To many foreigners, Colombia (or Locombia, the 'crazy land') was - and still is - the land of drug cartels and armed insurgents. But to dwell on these fading memories is like giving up on love because you once got turned down at the school dance. Colombia is a stunning and safe destination, ripe for exploration.
This wild and sprawling nation has everything: jungles, heritage, cuisine and a long Caribbean coastline, much of which has remained caught in a magical timewarp.
The country's principal novelist, Gabriel García Márquez, captures this magic perfectly in Love in the Time of Cholera when describing the city of Cartagena - "Cartagena stood unchanging at the edge of time… where flowers rusted and salt corroded, where nothing had happened for four centuries except a slow ageing among withered laurels”.
If I have a single defining memory of Colombia, it's the intense warmth of its people, strangers whom I met in the fog-bound streets of Bogotá, or when walking amongst brightly painted houses in the villages on Isla Providencia, and particularly when I toured around the poor areas of once drug-riddled city of Medellín (also known as the city of Eternal Spring and city of Beautiful Women) and met young and old who showed so much good cheer and strength; not just passing acquaintances, but people who became friends, who enlivened my trip, and who are a vivid metaphor for Colombia's meteoric change.
Held 30 July to 8 August, the Feria de las Flores, or the Flower Festival, in Medellín is a world-renowned festival which began in the 1950s. On the final day, a carnival procession of silleteros, huge wooden contraptions the size and weight of a dining table and covered in beautiful flowers grown in the local region, are strapped to the backs of locals and carried through the streets. Seeing the elderly and frail carrying these heavy objects on their backs is a moving and enduring metaphor for the strength and determination of this recovering nation. There is music and dancing and much celebration and a riot of colourful dancers and performers.
Previously, Medellín was one of the more dangerous areas in Colombia, where the majority of money was gained from the drug trafficking of cocaine. But the government, police and military have cleared out the drugs barons. Now, it's one of the major fashion locations with brands including Diesel Jeans being available for 70,000 pesos - less than £15. There are also some über-chic watering holes and places to stay. A day trip to the Pueblitos Paisas (Country Towns) is rewarding: in the cobbled marketplace of El Retiro, beneath the old church where the clock has stopped at 4, I see a rickety, brightly painted chiva (local bus), with wooden planks instead of seats and inside, the odd hen or goat, cigar-smoking cowboys and country yokels with sacks of corn. If the chiva is full, you can always rent a horse to get you to your destination.
For such a huge country, it's easy and cheap to get around by flight. I fly back to Bogotá and then onwards to the islands of San Andres and Providencia, 1000 miles northeast of Bogotá, actually closer to Nicaragua, but still part of Colombia.
Casa Harb on San Andres is the finest boutique hideaway in the islands and when I'm there, Colombian soccer superstar, Gato Perez, a Latino David Beckham, is staying there with his girlfriend. The place is a sort of tropical fusion of Asian and Caribbean styles, minimalist, but with a high level of design: 50 large glass globes, parcel-brown in colour, hang from wires in the ceiling, a huge arching lamp springs out of the floor at an angle I had hitherto considered ludicrous, there are frosted glass panes, white marble and vintage Balinese or Thai carvings, and everywhere the aroma of freshly peeled oranges. My room has a bed large enough for six, and my bathroom is all grey stone, pebbles and a glass screen beneath a waterfall-like shower.
On the nearby beach, there's not a Brit, European or American in sight, only Colombians, many of whom are strikingly beautiful - the women wear tiny candyfloss bikinis and the men all look like Enrique Iglesias.
People come here to beachcomb, dive (the coral reef is absolutely pristine), browse the arts and crafts shops and duty free shop. The island is flat, sandy and hot with good beaches and a number of unpopulated islands for day trips. At night, Sweet Mama's bar is the place to be, with reggae, blue lighting and Aguardiente Antioqueño, the local firewater, drunk from a small plastic beaker with salt around the rim, and a generous squeeze of lime straight in the mouth before swallowing. The island's food is equally good: red snapper, sliced in half, with lime and huge slices of yellow plantain that have been gently fried in nut oil.
