Pescaderito, near Curití

About half an hour by bus from San Gil is another nice little town, Curití. From here, it's three or four kilometres to Pescaderito, where a river tumbling down forms a series of pools, a popular destination for both locals and tourists, but much quieter during the week than on weekends. This was our destination on our last day at San Gil.

The road curved steadily uphill, until, after a brief descent, we entered Curití. Our plan was to take a tuk-tuk, or motortaxi, to Pescaderito; that way we had time and energy enough to walk upriver as far as we wanted. We could always opt for walking back to town after we were done.

I had just asked someone about the right way to the Pescaderito after we left the bus when a fully loaded tuk-tuk heading our way stopped. The driver called over that we should wait; he'd take us to the river right after he dropped off his load. Well, good. We used the wait to apply sun screen, and soon he was back, the back seat cleared for us. The road was paved for the most part, with little traffic, and only on the last few hundred metres of the way down pavement gave way to gravel with potholes, around which our driver manoeuvred skillfully. I asked to take a picture when I got out, and he asked me in turn to take a picture of his phone number displayed on the side of his vehicle; that way we could give him a call when we were finished with our hike, and he'd pick us up. I did, even though we weren't certain if we needed his services, but after he left we found that we didn't have reception anyway. 

 

Lots of these - a kind of vulture - everywhere we have been

We were told to take the trail to the right, which seemed to be the one most people followed, anyway. The river comes down through a narrow valley flanked by hills that looked relatively dry compared to the area around the waterfall we had visited the day before. To our right were fenced-in pastures (although I didn't see any animals), to the left, below us, the river, which runs fast and mostly shallow over smooth rock beds, except where it forms the pools Pescaderito is famous for. The first one, soon after we started, was a bit busy, but the further up we climbed the less people we saw. We met a young couple we had seen on the bus and a girl who we had passed with the tuk-tuk, who had stopped at a place where the trail narrowed even more and became a bit indistinct. They checked their GPS and weren't sure the trail continued, but we pushed on: we had come as much to hike as for the pools. 

I soon wondered if I would regret this decision: the trail narrowed ever more, hugging the hillside which was, although covered in vegetation, very steep. My old fear of slipping and heights was paying me a visit, and, while carefully setting one foot in front of the other, making sure I had secure footing, I was thinking of the way back already. Not a good idea! It creates more anxiety than necessary. 

The trail, while narrow, was firm, but I suppose the experience in the hills of New Mexico in the spring was still in my bones. In any case, I was glad when this passage ended and the hill below was a little less steep; now walking was more enjoyable for me again. We hadn't met anyone on this stretch anymore, even though the trail looked used, and the pools, far below us now, were empty. It seemed there was no easy way to access them from up here, and after a while we decided we had walked long enough. We took a little break and were just getting ready to turn around and walk to one of the more easily accessible pools when we heard voices right below us. A young couple emerged, and they urged us to go down to the river the way they had come up: no es difícil – it's not difficult – the girl assured us: short and steep, but completely doable, and muy lindo - very beautiful – down there. Well, if it was possible to go down, we would, of course, and after a few minutes we arrived at a secluded pool, surrounded by huge rocks. It was beautiful indeed. 

 

We spent some time down there, lying on the smooth rocks, Johann went for a swim (the water was not really warm), enjoyed some crackers and a mango from the tree at our hostal for lunch and listened to the muttering of frogs. There were human voices, too: a mother and her little boy, who was playing in the sand across from us with a dog, too far to hear what they were saying, but something in the cadence of the mom's voice made me imagine I heard German. This proved to be true when they went swimming and came closer. We asked how she had gotten to the beach, and she said there was a road from the other side, with a path quite a bit shorter and easier than the one on our side leading down to the water. She offered to take us back to town, but we declined: it would be easy enough to walk back, and we could do it on our own schedule. 

Climbing up the short, steep access was no problem at all, and soon we found ourselves back on the trail. For some reason the part I was expecting a bit anxiously didn't come; also, we thought the fence hadn't been running right beside us on the way up. It turned out that we had taken a different trail on our way back, higher up and a bit wider, the hill not so steep, and more used as well. The main trail branched right where we left the young people on the way up, but we hadn't registered that. 

By now even the more populated pools were empty, and when we arrived at the starting point no tuk-tuks were in sight. We walked along the quiet road, once in a while moving to the side for a passing truck or oncoming motorcycle, and were almost back in town when a small SUV stopped beside us: the young woman we had met earlier. Now, we accepted her offer to take us the rest of the way, and we went to a small cafe in town for a coffee (or, in Johann's case, a beer) and some pastry. It turned out that the young woman runs a tourist business with her Colombian husband, offering bike tours and canyoning in the area and a small hostel. They divide their time between Germany and Colombia, and we heard a bit about her life here, and the challenges they face in this competitive business. While we were talking a sudden downpour turned the road into a small river for a little while. The woman smiled: we need rain so badly, she said, every rain is welcome. Soon the sun promised to appear again, basking the curtain of water still falling in warm light, and just then the bus appeared right beside the cafe, too. A few kilometres down the hill the road was dry.

We were glad we had taken so much time in San Gil, to explore the surroundings a bit, see the different types of vegetation. We had only scraped the surface, I'm sure, but it was time to move on.