Jill Robinson

Writer, Photographer, Adventurer

colombia

Back to Villa de Leyva

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A couple of months ago, I took a whirlwind one-week trip through three regions in Colombia. While I fell in love with the country, there was one place that I felt needed to be the highlight of a return trip. And here I sit, in the Bogotá airport, having just spent about six days in that exact place: Villa de Leyva.

One of the things I hate about quick trips is that there’s no time to let a place get into my pores. One might argue that even a week is too short, and I’d agree with that. I did what I could with the time I had, and who knows, there may be future trips there if the universe pushes me in that direction. But, like many things, I’m playing it by ear.

An important focus during my recent trip was having the time to relax and enjoy Villa de Leyva. I wandered down streets, slowing my steps from my usual city pace. I watched how the town changed from morning to noon to night, and how the mountain light brought out the beauty in the buildings, cobblestones and surrounding countryside. I discovered new tastes (for me), and now have cravings for Colombian food and am carrying bottles of rum and aguardiente in my suitcase.

I spent countless hours in the vast plaza, watching people come and go, listening to shouts from nearby bars during the Colombia v. Bolivia soccer match, seeing (and hearing) fireworks every day and night as a festival approached, and witnessing the slow growth of tents and carnival rides for the festival. Strangely enough, I missed the festival itself, having had no idea about it during the planning of my trip—and my departure date hit one day before the start.

One of my most-valued experiences on this trip, however, was a motorcycle ride out to Moniquirá and Arcabuco. As a passenger, I got to enjoy looking up at rich green canyons as we sped through them and had attractions pointed out to me on the way. That afternoon sits suspended in time in my mind. It may be one of the best travel experiences I’ve had in a while. And that’s saying something.

Golden Girl

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As long as I can remember, I’ve been a silver girl. While I adored gold jewelry, silver seemed to match my personality better and looked cool against my tanned skin. With my blonde hair, wearing gold always made me feel as obvious as the fiery sun—or even C-3PO.

A brief attempt to wear both metals together as a teenager was quickly quashed by my grandmother. “Never mix your metals,” she advised. It’s an old rule that’s flouted nowadays, but I can rarely attempt it without wanting to pull off offending pieces of jewelry moments later.

My nearly lifelong gold boycott came to an end on my recent trip to Colombia when I visited the Museo del Oro in Bogotá.

More than 55,000 pieces of pre-Hispanic gold artifacts are displayed at the museum. Exhibits range from metalworking, the use of gold in different Colombian cultures, and the significance of cosmology and symbolism to those cultures and how they translated in golden artifacts. But my favorite exhibit was the Offering Room, where I stood in darkness until a series of lights illuminated walls with gold pieces that had been tossed into lakes as offerings to the gods.

The glimmering artifacts are more seductive than overwhelming, and by the end of my visit, I fingered golden earrings in the museum shop with new eyes. They weren’t quite as delicate as my favorites from the museum’s collection, but my previous barriers against gold jewelry had been shattered and I bought a pair.

Now, I don’t care if they make me look like a golden girl.

Monkey Island

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The small bananas in the plastic bag looked a little like apple bananas. I couldn’t taste them, because they were for the monkeys.

“Hold the banana tightly, or they’ll take it,” said the guide. “As they eat the banana, move your fingers so they don’t bite you. You won’t need to peel it—they’ll do that.”

I thought it would be much easier than it was.

As we walked through the trees along the Amazon River in Colombia, excited squeaks came from every direction and tiny squirrel monkeys flooded down the tree trunks and ran behind me. The scene reminded me a little of the gang of flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz, but all cute instead of evil.

When I got to the spot where I could dig into the plastic bag for a banana, about 15 squirrel monkeys mobbed me. Their little feet felt cool on my hands, and they perched all over me: my head, shoulders, arms, hands, backpack, camera bag and camera. The monkeys weighed nearly nothing (fortunately) and they jumped on me trying to get to the banana I held tightly in my fingers.

I could feel their teeth nibble at my fingertips and tried to inch my fingers to the bottom of the banana so the nibbling wouldn’t turn into biting. But it was easier said than done, and once I loosened my grip on the fruit—it was gone.

Even with the absence of their meal, some squirrel monkeys remained perched on me. I tried talking with one sitting on my shoulder, and it stared at my mouth, possibly wondering what my sounds meant. Then, the monkey reached over and placed its hand on my lips. Shhh, no more talking.