stumbling around, who would shout at me in some strange dialect. Luckily I found a place at last and struck up a deal, p/6000 per night and I could pay on Friday. The sweat-stained, greasy, fat owner shook my hand on it and led me to my room. Not bad by my standards, I even had a toilet, and a water pipe to shower under which was in something that looked like an old wardrobe. I threw my kit onto the floor and collapsed on the bed with a deep sigh, it had been a long day but now I could start to relax. Before falling asleep I nipped out and spent the last of my change on bread.

As I reached the Plaza my eyes widened. It was just an ocean of people, skinheads, hippies, new age, punks, rockers, jugglers and fire breathers, all mixed in amongst a number of small stalls. Half-naked people covered in body paint and many other wild and weird types, a seething mass of music and dancing.... Bloody hell! It's a place like no other this town. From amongst the mayhem a girl yelled to me, a girl in tight leathers, sporting stylish shades and something like blonde 'dreads'. At first I had no idea it was Ade. As with our first meeting I was introduced to another guy that was with her, his name was Willy, a pleasant yet sombre chap. We left that frenzied scene behind, taking Willy's Jeep and going back to his place to pick up his sister and Ade's sister. Willy lives in a decent neighbourhood to the east of the city. I was introduced to his family. He's an office worker, 34 years old, whilst Ade is 26 and a social worker. She has a rather attractive accent and at first I thought she may be from somewhere else other than Colombia, however her accent is Italian, stemming from one half of her family.

I got on very well with Willy's family and suddenly found them offering me a room in this house for as long as I liked to stay, Christmas if needs be. Wow! What about that. It's all I could have hoped for. The night progressed as they do in Medellin, a crazy night, where we drank loads and danced till we dropped. Ade was a wild one, I can see her now... in a 'Rock Bar', a large group of long-haired rockers in 'Iron Maiden' T-shirts were just crashing into and leaping all over each other. She grabs my hand and runs straight into the centre of it. It was spectacular to see, amid this mass of rockers, a slip of a girl giving it as good as she got. She only stopped after she'd nearly had her jaw broken!

Sunday afternoon I moved lock, stock and barrel into my new home, extremely glad to be shot of the hostel. There was to be no rest for the tired and weary, and we were all back out again that night-- only this time to a fancy-dress do. I had about three hours' notice to knock up something, and ended up going out dressed as an Arab. Another blitzkrieg... and on Monday morning my body was weeping for the chance to recover and I slept for most of the day. Sure enough we were out again that night, this time we bumped into another of Willy's female friends who had a friend with her, Catalina Estrada. 'Catty' and I seemed to click instantly, plus there was the big bonus in the fact that we could communicate easily. She was a 28 year-old civil engineer, overseeing projects within the city. Seriously smart, and I have to say it-- one helluva body. After that initial meeting I must have seen Catty every night for the next week. With competition like this Ade was drop-kicked into touch.

Life slowed down, thank God! Willy attempted to arrange meetings with friends who had knowledge of the Gap, but these meetings kept getting postponed and getting information on the Gap was a slow process.

I now weighed in at 70 kilograms. The last time I remember getting weighed was back in 1998 when I was 77 kilograms. Not bad I suppose given what I'd put my body through. I began to ease myself slowly into an increasing food intake, having learned that coming in from the field and running into a calorie tidal wave was not a good idea. It would freak your body out. I'm being fed well by my new family, and on top of that I'm using their blender to make a soup of banana's with concentrated milk powder and Brazil nuts. This gives me 1300 calories for 200 grams, and it's not half bad, although a touch expensive. So all in all I'm eating well, in fact the best ever. I should be able to put some weight on given the time I expect to be here.

I at last get to speak with Willy's friends, those with knowledge of the Darien Gap. Willy and I get together with five other guys, one a cousin of Willy's whose apparently walked the Gap and an old man, who used to own a farm in the northern Darien area, as well as his two sons, both of whom know the place. Just how well I didn't know. The first half of the conversation was nothing more than them expressing how dangerous the whole idea was, and that it was ludicrous... it could not be done! This went on for some time and there was obviously the impression that I understood nothing of the situation, otherwise I would not have been proposing such a silly idea. Their answer was simple, take a boat from Turbo to Panama.

" No, I can't, no boats."

" Don't be silly, you have to."

Would come the reply over and over again. They could not get their heads around this 'no other forms of transport' thing. But that was the least of it, the guerrillas were the main problem as far as they were concerned." Nothing moves in the Darien without them knowing about it!" There were no police or army except for the 150 that are being held in FARC prison camps as bargaining chips. If the Army do go in they lose because they are nothing but conscripts and don't know anything about the jungle when compared with the FARC. The villages I'd referred to are now nothing more than ghost towns as the people have been moved out or left of their own accord because of the worsening situation, the old man tells me. He himself had been evicted when they took his farm and all he had. " They take what they want, when they want". As a result all the tracks you are counting on have started to disappear because people aren't moving through there any more," they explained, " You can't do it,-- you'll die."

The rather one-sided conversation then moves on to snakes, swamps and diseases, especially leishmaniasis, caused by an insect that lays its eggs in your body. Apparently the Army have a cure for this but will not release it for public use as they do not want the guerrillas to get their hands on it. These fellows were just full of good news. I had to stop the conversation and take some time to change their state of mind from pessimism to optimism.

" You will no longer give me the problems, and will now start to think about the solutions. Look at it as if it is possible and work out the details of just how it is to be best accomplished."

