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The route to Hacienda Venecia led us through the city of Pereira, capital of the Department of Risaralda. It is at an altitude of 4,600 feet and its population of almost 600,000 makes it the largest city in the region and the sixth largest city in the country. The Conquistadors arrived here in 1540 but Pereira was not officially established until 1863 when a large landowner, Senor Pereria, died and left his land to a priest stipulating the establishment of a town. During the mid 19th, Colombia experienced internal migration, similar to the Westward Movement in the United States, and Pereira’s location and rich volcanic soil enticed these new settlers. The altitude, the climate and the soil were conducive to growing coffee and soon the area became a center of coffee cultivation as it remains today. Over the years, the city has suffered from recurring earthquakes and has been rebuilt, not with concern for the historic, but guided by various ideas of what it means to be modern. Even though the locals enjoy a good party, the city is not considered a tourist destination. We drove through the outskirts of the city not even stopping to gaze at the unusual nude sculpture of Simon Bolivar, the Liberator of Colombia (as well as Venezuela, Bolivia, Ecuador, Panama and Peru).

We drove through the northern portion of the Cauca River Valley. Surrounded by mountain peaks, we followed rivers, crossed small bridges and drove up, on and over ridgelines. We passed through the frontier town of Chinchina. There we smelled the aroma of coffee wafting out of their instant coffee plant and observed groups of local men, who depend on the coffee industry, hanging out on corners, as if waiting for harvest time. We crossed railroad tracks, a reminder of the past when sacks of coffee beans were transported by train, today replaced by trucks. In the distance, the morning sun shone down on the rolling hills and steep slopes, casting a green patina as far as the eye could see. As we drove closer, each individual bush with its shinny leaves revealed itself, our first introduction to the coffee plant. As the road became increasingly circuitous and narrow, an unpleasant odor invaded the car, at once caustic and choking. We had just past fields recently spread with a kind of fertilizer made from the fermented skins of the coffee beans. An hour passed and we were at the gates of Hacienda Venecia.

HACIENDA VENECIA
This finca, coffee plantation, was started in 1910 and is a family business now operated by the fourth generation and similar to the other growers in the coffee zone, this is a small operation. Apparently, the family has become politically connected as the father of the present owner, Juan Pablo, served in the regional government.

We were met by a young man who turned out to be our guide. Donald, I, and a young man from Holland touring with a young woman from Bogota formed a group and we were ushered into a building that served as an office, reception area complete with kitchen, bedrooms and baths. The four of us were supposed to be on an English language tour. However, when the guide spoke, we could not understand what he said but when the young couple sat down at the table, Donald and I followed their lead. Next, each of us was handed a small sack of green coffee beans and watching the couple, we too poured the beans out on the table, asking ourselves, now what? The guide spoke again. How could this be English, but the Dutch kid understood and we also started separating the “pretty ones” from the “ugly ones”, those that were wrinkled, mal formed, chipped and otherwise beaten up. Eventually the guide scooped up the good ones, made some unintelligible comment and placed them in a machine, which he began to crank up. The eureka moment, he was roasting the beans in order to prepare a pot of coffee because we had been promised a tasting experience. Then he began his explanation. Unfortunately, the noise from the machine drowned out his words and instead of speaking louder, which would have made sense, he started speaking faster, frantically faster, sending his head into motion. Squinting my eyes in disbelief, I visually deconstructed his body allowing him only a talking mouth that spewed out facts and figures, but no sound and a head, waggling to its own rhythm. As for the source of his nervous excess, consumption of too much coffee or those coca leaves that must have been growing close by?

The roasting machine ran its cycle and he collected the coffee beans, now a rich brown color. We allowed the creative process to heighten our anticipation as we looked forward to our first good cup of properly brewed Colombian coffee. But wait, something was wrong. There was nothing to smell. What happened to the aroma of roasted coffee beans? Where was his coffee press, where was the distilled water? Instead, he placed the roasted beans in another machine, pushed a few buttons and within seconds, the machine processed the beans, added hot water and dribbled out some kind of dark liquid that he collected in Styrofoam cups. If you wanted cafe con leche, he was happy to pass you a packet of creamora. We looked at each other, our disappointment silently screamed through the air. We said nothing as there was nothing we could do accept take a sip and leave the rest. The coffee from the machine in the Avianca Airline lounge had been better.

