Colombia, 2017

If you can choose where to have a medical emergency on your birthday in a remote area populated by indigenous people, I highly recommend visiting a Wayuu tribe on the border of Colombia and Venezuela!

As part of an unexpected adventure, I have been on the back of dirt-bikes with my foot rapped in a blood-soaked tee-shirt tourniquet, riding across deserts in a 4x4, and otherwise trying to get back to a region with healthcare for the last two days.  I’m now at the Bogota airport with a red-eye flight heading back to the US in about 8 hours.

But first, more about the Wayuu ...  There are about 500,000 Wayuu who’s traditional dwelling are mud/stick huts with hammocks.  The Wayuu live in somewhat matrilineal clans that are isolated from each other to avoid mixing goat herds.  The men are either shepherds or fishermen and the women excel at weaving.  Their colorful mochila bags that can take months to hand weave from wool are highly sought after.  The Wayuu were never successfully subjugated by the Spanish and were particularly effective at burning down conquistador structures and learning how to master multi-thousand armed revolts without an organized military.  Failing at sword, the powers-that-be attempted to mollify the indigenous people through religion, which was ultimately successful, but took until 1942 (not to be confused with 1492) before western religions were somewhat adopted by the clans.

As luck would have it, there is a village called Cabo de la Vela with perfect kite surfing conditions in the heart of the Wayuu that is frequented by adventure-seeking backpackers.  The village is very simple, with most visitors choosing to stay in beautiful hammocks woven by the locals.  I was traveling 4-star, so I choose to stay in a hut.  It is positively charming being under a thatched roof with a 25 mph (40 kph) wind whistling by providing the perfect natural air conditioning for the desert clime.

 There are surely much more remote places, but when the local news of a nearby town leads with “authorities recuperate the 4 llamas” and the ‘fuel stations’ are children filling motorbikes with gasoline they store in soda bottles hanging from trees … it definitely feels like you are on the outer edge of the corporate universe.

I planned on staying in Cabo de la Vela for a week of kitesurfing, but one minute into my first refresher lesson, I sliced open my right foot walking out to sea, presumably on coral.  The wound is only around 3 inches (5cm), but it only took a few seconds before my entire right foot was a particularly winsome shade of crimson.  My instructor took all my kiting equipment and flew off for help.  I backstroked for the shore, and, after what seems like a long time on the beach alone, but was likely only a few minutes, a dirtbike came racing out road-warrior-style along the sand to my aid.  My foot was wrapped in Martin’s (the owner of the kite school) favorite tee-shirt (literally the-shirt-off-his-back) and he sped me off without me knowing where I was going.  I tried to elevate my foot as I bounced around on the back of the bike and I was brought to a 1-room ‘medical facility’ on the other side of the village.  After some holy-cow-that-hurts shots, I was given somewhere between 5 and 5 thousand stiches and was discharged.  The ‘staff’ only spoke Spanish, had to unlock a steal gate to let in the patient, and wore casual clothes, but it was my best option other than a multi-hour dirtbike ride, so I took it.  I was told not to walk for 5 to 10 days, but they had no crutches, so I just had to hop out of the building and get back into the dirt street and wait for Martin to return on his dirtbike.

Word of my poor luck traveled quickly and I was given somewhat of a hero’s welcome when I made it back to a very sympathetic kiting community.  I was plopped into a hammock, that I could not really get out of if I tried.  Well-wishers kept bringing me booze until I could not feel my foot throb.  I know this is not the best overall medical strategy, but it felt like the right choice at the time.

A very very special thanks to Vivian and Toby who waited on me hand-and-foot (no pun intended) for the 24 hours it took before a vehicle was found that could take me back across the desert to civilization.  Vivi is completing her medical studies and she and her boyfriend did a follow up extraction of some sea urchin spines I picked up throughout the drama.

In the last few days, I have been the lucky recipient of countless acts of human kindness.  From the owner of the kite surf school, to the taxi driver that called his cousins and found a way for me to get crutches, to Avianca airlines giving me a free first class upgrade, to the wonderful people in Bogota who have been wheeling me around the airport looking for vegetarian food options for my 12 hour layover, and a very special thanks to Vivian and Toby for taking such good care of me.

It has been a tough two days, but it was made so much easier with all the wonderful support I received from strangers along the way.  It was icing on the cake to receive so many birthday wishes when I made it to the airport and finally had internet again.  Thank you so much for reaching out!

Colombia, you kicked my ass this time, but I’m going to rest up and put up much more of a fight the next time I come back!

J Tony

Vivian and Toby performed a hut-call to remove sea urchin needles that were lodged in the bottom of my foot after my stiches were completed.  Vivi gave me a bottle of grappa to ease the pain, then exclusively spoke in German and until they were confident they got most of the needles out.  Not my favorite 10 minutes, but it was amusing that my doctor was wearing a bikini and insisting that I drink … I wish health care was more like this in the state 

Some 30 hours after my stitches and hopping around my hut, I was extremely happy that a taxi drove me across the desert for 2 hours to find me a pair of crutches and a modern hotel with internet so I could start planning my flights back.

The man on the right was my taxi driver who slammed a beer before the drive and stopped for beer breaks along the way to visit his friends while the passengers in his car waited in confusion.

The Wayuu desert is beautiful in its desolation.  Every now and then you would see a kid walking a goat in the middle of nowhere without a clue where he started and where he was going.

In other news, I went to a barbershop in Cusco, Peru.  The barber did not speak English.  I guess my broken Spanish must have translated to ‘please give me the South American soccer player doo’ … glad I stopped him before he shaved off the sides to complete the look :)