Hey, how ya lookin' southbound...

No sign of Michael Douglas jumping around with shotgun in hand or seducing Kathleen Turner in his white linen getup, the suavé that he is. No sign of the pair of them sliding down muddy waterfalls or running from Colombian druglords. Maybe most disappointing of all, no sign of wee Danny DeVito tootling around in his little beige Renault 5...
Despite the lack of Romancing the Stone evidence, Cartagena still captured both of our imaginations as soon as we arrived and took a taxi into the centre around midnight. Here we are in Colombia, mixing it with the big boys...

The old town of Cartagena sits, like Troy, protected behind a huge wall, due to varying levels of nonsense from pirates and the Spanish in years gone by. As we drove along past the wall, lit up churches and ornate looking towers peeked out over the top, firing up a thirst for our first explore on Colombian soil.

Wandering around the twisty streets, leafy plazas and amazing looking buildings the next day was a perfect way to absorb some of the energy of the city. Of course our arrival in a new country would not be complete without a television appearance of some sort, so after five minutes of talking to to a tourism officer about the grace, passion and heart of Colombia he asked if we'd like to record an interview about our feelings towards the country. "Only been here about ten hours and spent most of them sleeping but yeah, sounds hilarious..."

I don't know whether it was Woody's in-depth appreciation of Shakira's back catalogue (both English and Spanish versions) or the illustrious career of Pedro Nel Gomez, or my knowledge of Colombian singing sensation Juanes and his hit single "La Camisa Negra" ("The Black Shirt". G. Weir, I will be eternally grateful for your musical enlightenment - the tourism officer couldn't believe his ears when I gave him a few lyrics). Either way, he wanted to capture us for posterity. So there we are, giggling like a couple of schoolgirls, in the middle of the square talking the biggest load of nonsense about how we thought Colombians were all really lovely and how we basically thought that Colombia was the best country since sliced bread........or SlicedBreadovia as it was formerly known.

Took a stroll up to Castillo San Felipe which is a huge fort overlooking the old tow, complete with cannons and a series of spooky tunnels. I'm convinced this is where Kathleen Turner smashes that guy's head in with a lantern and feeds him to an alligator. Rachel, not so much... We headed back to the old town and up to the high city walls where we sat on a cannon and had a beer looking out at the sunset over the waves as kite-boarders glided along the water, occassionally whipping into the air when the mood so struck them. Cartagena: Making romance easy since 1533.

After a couple of days in the city we were hungry for a taste of Colombian countryside - so naturally we headed for another city. Santa Marta, the jumping off point for visits to Parque Nacional Tayrona, and more importantly the birthplace of fuzzy-headed football legend Carlos "El Pibe" Valderrama. Convenience was the main factor in our stay here, as we could sleep cheap and day trip to Tayrona and the little beach town of Taganga. Conveniently it was also Woody's 26th birthday - making her a Cougar and a cradle-snatcher, and me a grave-robber and toyboy all in one fell swoop. Perfect.

Tayrona sits on the Caribbean coast and as well as being rich in wildlife has one of the sexiest beaches I've ever laid my little peepers on. Crashing waves of pure blue surround strange circular rock formations that you can climb up on and survey the deserted beach for a good mile to the East. Definitely one of the most peaceful places I've ever been in my entire life, although perhaps this was heightened by the drama of the preceding hour or so...

Walking, the two of us, through the forest, minding our own business when surrounded we were by about a dozen little Geoffroy's Tamarin monkeys. Unnervingly, these strange and inquisitive creatures stared down at us from the trees with beady eyes, surveying our every move. Having seen how irritated these wee guys can get when they were trying to grab my camera at the wildlife sanctuary in Boquete, I was aware that there were no cages and I doubt a bite from one these chaps would be all sunshine and Skittles. But they were cool - they just got bored of our white little faces and eventually scampered off. No sooner were we round the next corner than we were faced by some other charging mammal. At first we thought it was a wild boar in for the kill, but turned out 'twas only an agouti (big guinea pig) galloping along the path with its head down. There was a shriek (either from me, Woody or the agouti) and it abruptly changed direction, vanishing in seconds. Down the next hill we encountered a huge spider, about the biggest I've seen with my own two. As Woody quickly changed lenses and snapped away, I gave serious thought to poking it with a long stick to see what would happen. In the end I thought it unwise - it looked fast with sharp legs and I reckon a bit of a mean streak.

Then came the piece de résistance, the real birthday treat for Woody. In my blurred memory I can only remember seeing a sort of muddy hive-like structure in the ol' peripherals, before feeling a shooting pain on my wrist and hearing Rachel utter the immortal words "Oh Jesus fuck they're in my hair! Run Todd, run!" At this moment my trusty flipflops decided to relieve themselves of footwear duties (flipflops in the jungle - learn your lesson, Whiteford) and as I stopped to fix them I felt another nip on my arm and one on my chest. I looked down - I didn't see bees or wasps or hornets, just flies. We couldn't tell what they were, little black demons - the Devil's ladybirds. They looked exactly like ordinary houseflies but with a set of pincers, like a mantis, and barbs on their legs which dug in upon landing. These flies could not be swatted off, they had to be pulled (with not inconsiderable force) from the skin, whereupon they would sometimes leave their dirty little legs or heads still lodged in! What followed was a cross between the leeches scene in 'Stand By Me' and any episode of 'The Three Stoodges'. Frantic slapstick violence in the removing of insects and clothes simultaneously (as I held Woody's top to my ear I could hear the sound of buzzing from within, like a miniature hive) yelping and many an utterance: "Ow, oh you fuckin' wee bastard!" We ran up the hill, taking the rest of them with us still stuck on our clothes before escaping the majority and mercilessly killing the rest. Rachel threw her top away in the bushes, and in true 'Stand By Me' style I had to reach into my lucky reindeer boxers and remove one intrepid explorer before he did us both a mischief. Who knows what the people standing atop the hill thought of us when we came panting up, red faced, half naked with scratch marks and tousled hair... Happy Birthday Woody - from me to you!

