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When the Andean Mountain range enters Columbia from Ecuador, it branches into three ranges and crosses Columbia on a diagonal from south west to south east. These ranges, called Cordilleras, are labeled Occidental (west), Central, and Oriental (east). The coffee growing area, Zona Cafetera, which Donald and I visited is located in the central part of the Andean highlands between the western and central cordilleras. This area is spread over three administrative departments, called the coffee triangle, and each department has a modern capital, Pereira, Armenia and Manizales. The area is being promoted as a tourist destination, not so much to visit these towns, but to explore the magnificent countryside with outdoor adventure activities such as hiking, mountain climbing and horseback riding. Visits are organized to the coffee plantations and many have turned their haciendas into bed and breakfasts. In addition, there are several small towns, pueblos, that are charming and a visit to them insures that one will have the opportunity to seek out the soul of the Eje Cafetero, the coffee region.

OUR PROGRAM
On June 10, we were aboard Avianca Flight 8515 heading to Pereira. The plane, a Fokker 100, named after the founder of this Dutch aircraft company, Anthony Fokker, filled up with a wide variety of people. Businessmen wearing incredibly elegant suits, clutching finely made leather brief cases with well manicured fingernails, glided down the aisle on handmade leather shoes. The site of corpulent, well endowed young women in tight fitting clothing was becoming commonplace. In gringo country, you would have thought of Dolly Parton but down here in Columbia, Botero comes to mind. I am not so sure his signature women evolved out of his imagination because all he had to do was paint that which surrounded him. In the mix was the “lost in South America” traveler with his backpack and matted dreadlock hair.

We would be flying almost due west and down below we were catching out last glimpse of Bogota, the red brick city located on a high Andean plain at 8,661 feet above sea level. Donald and I settled into our seats and pulled out our books. I was rereading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Columbia’s famed Noble Prize winning author, whose left wing views had kept him from receiving a visa to the United States. Donald was reading The Fruit Palace by the British reporter Charles Nicholl who tells the story behind the story of his 1980′s investigation into Columbia’s narco trafficking industry. Both books seemed relevant to our travel but I wondered why the middle aged man across the aisle found it necessary to read the Bible while continually crossing himself. Feeling relatively comfortable on the flight, I wondered if he knew something we did not.

Even though the flight was only thirty minutes, we were offered a drink and a snack. Someone should tell Delta this is possible. Passing up the variety of fruit drinks, for which Columbia is famous, Donald and I opted for a cup of coffee, still trying to find a perfect cup. Soon the plane was preparing to make its final approach and for the first time in five days, the clouds had parted, revealing the blue sky we almost forgot existed. Down below in the early afternoon sunlight, a vast brilliant green landscape spread out before us. We were surrounded by low mountain ranges dotted with dark green trees containing narrow valleys traversed by small streams. Then we began flying over a highway built on the ridge line of a low mountain with steep ravines falling off on both sides. As the plane touched down in Pereira, we were looking forward to four days of new adventures and as for the perfect cup of coffee, we realized we would still have to keep on trying.

Our guide, Johnny, who Donald later referred to as Cheech and the driver Carlos Alberto, who he labeled Chong, picked us up at the airport. We would spend four nights at the Hotel Sazagua, located in the countryside near Pereira, in the Department of Risaralda. From here we would travel through the Department of Caldas to explore a coffee plantation along with a trip through the Department of Quindio where we would visit the Valley of Cocora and spend time in two small towns observing their traditional way of life.. The final day would be spent horseback riding through the Risaralda Valley, with a promised picnic at the end of the trail.

HOTEL SAZAGUA
Sazagua is a word derived from the Quimbaya, an indigenous people inhabiting these areas, who in pre Columbian days were highly skilled goldsmiths. Today their artifacts are on display in the gold museum in Bogota. This ten room boutique hotel began as a private home until the owner decided he wanted to convert it into a hotel. Today, it is managed by his two sons who studied in London and returned home speaking English. Located in the countryside, hidden behind high walls, it is situated in a beautiful garden setting. Even though it does not have the historical tradition of a hacienda, the construction with its exposed wooden beams, wide hallways, and openness to the outside, along with its fountains and abundance of handmade ceramic tiles decorated in bright festive colors gave us the idea of what a Colombian manor house could be.

Donald and I were content to pass the remainder of the afternoon in our room. It was on the second floor and decorated with an eclectic mix of furniture, rustic meets the 1930′s, all tied together by indigenous patterned hand woven rugs. Making ourselves at home, we slid back the louvered windows, allowing the outside to become the inside. Donald took advantage of the hammock and we returned to our books. A panoramic view of the well tended garden spread out below towered over by an ancient acacia tree playing host to an assortment of bromeliads. Varieties of palm trees and other tropical plants grew in profusion. The brilliant green of the grass formed the background as color rippled through the garden, purple agapanthus, bright red and yellow helliconias and orange birds of paradise. In the distance, a view of another mountain range assured us we were in the Andean highlands. Lost in the intended serenity, time passed, the brilliant afternoon light slowly journeyed across the lawn chased by dazzling flights of yellow butterflies. The warm sunshine felt like spring and the gentle breeze carried up bird songs, the gurgling of the fountain and the occasional clacking palm fronds. An afternoon so beyond perfect that it could have been bordering on magic realism.

Even though our dinner belied their credentials as the best restaurant in the Coffee Zone, they redeemed themselves the following morning when I opted for the traditional breakfast, served on their open air veranda overlooking the garden. We were ready to place our order as soon as the waiter, who did not speak English, went to the kitchen and found the suis chief who did. It was hard to pass up the freshly squeezed orange juice, but I ordered the guanabana juice instead. We had enjoyed this juice many years ago in Costa Rica and it was as good as I remember. Guanabana is the Spanish name for the sour sop or custard apple, a fruit with a creamy white sweet pulp some say tastes like an acid version of strawberries mixed with pineapple. It is a scary looking fruit, green scales with soft spines and if it had legs, it would look like a prehistoric being. Colombia is known for their hugos, fruit juices, and they are prepared in a blender by adding ice with either water or milk.

I ordered arepas, a round patty made from corn, wheat flour or manioc that can be baked, fried, or grilled and served flat or stuffed. That morning it was made from corn and served warm, flat and crispy. Even though it originated in Venezuela and migrated west, both countries claim it as their national dish. In Columbia it is one of the most common side dishes and each region has their unique way of preparation. As compared to that which I enjoyed in Bogota, these were flatter and crispier and served without a topping. I also ate my first patacones, which is a plantain that has been smashed and then fried and instead of the usual chicharrones, fried pork skins, we were served what was described on the menu as pancetta. Bacon and pancetta come from the pork belly, whereas the former is smoked, the later is salt cured. However, this was not Italian style pancetta because they smoked their pork bellies in a large institutional charcoal smoker until the fat had been rendered out and the meat infused with a smoky taste. After savoring the bit size pieces, I placed this dish in my top ten favorites just after wok flavored chow fun noodles. The Columbians know that pork rules, someone should tell Emerald.

By 9:00, fortified for the days adventure, we met Johnny, the guide, and Carlos Alberto, the driver, and pulling out of the compound we were on our way to Hacienda Venecia to tour a coffee plantation and hopefully, to enjoy a good cup of coffee. If we did, it would be a first.