#60. Hiking in Colombia: 2 and 5 November 2025

When I first learned that the 2025 International Conference on Family Planning would be held in Bogota, I knew I had to attend, retired or not. I had begun my career in international health in Colombia. Several months after graduating from college in 1971, I was hired as a scientific editor for Tulane’s International Center for Medical Research and Training in Cali, Colombia. During that gap year, I was introduced to social science research in a developing country, and I met Bill Bertrand. The rest is history.

As I was making plans for the Bogota trip, a Colombian friend from our weekend Doggy Camp in New Orleans mentioned that she knew a guide who could set up for a hike outside Bogota. My request: a four-hour hike with a moderate level of difficulty not too far from Bogota. As it turned out, her friend Wilo was committed elsewhere that weekend, but he set up a great excursion with another guide Cristhian. Originally, Julie Hernandez and I planned to do the hike together, but when two other friends/colleagues got wind of it, they asked to join. Siri Wood and Jane Cover are fellow family planning specialists employed by PATH/Seattle, and Jane had been my advisee at Tulane in 1993.

The van picked us up at our respective hotels at 6:30 am, and we headed toward Subachoque, some 90 minutes north of Bogota. There we met Cristhian and fellow guide Angelika at the Plaza Central, the typical central square in front of a church that characterizes small towns throughout Latin America.

We stopped at a local panaderia, which offered excellent Colombian coffee and an overwhelming selection of pastries. The bill for seven people came to nine dollars, including tip. From there, we piled back into the van to ride the final 45 minutes to the trailhead. Destination: Cerro del Tablazo. 

The van advanced 20 yards before coming to an abrupt halt. “Llanta pinchada” (flat tire), the driver woefully announced. (No excursion would be complete without some drama.)

We all piled out.  Within seconds, Siri and Julie were on the ground, taking turns helping the driver to release the spare tire from under the back bumper. They soon got the message that societal norms did not favor having two tall gringas trying to help. Instead, Angelika disappeared, returning within 10 minutes with a local mechanic and large jack in tow. We were running on a tight schedule; Siri and Jane needed to get back to Bogota in time for their organization’s team dinner that night. But everyone stayed calm. Those who have spent their professional lives working in low-to-middle income countries take it in stride when things do not go as planned. 

Some 30 minutes later, with no visible progress on the tire repair, Cristhian retrieved his own 4-wheeler, and we drove off in that. The route to the trailhead took us along winding roads that brought back many memories of rural Colombia 50 years ago: fields planted with diverse crops, cows lined along the fences, a canopy of green encircling the highway.

We began the hike mid-morning. The early part of the trail took us past farms in small rural communities, where geese waddled, piglets grunted, chickens cackled, and cows stared us down. As we made our way up the hillside, several dogs joined us, hopeful for food and affection.

The weather was ideal for hiking: warm but comfortable, clouds protecting us from the sun. Soon we were high enough to look out over the rolling hills on the surrounding hillsides. A cloud of mist rose to partially block the valley behind us but remained at a distance. As we ascended, the trail became a bed of grey slanted boulders. The dogs bounced along at our heels.

Some two hours after the start, we reached the Cerro del Tablazo. We had seen the photos of the 500 ft vertical drop and respectfully kept our distance from the void. But who could resist the iconic photo from the top of a nearby ledge? 

On an adjacent ridge, a row of antennas marked the peak. We learned that in 1953, this was the site of one of the worst airline crashes in Colombian history. A plane carrying 53 people became engulfed in clouds, lost all visibility, and flew into the side of the mountain, killing all aboard. The antennas were later installed to prevent the repeat of such a tragedy.

To reach the antennas, we disappeared down a path through thick forest where twisted branches crisscrossed the trail, reminiscent of movies with jungle shots filmed in Colombia. We were engulfed by the emerald green foliage and moss.

The trail was steep and muddy, by far the most challenging part of the hike. We marveled that the dogs were able to scramble up over several steep and slippery parts of the trail. Yet it turned out their loyalty and interest in our group had its limits. When another set of hikers passed us on the way down, the dogs decided to throw in their lot with them.

We emerged from the jungle trail to an area with easy walking and clear visibility. Soon thereafter, we came to the snack bar, accessible by car. (The standard joke in such circumstances: why did we bother to hike it?) It was heartening to see locals enjoying the natural beauty that abounds in their country. The young woman in white spandex leggings and a black fishnet blouse made us look pretty dowdy in our loose-fitting REI clothing. We settled down on a set of logs to consume the sandwiches and snacks that we’d brought along. A new crew of dogs immediately surrounded us, eagerly waiting for any part of our lunch we were willing to part with.

Rather than retracing our steps, we followed the gravel road down the mountain, happily arriving within an hour to the spot where the van – with tire now repaired – was waiting for us. On the trip back to Bogota, we stopped again at the central plaza of Subachoque and treated ourselves to fresh maracuya juice, one of my personal favorites, and other Colombian delicacies. Back on the road, we caught up on family news and professional gossip. Siri and (the other) Jane had both survived the demise of USAID, despite devastating funding cuts to PATH’s work in international reproductive health (as had occurred throughout the sector with the dismantling of USAID). Julie was spared by having funding from the Norwegians. Sufficiently engaged were we in these conversations that we were almost surprised to find ourselves back in Bogota. Yes, Siri and Jane did make it back in time for their team dinner. And I could check off excursion #60.

*************

I had not anticipated the lagniappe hike in Bogota. Earlier in the week, Julie had gotten up early and run up Monserrate, the highest point point in Bogota recognizable from locations across the city by the white church at the summit. The historic sanctuary affords a panoramic view of the city. She encouraged me to give it a try. (Less ambitious tourists can take the cable car [funicular], which ascends the hillside at an 80 degree angle.)  So, when another conference goer/former Tulane faculty member/longtime friend Ilene Speizer mentioned she was going to do it, I invited myself to join her.

On a Tuesday, I was out of bed and into an Uber by 5:45 am, to meet up with Ilene and another friend/colleague, Ndola Prata. At that hour of the morning, it took the Uber less than 15 minutes to reach the start of the stone walking path, and it took us less than one minute to learn that the route was closed on Tuesdays for maintenance.

Not to be deterred and with a better command of requesting an Uber with three stops, we tried again the next day. The 1.5 mile trail to the top consists of 1605 stone steps. Bogota is already at an altitude of 8660'; the trail adds an additional 1700' gain in elevation, with the summit at 10,340'.

Although the distance was far shorter than the hike three days earlier, the steep ascent offered plenty of physical challenge. I had miscalculated the difficulty and now wished I had not left my Nuun electrolyte tablets back in the hotel room.

Many people – young and old, almost all local – were on the trail. One young man mentioned that he did this walk twice a week. Women hawked cold water, fresh fruit, soft drinks, and snacks from stalls along the side of the path.

Faster walkers frequently passed us on the way up, several offering words of encouragement when they saw us stopping to catch our breath. Several wooden signs along the trail indicated the percent completed, allowing us to gauge our progress to the top.

Some two hours after we started, we found ourselves at the summit of Monserrate. We milled around with many others: those who had walked up and those who arrived on the funicular. Many were taking photos, others massaging their sore muscles.

We snapped a few photos, then began the walk down. Ever mindful of my bum knee, I crept down the stone steps with heavy reliance on my trekking poles. Despite my slow pace, we managed to get down in an hour and find an Uber for the three hotel stops back. Better yet, Ilene made it back in time for her 10 am session at the International Conference on Family Planning.

************