First report of my Colombia Trip (Part One)
I will begin by explaining the state of the situation now.
First, I have an unfortunate situation. Just as in my multi-town trip I made around Cuenca, I now have 100’s of interesting clips. I don’t have the skill or experience to quickly go through those to be able to assemble them into something meaningful. So my video process will take some time and may not get much of it posted for a week or two. For every ten minute video, it takes me about 5 hours to prepare. I have enough for 3 or videos now, and unless I want to spend all my time here at the computer, I will have to wait. That means nothing but more clips, so by the time I return I will have a week’s full-time job. Why do I do this to myself!?
My trip began with a bus ride to Cuenca to meet my friend to give her my house keys, then catch a bus to Quito purchased days before. I arrive in Cuenca late, as the bus I rode was the slowest I had ever been on. He stopped for anyone he saw on the road, and a 40-minute trip at best became an hour and 10 minutes. Instead of taking the bus all the way to the terminal, I decided to jump out (at the south end of town) and grab a taxi. At least a taxi won’t be stopping, right? He might as well have. During rush hour traffic instead of driving the 6 lane road around town, he decides to drive through it. We zigzagged around the town, locating every traffic back up and stop light that existed. He was very skilled at finding those. The taxi took triple the time it should have. I had gotten my connection on the phone (I lose it between Giron and Cuenca) and I was busy responding to a number of things. I hadn’t noticed what the guy had done until we were in the thick of it. So my friend, doing me a big favor, was sitting waiting at the bus station for the keys for… well, let’s just say a very long time. The truth is too painful to say out loud.
I go outside and find my bus. It was supposedly the “queen of the fleet”. It must have been a very old queen, monarch of a very tiny country. What was supposed to be a comfort-filled express bus to Quito was no more than a typical bus with all the stops included, no charge. It was one of those buses with no leg room, and I’m only 5’10”. By the time we arrived in Quito, I wanted to scream, my legs hurt so bad. I’m already beat up pretty good and the trip barely began. So the bus stops at the terminal. It is 2:30 AM. I ask the driver if this was his last stop and he said yes. I ask if this was the only terminal in town and he said yes. Neither was true.
I hoist my over heavy, very large backpack, and stagger with my broken legs inside. I find two rows of ticket offices, but I cannot find the direct bus by Ruta de America or Ormenez. Two luxury lines, that carry you through the border without stops along the way, all the way to Cali. Not there. I ask a security man, and he takes me over to the local bus that goes to Tulcan. This is a small city near the border. This means changing buses, and a long walk across the border late at night on broken legs. I explain what I need, and they tell me it doesn’t exist in that terminal. I might want to go to the North terminal! So they sell me a $1.25 ticket to go north. I wait an hour on a rickety smelly bus (should I mention the sticky seats?) then we drive… another hour. We drive through the ugliest part of town, that for mile after mile has all the appearance of a bombed out city. This is not the Quito people talk about, or that I saw before. This is the part of town you stay clear of, and it goes on forever. We arrive at the North terminal. It is now about 3:30 AM.
I had this vision in my head (please, never have visions, it is too disappointing) of this sparkling shiny terminal, stocked with double-decker high rise sleeper buses. Nope. No terminal to speak of, more like a big parking lot with a row of wooden shacks. I find one of the only ticket offices open and go through it again. And again I am told, only buses to Tulcan. No big bus. I am then told if I want that, I need to go to the terminal in the south. Are you SERIOUS? Well, yes, he was very serious. So I had a choice. Go to Tulcan or return to the station I just left. OK, so let’s go to Tulcan, at least I’ll be closer. Another mistake.
I thought I had been on the worst bus ever. God really does have a sense of humor. He was certainly setting me straight on how bad a bus could be. There were more broken seats than good ones. I sat down in a half-broken seat and had to turn my legs to the side. Absolutely no room behind the seat ahead. If you are 5’4″ maybe, but for me… not happening. So I figure no problem, I can sit sideways. But the bus is filling. And filling. Until I have the last seat left. Here comes a big fat woman to sit next to me. Apparently, she also had been traveling and she wasn’t the freshest rose in the bush. To be fair, I was a bit ripe by now, and she had to sit next to a fat man. Poor us! She noticed my leg situation and turned sideways to use some isle. Or I prefer to think that. In truth, she was probably turning away from what must have been my stench. It didn’t help the bus reeked as well. So another… I don’t know now, maybe 6-8 hours? It felt a lifetime. We arrive in Tulcan.
It is now about 9:30 AM. I had done some reading before my phone died about the border. I read a travelers post. How it is so easy, you simply walk out of the town across a short bridge and arrive in Colombia Immigration. The Ecuador Immigration is right on its side of the bridge. All true, but he left out the part of the 15-minute taxi ride from the terminal, with a big habit of overcharging tourists and taking a long way around. Yes, I knew it was happening but after all those hours in pain and nausea, I wasn’t in the mood to argue. It may have become violent. Before I cross I must tell you the rest of the story about that bus from Quito. It had broken rear springs. It banged on every bump. When it wasn’t banging, it would lurch up and down like some sick perverted sex machine (without the sex of course), making loud “ERRRR EKKKKK ERRR” squeaking noises. The ride was actually a pounding. No, I am NOT exaggerating.
At this point, you must be thinking, “He sure does complain a lot”. I am aware that is how it sounds. But in reality, I am being quite honest. Yes, I am grateful I am alive, and at least I HAVE legs. I get that. It was still hell on earth. I really can’t write flowers and rainbows, and then when you make the trip, expect that. Given any ONE issue, it would be no big deal, but so far every waking moment (because you can’t sleep in that situation) was torturous. Why oh why didn’t I fly?
So Immigration was a breeze. HOWEVER… as I am crossing the bridge in my haze, I notice a mob. I mean hundreds if not thousands of people. Then I see the police. And the military. Then I notice the chanting and soon shouting, then a bull horn. I am awakened from my daze and focus on what is happening. Body armor. Clear riot shields… Lines of officers formed. Waving signs. I walked into a huge protest. The Ecuador side of the bridge had a line of police and shields with nightsticks, maybe 20 of them. As I got to the Colombia side, There were HUNDREDS of police, as well as hundreds more military. Body armor on the hands, arms, legs, the body of each one, all in black, Machine guns, M4’s and even a few Barrett sniper rifles.
They were quite friendly, smiling and waving at me as I walked past. “Buenas Dias”! a few shouted. They were making a point to keep everything friendly. The best I could tell was an issue about Education and Gasoline. I would find soon the reason for so many protesting. I did not get a good video of the event at all. A missed opportunity. I was just dazed on my feet, still numb, no sleep and in a fog.
After I get through both immigration (lines went very quickly no hassle from either side. I will note that the Ecuador side was quite run down and dirty and the workers were very sullen. The Colombia side was a beautiful building with a courtyard, and all the workers were smiling. In fact, they were so friendly I was uplifted a bit. There is also a good reason for that, and having been away from Colombia for 15 years I had forgotten.
It all came flooding back in my next installment.
(Update many months later… The next trip I learned from all my mistakes and now know what buses to take and how. I made the trip six more times and we’re all good)