Following the guide, we enjoyed wandering through the hillsides planted in coffee bushes. Many bushes were over eight feet tall enjoying the rich volcanic soil and the altitude of 4,500 feet above sea level. Unfortunately for us, the guide’s English never improved but the Dutchman was happy to translate, as not only did he speak Spanish but told us he was used to hearing English spoken in many variations. We observed the heavy clusters of coffee berries, called cherries, which thrived in the hot sun, the moist air that promised a late afternoon rain and the well drained soil. We learned that as the berries matured they turned from green, to yellow, and when finally matured, they were a dark red, therefore the term, cherry. We picked the small ripe berries and tasted them. Under the skin, there is a fleshy substance and in the center, there are the two seeds that will become the bean when all the outer covering is processed away and the seeds are allowed to dry. The flavor was not unpleasant and it was easy to understand why the Ethiopians never progressed beyond eating the berry. Different from tea leaves that are picked every seven days, coffee is harvested twice a year. On this finca, up to three hundred and fifty extra people are called in for the harvest and the pickers are paid by the weight they pick. Through translation, we understood that Colombia grows mostly Arabica coffee, the most popular coffee in the world and considered far superior to the Robusta grown in Vietnam, which has over taken Colombia as the second largest producer of coffee beans. Colombian coffee beans are picked by hand and the growers believe this produces a finer product than that from Brazil, which is picked by machine.

We left the bushes behind and headed to the processing shed. The original hundred year old equipment was still functioning, even though parts were being held together with baling wire not thick enough to truss up a turkey. Here the cherries were washed, deskinned, depulped, the two seeds removed, dried, sorted, and bagged. Coffee beans are exported dried but not roasted, allowing buyers to create their own desired flavors. From here we headed to the main house, the hacienda.

Originally, the term, hacienda, referred to the vast estates granted to the Conquistadors by the Spanish government. By definition, these land grants were self sufficient and if the Spanish king threw in an encomienda, the conquistador then had total economic and religious control over the indigenous people living on the land. Similar to other colonizers, the Spanish in South America attempted to recreate that which they had at home and the main house reflects the influence of Spanish architecture. It is sited on the land to assure the best possible breeze and the most beautiful view. This house, with its wrap around veranda, thick white washed walls and tile roof with over hanging eaves to provide protection from the sun and as well as tropical rain, is positioned in the middle of a long green lawn framed by a variety of tropical plants and fruit trees. Mountain peaks loom in the distance while peacocks strut their stuff amid a flower garden exploding with bright, outrageous tropical colors. Since the hacienda has been turned into a small hotel, a swimming pool had recently been constructed.

The guide declared the tour complete leaving Donald and I less than satisfied because we had expected a proper coffee tasting. We may have learned about how coffee grows and yes, we know that the quality depends on soil, altitude, climate and harvest methods. But how does it taste? In a manner similar to wine, coffee tasting has its own vocabulary. The Colombians pride themselves on their coffee’s full bodied flavor, intense aroma, rich flavor and balanced acidity. If the guide had properly brewed a pot of coffee, we could have discussed these aspects. If Colombia’s Arabica coffee is superior to Vietnam’s Robusta, then we should have been able to taste both kinds. But at least the tour buses were not parked in the lot and we did not have to follow a guide speaking through a microphone carrying a flag. As Colombia’s international tourism develops, this maybe in the future. But as for us, the only coffee aroma we enjoyed came from the instant coffee plant. I told our guide we should go back there for a cup of coffee. But Alex, he replied, that is where they send the inferior beans.

DEAR JUAN VALDEZ, WHY CAN WE NOT GET A GOOD CUP OF COFFEE IN COLOMBIA?
This question has been asked by many people before Donald and I became disappointed with the coffee. Juan Valdez is the icon for Colombian coffee and since his inception in 1957, three men have been chosen to portray this role. The problem is Juan is a cafetero whose job is to pick the beans, not to taste the coffee. In fact, the Colombian people do not drink much coffee and probably Juan would prefer a cup of hot chocolate with a slice of white cheese. Juan, a man of the people, also enjoys a drink called agua de panela made from sugar cane that has been boiled down and thickened into bricks. When it is added to coffee and served in large bowls, he is more interested in the sweet, sugary taste than the quality of the coffee. When out with the “boys” he probably orders an aguardiente, an anise flavored liquor made from sugar cane. But when he does order coffee, he asks for a “tinto” which is nothing more than watered down espresso. Basically, Juan does not know or care to demand a good cup of coffee and he is satisfied with what he gets. But in all fairness to him, he has never had the opportunity because all those quality beans he picks and transports on the back of his mule, Conchita, are shipped out of the country, leaving only the inferior beans to be consumed by the hometown folks.

In the past few years, since President Uribe has been successful in reclaiming the country from left and right wing guerrillas and the drug cartels, the situation is changing. The Coffee Federation is opening a chain of upscale Juan Valdez shops and entrepreneurs are opening boutique style coffee shops, mostly in the larger cities and in towns attracting tourists. When the tour buses start rolling in, I bet they will be greeted with an excellent cup of coffee. As for Juan, there is always aguardiente and whatever happened to those coco leaves?

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