There was so much fog that the flight from Bogota was expected to be delayed. But I was lucky. The fog lifted unexpectedly and the sun broke through. I looked down from the plane window: green hills, one after another. Where do we land, I wondered.
Then the plane made two more turns, descended rapidly and ensconced itself on a narrow stretch on the flattened section of a hill. The picturesque La Nubia airport. I was finally in Manizales.
Then the plane made two more turns, descended rapidly and ensconced itself on a narrow stretch on the flattened section of a hill. The picturesque La Nubia airport. I was finally in Manizales.
As the small Avianca plane taxied to a stop, I trudged out, MacBook in hand, to the tiny airport. It is an informal place, and Faby came forward and kissed me. Radiant in her crisp white dress, smiling, she was a sight for sore, sleep-deprived eyes. She didn’t even say she was pleased to see me, but led me wordlessly to the café next door. The latté had a few drops of cream in a tree design and the coffee tasted simply ambrosial.
I am used to large cities, crowded streets, noisy markets. Manizales felt like an escape. The fact that I didn’t have a car, wasn’t renting one, added to a sense of freedom. I could walk aimlessly, look at things, watch people, smell the air and look at the sky. And the air was clean, the sky clear and cloudless. Manizales may be in the tropics, but its high altitude guarantees a temperature between 50 ̊ and 70 ̊ throughout the year.
I am used to large cities, crowded streets, noisy markets. Manizales felt like an escape. The fact that I didn’t have a car, wasn’t renting one, added to a sense of freedom. I could walk aimlessly, look at things, watch people, smell the air and look at the sky. And the air was clean, the sky clear and cloudless. Manizales may be in the tropics, but its high altitude guarantees a temperature between 50 ̊ and 70 ̊ throughout the year.
Two main thoroughfares, Santander and Paralela, span the small town, 200 square miles, west to east. Faby’s apartment, in the third floor of a modern building on Paralela, was bright and airy, and I chose a living room corner as my study. From there I could see the busy street corner, the buses and rushing taxis, a chinese restaurant and computer shop around the bend, and the steady stream of vendors, workers, secretaries. As the dusk settled, Faby brought me a glass of Chardonnay.
The next morning I woke early and, keen to explore the city, stepped out for a long walk. From a corner store I picked up newspapers El Espectador and La Patria, even a local sheet Nuevo Estadio, and settled down in a modest streetside café.
The next morning I woke early and, keen to explore the city, stepped out for a long walk. From a corner store I picked up newspapers El Espectador and La Patria, even a local sheet Nuevo Estadio, and settled down in a modest streetside café.
“En que puedo servirle?” The tall café owner towered over me. I like the polite hispanic way of asking for an order: how can he help me? My need is modest. All I want is a large mug of coffee with two shortbread cookies.
“Gracias!” One sip of scalding coffee and I know I am sitting in the very heart of the world’s most popular coffee zone. Colombia is, of course, the world’s largest producer of high-quality arabica-bean coffee. Legend has it a Monsignor Romero absolved confessing parishioners only if they agreed to plant coffee, for he considered Colombian coffee fit for the saints. Caldas was the historic departamento that became a center of cultivation and Manizales is its capital. Any bistro in Manizales will serve you a ‘saintly’ cup at a moment’s notice.
It must have been a coffee high, for I took two wrong turns, and by the time I returned Faby was near certain that I had ended up in a hospital. Probably to atone for my waywardness, she took me promptly to the town’s most famous spot, its Gothic cathedral, the basilica of Our Lady of the Rosary. Famous for its majestic canopy, handiwork of French architect Julien Polti, I was equally impressed when Olivia took me to its terrace restaurant for wine and a quiche. It was a lovely day as I stood on the balcony and the sun shone brightly on the Bolivar Plaza below where children played.
“Gracias!” One sip of scalding coffee and I know I am sitting in the very heart of the world’s most popular coffee zone. Colombia is, of course, the world’s largest producer of high-quality arabica-bean coffee. Legend has it a Monsignor Romero absolved confessing parishioners only if they agreed to plant coffee, for he considered Colombian coffee fit for the saints. Caldas was the historic departamento that became a center of cultivation and Manizales is its capital. Any bistro in Manizales will serve you a ‘saintly’ cup at a moment’s notice.
It must have been a coffee high, for I took two wrong turns, and by the time I returned Faby was near certain that I had ended up in a hospital. Probably to atone for my waywardness, she took me promptly to the town’s most famous spot, its Gothic cathedral, the basilica of Our Lady of the Rosary. Famous for its majestic canopy, handiwork of French architect Julien Polti, I was equally impressed when Olivia took me to its terrace restaurant for wine and a quiche. It was a lovely day as I stood on the balcony and the sun shone brightly on the Bolivar Plaza below where children played.
Then we took the aerial tram to visit the next town of Villamaria. Gliding on a cable in the air, the gondola is spacious and transparent, and you see below the expanse of the town up to the horizon. When we reached, we loitered, looked at a few of the many shops and then decided to try a busy restaurant in the city center.
Julio’s was a modest restaurant with a midday crowd. We ordered some arepas of cheese and yuca, and washed it down with a smoothie called Lulada. I still longed for some coffee and Faby ordered a cup for me.
The dusk was settling as we headed for the aerial tramway. The gondola lifted high above the little town, the orange rays reflected on Faby’s silver necklace, my iPhone clicked to capture a fleeting scenario, and I was on my way home, temporary but cozy and welcome.
Julio’s was a modest restaurant with a midday crowd. We ordered some arepas of cheese and yuca, and washed it down with a smoothie called Lulada. I still longed for some coffee and Faby ordered a cup for me.
The dusk was settling as we headed for the aerial tramway. The gondola lifted high above the little town, the orange rays reflected on Faby’s silver necklace, my iPhone clicked to capture a fleeting scenario, and I was on my way home, temporary but cozy and welcome.
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