To continue the birthday weekend we headed to Taganga. Despite sounding like a James Bond villain, it's really rather nice... It's nothing but beach town, but with a cactus filled clifftop walk we were able to find a quiter beach to swim away from the hordes. We both agree that the walk back along the cliff in Taganga was the hottest we've ever experienced in any country. "No, Mr. Bond - I expect you to fry"... We had a fair few birthday beers before heading back to the strange little city of Santa Marta for a birthday meal courtesy of Linda Whiteford (fanks mum).

Santa Marta is a weird little town - on one street there's a really attractive square with good trees and interesting statues and all sorts of tributes to the founder of the town Rodrigo de Bastidos (which I think we've accurately translated as Roger the Bastard) and then on the next street over there are some of the weirdest prostitutes known to man. One night we were having a few birthday beveridges on the beachfront when a loud gunshot - more of a "crack" than a "bang" - echoed out on the other side of the street. A group of young boys scattered, but not before a policeman dutifully ran over and bopped one of them on the face. As this character was being taken into custody a huge crowd formed. People were literally sprinting from streets away to come and see what had happened. There doesn't seem to be the same sense of respect for authority as there is back home - this cop had no control of the crowd as they hassled him and each other until his backup arrived. Scary stuff.

Colombians are a strange bunch of people so far. Some seem to find us amusing. Some really can't be bothered with us at all. Some will smile and say hello. Some seem to go out of their way to be rude. Some are helpful above and beyond. Some wave us away without a word. They ALL stare. I'm generally of the opinion that Rachel could walk down any street on the planet and be stared at - she tends to have that affect on red-blooded males and lesbians, so it doesn't surprise me that in hot blooded Latin America she is an object of desire for many. Imagine Woody walking down a crowded street in slow motion, with the Isley Brothers' "Who's That Lady" playing in the background. Men fall off bicycles, women walk into lamp posts, open mouthed children drop ice creams, all craning their necks to get a look. Seriously, that's us walking down a Colombian street. What does surprise me is the sheer volume of stares, the length of the stares and the complete lack of subtlety that we both are experiencing. I genuinely don't think we look that out of place - we're lighter than some Colombians and we're darker than some others, we do the same sorts of things "Hey, we're all on a bus! Hey, I'm drinking a beer! Hey, we're riding on the subway!" It can be a very disconcerting thing. It bridges the gap between being a bit irritating and making you feel nervous - a sensation I like to call "Parannoying". Of course, it's their own culture and we're visitors here to experience that, but so far it seems that Colombians all love a good ol' stare and they don't care who knows it.

In more uplifting news I've found a cheap alternative to Irn Bru - for Colombia at least. It's a little sugary delight called Colombiana and it's pretty close. Definitely not the real thing. In fact, at this point it's kind of like offering a tweaking junkie a cup of coffee...But hoep remains strong for a solid alternative. Nature will always find a way. I think it was Jeff Goldblum who said that.

An epic bus journey brings us to former cocaine capital of the world Medellin. Coke kingpin Pablo Escobar ran his powerful cartel from here, before going on the run for 499 days - finally he was tracked down here and killed in 1993. He'd have gotten away with it too, if it hadn't been for those Medellin kids....
Despite the rep, Medellin is a vibrant, cultural city and has been a great place to spend a few dizzles. It sits in a valley, which is spectacular on the way in on the bus, and seems to sprawl as far as the eye can see up the valley walls. We took a cable car up over the barrios for a great vista of the city - never seen anything like it. Red brick houses are crammed in all over the place, leading your eye eventually to the cathedrals and skyscrapers of the city centre, before back to the red brick barrios on the other side, fading into the distance. Generally enjoying the relaxed atmosphere here, rare in a city of almost 4 millions. Dipped our feet in the Parque de los Pies Descalzos - a park designed with the express purpose of relaxing your feet with a mixture of marble, sand and cool water pools. Just the ticket, all this flip flop nonsense is taking its toll. Strolled around the botanic gardens, visited the Museo de Pedro Nel Gomez where there was an excellent exhibition of Colombian portraiture photographs. Found a Scottish pub of all things, but no real Irn Bru - false advertising if ever I've seen it.

Southbound we are, down the continent we go like a pair of sparrows flying South for the winter. Next stop Cali - plastic surgery capital of the world and for that reason apparently home to the world's most beautiful women. Yeah, then we'll see who's a person that stares and who's a person that........doesn't really stare.........all that much......