A long pregnant silence fell over the room. There was a lot of head and chin scratching and a couple of vacant stares. I led them into it by explaining routes I believed were certainly possible, with what information I had, but everytime I did things would degenerate into arguments between the group in a flurry of spanish. They brought some other guy along who spoke some English, some geek who just sat there and said, "Yer, yer, that's right", to anything anyone said. In conclusion the only agreement they came to was to disagree. " It cannot be done on foot, and if you try it you will die!"

I almost felt foolish trying to convince them that I could do it. We left, and on the way back in Willy's car he turned to me and said, " Well, what are you going to do now? "

" I'm going to cross the Darien on foot.... They are wrong!.... I know they are."

The Darien Gap itself is not the only major obstacle on this forthcoming leg. There's the route from Medellin to where I leave the road to head west, which will be at a point just south of the town of Chigorodo. The road itself soon runs out and turns into a dirt track, along which you find small towns and villages... as well as a hell of a lot of guerrilla activity. Unfortunately, unlike the south of the country, there is very little military activity. Once again these people don't give a gringo a cat in hells chance of getting along this road alone. I estimate it will take me two weeks to cover the distance, but this lot around here wouldn't bet on anything over two hours. Being tall, blond, blue-eyed and with a rucksack full of goodies is my death warrant, hence I begin to formulate a plan for this first part of the leg.

For a long time now I've had a strange, almost subconscious interest in those homeless drop-outs or sometimes just plain nut cases that you'd spot tramping along the side of the roads all through South America. It's interesting to see how they survive right on the very edge. I find I watch them very closely, after all who knows, one day the sky could fall in on me and I could join the rank-and-file of the sadly displaced. Lord knows, at times I feel pretty close. They all seemed oddly unhinged, a little crazed. Was this the cause of their downfall or is this the result of such hardships? Could it be some mental defence mechanism allowing them to cope with the stress over such long periods of time. The reason they appear to live in another world is simply because they do. The mind might slip into that alternative dimension when this one gets too hard. Back in the cafe I begin to realise that if I'm going to walk north from Medellin it cannot be as a gringo. No one interacts with the tramps, no one looks at them, no one wants to talk with them, not even the police. They are avoided by every living soul that can avoid them... perfect! Better still in this part of the world there seems to be lots of them. Everybody is so used to seeing them they don't even notice they're there. Like mist they just drift along, which is exactly what I need to do. So the plans seems set then. When I leave Medellin it will be as a filthy hobo, a man of no worth or interest to anyone. This theory is great, but the actual transformation isn't so easy. To make the disguise convincing will need some skill and effort. On top of this to remain an effective walking machine will take a little extra thought. This get up should take me to the point where I leave the road and possibly even further along the track west, but once I begin my approach to the Gap itself my disguise will loses effectiveness. You could be dressed as ‘Coco the Clown’, the thing is anything moving in this area is of interest to someone else, then it becomes an escape and evasion situation, where the less eyes that see me the better. It would be perfect if no other living soul saw me until I was north and well clear of the Colombian border.

Medellin is a city of lights, and huge displays were set up for Christmas. The city's large hydro-electric power stations ensure that it has the cheapest electricity in Colombia. It also has the only Metro in the country, a mere five years old. It's definitely the best way to get about and is extremely modern and clean, as well as so easy to use. A Metro station sits in the next street across from Willy house which means I can be in the town centre within five minutes. The shopping malls here are the best and most modern I've seen in South America. All in all I liked Medellin and its people. Personally I'd seen less trouble here than anywhere else. I had met some great friends, and the women here are mind-blowing, some of the best looking in South America. This is the place to be, not Bogota, where the night life is a lot more stressful and dangerous.

I had previously made up my mind that when Christmas arrived I would decide which route I was taking and that would be it, I would go all out for that. Here was Christmas and I was finally forced to make a choice.... I chose the Red Route. What helped with the decision was the news that two Brits, that were thought to be long dead, had turned up alive, released after having spent nine months held by the FARC. This had given credit to some idea that the FARC at least may well have begun a change in its outlook. It's a fact that for some time now the FARC has been in the big time and is busily trying to prove it can govern as well as fight. Within its own territory it attempts to prove it can run a country. This means the FARC now has to start thinking about PR and the rights and wrongs of politics with an eye on the future. Not only has it to defeat the government, it also has to win the hearts and minds of the people, by far the greater task. As long as its troops in the field comply, this release is good news to me. It helps with the idea that I can survive a contact. It may well be that they find me and don't care at all, letting me go without a problem. It's not a great deal to base a plan on, but this line of thinking swung the argument.

The frantic pace continued and in those last few weeks there seemed so much to do. Making myself fit into the tramp plan was extremely testing. One of the major problems was darkening my skin... it just wouldn't. We tried everything, from marker pens, food colouring, clothes dye and bronzing or tanning cream, but nothing seemed to tint my bleached white skin. That was until one day Catty and I found a tanning cream that seemed to work. At this stage of the game my money had run out, but luckily mother had collected more from her friends at work and I was able to carry on. Eventually after a few delays the GPS, (A small hand-held global positioning system which uses satellites to give you a read-out of your exact position, but also allows you to key in 'way points' to aid navigation), finally arrived. Unfortunately, I had to pay $50.US in import tax that put me back into the red. However with its arrival the green light was on. We dyed my hair and began to apply many layers of the tanning cream which would send me a very strange brown /orange colour. This was expected as we had done some preliminary tests and this colour could be offset with the application of dirt, in this case carbon deposits from burnt gasoline. This was an absolute bitch to remove as was well known to me, but it worked a treat, and in the end it all seemed to be coming together... just. My kit was a heavy, heavier than it had ever been, but the weight would come down with time. Once I changed to 'jungle mode' half my equipment would be binned. The trouble came from the damn food, getting it all into my bergen in its disguised form was a bitch.

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