If San Andres is all about modernity, Isla Providencia (or Old Providence) is the archetypal paradise island caught in a timewarp. Antigua, Barbados, St Lucia all must have been like this 30 years ago before their tourist invasion. I take a small twin-propeller plane from San Andres to Providencia. The island fits neatly into the plane windowas it is only 17 square kilometres, surrounded by other islands and cays. The plane touches down at a tiny airstrip that more resembles a country village hall from the 1950s, known locally as El Embrujo (The Enchantment) and covered in murals of traditional island scenes painted in the most vivid colours. Only two planes land here once a day, bringing a maximum of 19 passengers. Unlike San Andres, Providencia is a volcanic island. The single track road to Hotel Posada del Mar has grass growing in the middle and I get glimpses of the interior: steep, green and wild, and signs to villages with a piquant sound to their names, like Lazy Hill. There are no nightclubs or shops here, no mobile phone signals or Internet, only a wild, South Seas, plumy atmosphere. This is fledgling tourism at its best. The population of 4,700 survive on farming and fishing. Such is the lack of crime, they don't even have a single police officer or station.
At Santa Isabel, the main village, I bump into Wilberson Archibald. Born in 1937, he describes himself as a "maestro of the music", his folkloric music is sold all over Colombia. He sings in Spanish and Creole and plays the mandolin and the jawbone of a horse, to create a reggae-inspired, home-grown music.
I've visited paradise islands all over the world, but never have I seen such a dazzling chain of virginal beaches and islands, which can all be seen in one day by taking a boat tour with a local fisherman. Conservation is the keyword here and the islanders are fiercely protective of the place. Our boat has a specially-tuned, non-polluting engine. Heading clockwise around the island, we beach at Morgan Head and walk to the highest point, Fort Warwick, later called Forte de la Libertad, where canons dating from the 16th century point out to sea beside a statue of the Virgin Mary. It was here that English puritans and Spanish pirates landed.
Two of the most breathtaking spots on Providencia are Cray Cay, 2 miles offshore, which rises 16 metres out of the Macbean Lagoon. I kept asking "why is the lagoon called Macbean? Surely this is a Scottish name?". But the reason for the name is not known. The lagoon's shallow, turquoise waters, framed by the green mountains of the main island, are wildly beautiful.
I walk to the top of Crab Cay, stopping to pick mangos from the forest. The forest gives way to a pinnacle where I can see a 360 degree vista of what is known as El Mar de Siete Colores, the Sea of Seven Colours. I never knew such exorbitant shades of turquoise and jade existed on the colour spectrum. Later, I swim and snorkel over coral gardens with amazing visibility. It's utterly breathtaking.
Further round Providencia's coast, Bahia Manzanillo has fine white sand, palm trees bending over into the sea, and a ramble of bamboo shacks, hung with fishing buoys and nets. There's no-one here. I've got this whole earthly paradise to myself.
I finally visit the next beach, South West Bay that evening as the moon comes out. Richard Harkins, the owner of a lonely beach shack decorated with flickering lights, serves mojitos whilst we stare at a ceiling of stars rarely glimpsed elsewhere. Intrigued by my presence on the island, he comes and talks to me and tells me about his life. He is eloquent and talks about the peace of the islanders and their love of life and nature. They have no concerns with the outside world, only what happens on their small island.
Isla Providencia is not for everyone. If you're seeking nightlife, shopping, spa treatments and hedonism, go to Providencia's alter-ego island, San Andres. What Providencia is all about is the simple pleasures of nature, absolute relaxation, swimming and walking.
On my final morning on Providencia, before I fly back to San Andres and then onwards to Bogota, I swim at first dawn; on my way back I spot graffiti by local youths on the side of a beach shack. It's quite unlike any graffiti I've seen scrawled around urban Britain. Youths had written: 'Poetic Vibration', 'Just Can't Live that Negative Way', 'Make Way for the Positive Bay' and 'I Love Providencia'.
I could not agree more.
FACTBOX:
For more information about Colombia, visit www.colombiaespasion.com
Medellin Flower Festival: www.medellinflowerfestival.com
At the time of writing, Air France have flights from London via Paris to Bogota.
Birmingham-based Another World (who specialise only in Colombia) can help you book this trip (www.anotherworlduk.com, 0121 588 3827) or Journey Latin America (www.journeylatinamerica.co.uk)
