In which Roz learns a sartorial horse riding lesson and we flee a siege

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, we were introduced to a cowboy-esque man called Raoul and led through the town square to where three big brown horses were tethered. Oh yes, it was time for a horse riding extravaganza in the countryside around Villa de Leyva. Despite both of us being incompetent on a horse, we are repeatedly drawn to this... Our incompetence was immediately apparent in the form of Roz's choice to wear three quarter-length trousers. While I trotted (walked) along, gazing at the beautiful hills and villages and weird desert-ish this-was-once-the-ocean-bed, Roz was having all the skin rubbed off her inner calves. Twenty minutes into the ride, I heard a bravely concealed whimper. But at our first stop, a bright turquoise pond (sights around Villa de Leyva are a tad quirky), it was clear something had to be done. Inspiration struck in the form of both of our shirts. One per leg, we stuck her calves through the armholes, tied them up, and created a fetching image of a wounded war hero staggering from the battlefield with makeshift bandages over her wounds. Our hitherto Spanish speaking guide felt moved to break into English for a sardonic "sexy!" comment. But Roz's pain was sorted, we learned a key lesson about riding garb, and it was on to the next 'sight'. 

This one was rather good - being the sea bed millions of years ago, the area is home to large numbers of fossils... Including two cool large aquatic dinosaurs! We may have been the only visitors at the dinosaur museum but I feel I was sufficiently nerdy to be gratifying to the many people manning the door. Onward to an astronomical, Stonehenge-ish site from the time of the indigenous Musica tribe, a field full of stone calendars and penises. Again, odd but cheery...

We trotted cheerfully back into town in the sunshine, having had what we did not yet know were our last few minutes of ignorant bliss. Indeed, we went to Van Gogh's cafe for arepas, sandwiches and juices, and cheerily read our books, til we returned to the hotel to ask their advice for how to get to Bogota airport the day after tomorrow. There was but one answer: you can't! 

When we took the bus to Villa de Leyva, the bus station people had confusingly told us there might not be any buses, but there turned out to be one. Then when it was late, the word 'blocados' was used, which was not in my Spanish lexicon. It now transpired that we had taken one of the last buses to Villa de Leyva before all the roads were closed by blockades created by farmers and others protesting free trade agreements with EU and US (and various other things). Indeed, while we'd been sipping beers and playing with horses, the country was experiencing one of its biggest protests, with the roads blocked since Monday! We went down to the bus station to check and were advised that all buses were cancelled - indefinitely. But we were treated to a TV news programme depicting the protestors, blockades, fires, police in hardcore riot gear and alarmingness. We decided to hope for the best and maybe it would clear.

It didn't, and we soon became panicky that we might be trapped in Villa de Leyva for the rest of our holiday! And even worse, the closed roads had led to the closure of most restaurants, namely the fancy ones we'd specifically planned to enjoy while in the town. So we flew our kite, and retired to Antika for a drink and to recover ourselves. We debated what to do. Then we realised we had more urgent needs: dinner! With all the cool restaurants closed, we searched for something that didn't involve molten cheese and managed a vegetables and noodles dish which was, well, satisfactory. Followed by an early night as everything else was closed. 

We were up early the next day - or I was, walking down to the bus terminal for news. There was no news and definitely no buses, so we both laced up our hiking boots and set off on the second trip we'd booked: hiking to waterfalls and the angel steps. This was quite a delightful trip with a very pleasant guide. We drove into the countryside and to a waterfall. Or rather to the entrance to a long, jungly walk / climb down to a waterfall, with our ecologist guide trying to teach us the names of plants. It was beautifully picturesque, and of course we were the only ones there. After climbing down to the waterfall, our guide had clearly only just begun. What commenced was an extravaganza of rock climbing / canyoning that took us into the big cave behind the waterfall, a sacred place to the area's indigenous people. Great fun! 

After we got ourselves back up to the road, narrowly missing headbutting a wasps' nest, our next stop was the angel steps, a long, narrow, elevated path between two deep canyons. Good fun and great views - the countryside is lovely here. Then en route back we diverted down into one of the canyons for more rock climbing / canyoning fun as we followed the almost dried-up river along for a good while, reveling in having the place to ourselves. We were sorry to return to town, but with a flight to Cartagena booked for the following day, clearly something had to be done about our current besieged state! 

Our afternoon was spent in a whirl of stressful attempts to arrange to leave Villa de Leyva, a dream that seemed perplexingly impossible. The protestors (for whom everyone seemed to have sympathy) had blocked every road, and while apparently they were making a point rather than trying to harm anyone, there was a rough element and there were various clashes with police, and all the roads had been closed. Literally trapped! Without gourmet food too! At first our driver from our tour suggested he might drive us for a hefty fee. With buses discontinued indefinitely this seemed a good idea, but then he lost his nerve and started procrastinating, saying he'd drive us at 3pm, then 5pm, then the following morning. Time was running out. Everyone said we were doomed to miss our flight and should just accept staying in Villa de Leyva which was starting to lose its charm... We briefly considered chipping in for a helicopter being organized by the hotel manager for various rich people who wanted to get back to Bogota (the blockade has no clear end), but this seemed a bit extreme (ie expensive and mad!). With an agreement that our tour driver would call at 5am the following day to confirm he was coming at 5:30, Roz and I settled down to some games of pool (she won all but one and was very smug indeed) and a quest for dinner. Shock horror, our old staple Antika was closed! So, of course, were all the gourmet restaurants. The place was becoming a bit of a ghost town. But then, hooray, a pizza place we'd previously discounted for looking grim was open, warm, and welcoming. We ordered beers and spaghetti with pesto and passed a short but pleasant dinner planning a book blog I'm going to start writing! Before a final couple of games of pool (which Roz would like to point out that she won), and off to bed with our alarm set to 5am.

Sadly I awoke at 4am, and while Roz slumbered sweetly, I embarked on a depressing effort to get us to Bogota Airport in time for our flight. Yesterday's driver proved elusive; upon eventually contacting him, it transpired he had lost his nerve and would not drive us, and so I had to be my most sweet and charming to the hotel's night watchman to get him to call every driver he could think of until, hooray, one finally said yes!

By this time it was 6.15am so I woke up Roz, we threw on our clothes, and dashed to the car before our new driver could change his mind. As we drove along, the remnants of the protests were obvious, though it was early enough that the protestors themselves were still in bed. In many places the road was blocked by purposefully fallen trees. Undeterred, our driver went off-road and got round them all. After an hour, we swapped to a different driver, who was lovely, spoke English, and considered getting us to our plane on time a delightful personal challenge. (Everyone in Colombia seems mortified that this has happened - apparently highly unusual). We drove on, past embers and cleared blockades. We stopped to ask locals about the situation and took detours to avoid any blocked roads, fire, or jaggy things that punctured tires. We were making good progress til a flaming tire in the road and some protestors (who were very pleasant other than not wanting us to carry on down the road) forced us up onto little mountain paths, past little homesteads and farms that likely rarely see a town car. We popped back onto the road, passed quite a number of police in riot gear awaiting a protest that had not yet got out of bed, and delightfully, the rest of the road had been cleared. We made it to Bogota Airport with time to spare, and much delight. And I write this while waiting for our plane to board. Goodbye besieged mountain town, hello UNESCO Caribbean city!