My Year In South America

Before Tamatha became a Japan specialist at Audley Travel she lived in Baranquilla, Colombia and traveled throughout the continent

By Audley Travel

April 25^th, 2018

Settling into colombia

Somewhere between becoming a Japan Country Specialist at Audley Travel and actually living in Japan for 8 years, I found myself in South America. My husband had decided he wanted to learn Spanish and I had entertained the idea of mastering cumbia or tango. So we planted ourselves in Barranquilla, Colombia, where the first job opportunity popped up. Barranquilla is on the Caribbean coast and is home to Shakira, one of the world’s largest Carnival festivals, and an excessive amount of good food infused with coconut. Like most people considering Colombia, I had my initial stereotypes thanks to very real history, yet very unreal television. However, six months later, I felt weirdly at home. And safe. And in love with aspects of life I clearly lacked.

I danced, just as I imagined. I had no choice. Whether I was in a mall or casual restaurant on the street, a mix of vallenato, merengue, cumbia, and salsa blared out of a picó (large, colorful stereo system). Music, at this volume, literally pumps through the blood of Barranquilleros. You can’t help but tap your foot. All that moving around eventually culminates into the ultimate expression of dance in Colombia: Carnival. The world’s second biggest Carnival is a celebration of folklore, indigenous and modern dance, and the wonderfully diverse culture that exists in Colombia today.

Celebrating carnival in Barranquilla, Colombia

If it weren’t for the heat of Barranquilla (I missed my four seasons), I could’ve stayed in the country forever. And I only saw a small slice of it: Bogota’s unparalleled street art, the Coffee Region’s giant palm trees and friendly hummingbirds, the coast’s deserted beaches and cheap fillets of fish, and Medellin’s thriving restaurant scene and colorful escalators into mile-high barrios (the city in which we stumbled upon Netflix filming “Narcos”). The country seems to remain a best-kept secret for intrepid travelers, and I’m perfectly okay with that. I’ll keep the sweaty dance nights, tinto coffee carts, budget prices, and sheer energy to myself.

Cartagena's Getsemani neighborhood on Colombia's coast

Fresh coffee beans outside of Manizales, Colombia

Walking into the mist covered hills of Cocora Valley

A fisherman goes about his day on the coast near Barranquilla, Colombia

A dog basks in the sun in Guatape, Colombia outside of Medellin

onwards to Patagonia

Home called, but I wasn’t quite ready. We decided to take advantage of the present location and criss cross through South America in a frenzy. The first stop was a no brainer: Patagonia. It covers 260,000 square miles of shifting glaciers and gargantuan peaks, straddling the southern bits of Chile and Argentina. With so much to tackle, we concentrated on a bucket list of penguins, day hikes, and wine. I expected much—thank you Instagram—and received vistas in excess. The greatest one was at the “summit” of Argentina’s Fitz Roy. The hike there from the town of El Calafate is relatively flat but suddenly takes a dramatic turn skyward. It can be defeating… but all is forgotten once you scramble over a rocky hill. The panoramic view of Fitz Roy—epitomized in the logo for Patagonia, the company—took my breath away, even more so than the hike up. It looked like a mysterious lair for a movie villain and one I stared at dumbfounded in awe.

Fitz Roy in Argentina's Patagonia region

Isolation on easter island

Next up was 2,100 miles away from Santiago, Chile: the mysterious island of Easter Island, or Rapa Nui, as the locals know it. Really, the mystery isn’t such. Though there are some questions surrounding the giant Moai statues the island is renowned for, historians and researchers have established their likely purpose, transport system, and eventual doom. I, of course, was drawn to the island’s story but mostly relished the idea of isolation- which is what I got. My husband and I zoomed around the island on a motorcycle, rarely passing another vehicle. We sat on the edge of cliffs enjoying a delicious bottle of Pisco Sour. And surprisingly, we found our greatest joy in the waters surrounding Easter Island. The scuba diving was superb—crystal clear diverse terrain, with a fake sunken Moai statue to poke, replicated for a failed movie starring Kevin Costner.

Trails around the perimeter of Easter Island, Chile

The sea meets the sky on Easter Island, Chile

from desert to salt flats

A month or so on, after a lot of Argentinian Malbec, we were seemingly in another world. That of the Atacama Desert, which covers 600 miles of Chile’s spaghetti strip of a country. It was here that we began a long four-day journey from Atacama through to La Paz, Bolivia. It’s a well-beaten one of sorts, with rugged jeeps hauling small groups of tourists out of the dusty town of San Pedro de Atacama. Yet we could find our own oasis in the landscape of endless deserts, curious alpacas, salt plains, confusing pinks and blues, and high altitude lakes that leave one dizzy and gasping for air. In Atacama, I successfully sandboarded down the dunes, landing in soft sand with no fear. We also gazed at the stars through NASA grade telescopes, viewing the constellations in a region of the world that sees zero light pollution and 300 plus days of clear skies. At Laguna Colorada, a lake tinted pink because of red sediment and algae, I chased flamingos with my camera, amused at the repertoire of sounds they emitted. And then, further on at Salar de Uyuni—the world’s largest salt flats at 4,050 square miles—a T-rex chased me. Or at least a miniature version of one blown up by the optical illusions that the salt flats allow. As you bump along on this trip, you’ll truly wonder if you’ve entered another dimension.

My husband and I getting chased by a T-rex

trekking through peru

At the tail end of our travels, we ran out of energy and decided to do some multi-day treks in spectacular Peru. We opted out of the Inca Trail and sought alternatives. One led us to Colca Canyon. Plunging over 10,000 feet, it’s twice the depth of the Grand Canyon. After dodging the condors that glide around, we joined a guided overnight hike into the canyon and out the other side. I marveled at the local communities we passed, whose members would traverse the canyon walls for school and work. Thankfully, my body had finally acclimated to the altitude changes and the climb out was somewhat bearable. About a week later, we opted for another hike into the absolutely stunning area of Vinicunca, with one particular mountain appropriately nicknamed the Rainbow Mountain, a mountain with bands of different colors thanks to weathering and select minerals. Normally, one reaches the mountain of 14,000 feet above sea level via a red eye morning jaunt from Cusco. We decided to avoid the altitude sickness and the crowds and make it yet another overnight experience. It’s true that we were rewarded with a spectrum of impossible color that my camera failed to capture. But naturally, the journey to get there was my highlight. We ran into a “best of show” alpaca and llama contest, which gathered villagers from near and far. One particular alpaca farmer—perhaps a bit inebriated on life—became my eternal image of South America: slightly weathered, colorful and welcoming, and beaming from ear to ear.