Second Installment of Colombia Trip (Part Two)
As I left the Immigration office and was welcomed by a number of people to Colombia, I looked for the promised buses. Perhaps due to the protest, or perhaps because they never were, the buses didn’t exist there. Ahead lay a fairly steep hill with a steady stream of thousands coming down. I decide to start hiking and look for an ATM along the way (I have no Pesos). Well, that was a LONG hill, and around the bend was more hill. It is warm, and I’m tired. but I keep plugging away switching arms on my heavy backpack. I arrive at the top to find a half dozen snipers and a bunch of police stopping cars from going down the hill. As before they waved and said good morning. I was one of a very few actually coming UP the hill.
I have walked about a mile uphill at this point, and a taxi pulls up and asks (in Spanish of course) if I need a ride. I said “hell yes!” and jumped in. He said “que??” I am starting to wake up and my typical bad jokes and humor were returning. I then asked him to take me to the bank, then the airport (I want to check prices to fly the rest of the way) and then the bus station if need be.
Did I mention I am now on the Colombia border town of Ipiales? No, of course, I didn’t. It is a typical border town full of vagrants and vultures looking to pounce on anyone traveling. There is a large Peruvian contingent there, evidenced by the number of Cuy stands. The driver verified. We arrive at the bank ATM. I slide in the card. I am in luck, the dollar is still king so the exchange rate was in my favor. Until the bank charged a 10% fee! Ouch! Supposedly I get that back but we shall see. A street scalper would have been less. We then take a nice long ride through the town, about 15 minutes. No meters here by the way. Yes, I know… I could picture it. But we arrive at the airport, and there are only guards there. The place is closed. Their one flight for the day left that morning, and I could return tomorrow if I like. There was no one to even ask about ticket cost. So we turn around and go another 15 minutes back to the bus station.
We arrive, and yes here it comes… The taxi rip off. I never did get my change back (of about $10!) from the guy. And yet again, I let it go. To tired to argue. It was worth $10 NOT to in fact. He did help me locate the ticket office and for that I bless him. He directed me to the actual LUXURY bus. The ticket man was really nice, very helpful and showed me a large placard demonstrating all the amenities. Sleeper seat, huge leg room, private TV and music, Power outlet, etc. Perfecto! Bus leaves in 30 minutes I have enough time for a bowl of soup. juice and coffee. ($1.60). The soup was good and juice was strawberry and amazing. I got a cornbread for the road ($.30).
I go outside for the bus and didn’t have to wait long. the driver was very friendly and helpful. He carried bags for all the ladies. He came through to make sure we were comfy and had headphones. He introduced himself and his porter, explained how everything operated, and promised a good safe trip. he didn’t lie. Things were looking up. I settled into the seat, plugged in my phone and connected to the ultra-powerful onboard WIFI. (Pronounced WeeFee by the driver) In fact, another clue we were in Colombia was that the Spanish changed. LL was pronounced like a J instead of silent. ATM is a cajero automaticas, not ATM. Drug stores are all “Drogos”, not “Farmacia”. There were dozens of noticeable changes. It did, in fact, feel like home.
While it had been a while, this was the Spanish of my ex-wife. This was the Spanish I heard daily when I lived there, and this was why Spanish in Ecuador confused me so much. It was spoken slower and more clearly now. I instantly improved my comprehension.
I realized I was sitting in real comfort. The seats were stuffed and plush. I had the row to myself. There were on 36 seats total on this very large bus. It was a new Scania and purred quietly. I could stretch my legs out as far as possible and still not hit anything. The seat would actually lay completely back, and not interfere with anyone else. I could have been 6’8″ and had plenty of space. I cannot express how nice it was. There was a screen in the back of the seat, with endless movies to watch or music to play. You could use their new earbuds, but I used my knock-off Samsung and listen to Beds are Burning, thinking it fit the bombing the night before in Manchester. I posted on my Facebook from the song, “How do we sleep when our beds are burning?” RIP. I was wondering why people do not read and learn from history to understand the true basis for these acts. I keep hearing it goes back 100 years. Yet I know for a fact it goes back to the 7th century. While everyone knows, if we do not learn history lessons we are doomed to repeat, yet it seems few bother. I see mindless posts constantly repeating what others say and use memes and copy and paste to substitute for reading and knowledge. But I digress. When you are on a bus for hours, there isn’t much you don’t think about.
It is well into noon now, and it is sunny and the country is beautiful. It is very similar to Ecuador. The mountain-scape, winding roads, and rivers. Yet there are differences. The rivers are much larger and wider. The bus driver is oh so polite, which goes into his driving. he drove normal, sane and… polite. We had twists and turns, but it wasn’t a race and we weren’t thrown around like so much cargo. he took care to make everything as smooth as is possible. He was aided by a completely modern, well-paved roadway. When there was a chance, they made tunnels through mountains. We went through several. One we drove inside for about 8 minutes. It was as long as the one leaving Denver. The grass along the roads was well trimmed and manicured. Paintwork on barriers was fresh and bright everywhere. We went through dozens of towns. In each town there was a very prominent military garrison, with soldiers armed and for all to see. What a welcome sign! Uribe started it all years ago when he sent the military to go house to house in Medellin, at that time controlled by criminals and a complete hell hole. Today it is a thriving vibrant city to rival anywhere, like Toronto or Seattle. There was nothing that felt oppressive, but rather safe. Perhaps because I knew the recent history and had been caught up in some of the violence in those days past.
We pulled into Pasto and parked in a “looks like new” terminal. I stayed on the bus. It was really comfy! We were there for an hour. A scene played out as we were leaving that was classic Colombia, and said in that scene how the people are. There were two people on the bus behind me. A family of 5 followed them out of the terminal and stood by their window waving and throwing kisses, and taking pictures. We pulled out and slowly went down a long drive. The family followed, waving. We drove perhaps 100 yards to the exit and stopped. There was the family, still waving and taking pics. We drove right into a gas station and stopped to fill up. And yes, there was the family. The two got off the bus, to receive hugs and kisses as though they were just arriving. One family member pulled up on a Yamaha motorbike and drove one of the passengers around the parking lot. They all got together, laughing hugging and giving more farewells. They got back and we pulled out, and yes, they were still walking along waving. You could see the mom with some tears. This was the Colombia I remember. It was all about family. All the FARC, Narcos, and criminals would never get in the way of the joys of life. Church, family, and parties. Any occasion called for a gathering and dancing. Families would sit and hold hands. The love in the air is ever present. Looking back, the reason I fell in love with my ex-wife was that I fell in love with her family. I had never witnessed so much caring. To this day, I still care for and respect her. In all the world I have traveled, everywhere people are friendly and caring. Yet in Colombia, there is something more. Perhaps driven by decades of extreme hardships, I don’t know, but they are the most outgoing, life loving people I have ever seen. It all came back to me played out in that one scene. When I arrived in Armenia, it was no different. You don’t need to make friends in Colombia, they will find you.
Part Three will cover the trip to Armenia from Pasto, and the drop off at 2 AM in the midst of two dozen vagrants/homeless/criminals.