Dramatic travel on Saturday, July 27, 2013
WARNING: The following blog post is quite wordy. Please read at your own visual peril.
We have a had a few days that rank among our most exhausting days of travel. They happen in between all those smiling pictures we post amidst Spanish colonial architecture or with stunning mountains. Saturday, July 27, 2013 was up there near the top. We departed from Ibarra, Ecuador on a bus at 7am for a 3.5 hour bus ride to Tulcan, Ecuador which sits on the border with Colombia.
After arriving in Tulcan, and using the much needed bathroom, Will and I headed toward the line of taxis. I shrugged, guessing we'd missed our chance to change US dollars (because Ecuador uses the US dollar) into Colombian pesos at anything like a decent exchange rate. But, then, right before our eyes materialized a guy offering to change our money. This is exactly the kind of guy we usually try to avoid, making no eye contact and saying “no, gracias” repeatedly. But in this situation, we had downloaded the most recent exchange rate onto our phones that morning, and we were pretty sure that the money changers on the actual border would be offering an even worse rate. So, he entered a rate into his calculator, I noted the 1800 was missing the 80 in place of the double zeros, and I asked Will if it seemed reasonable. As ever, quick with the numbers in his head he nodded yes, we changed our $40 US dollars and continued to the taxi. (Keep in mind that it just took you probably twice as long to read my description as it actually took in real life.) And the taxi was already asking us “A la frontera?” before I said anything, so we stashed our bags in the trunk and jumped in. Then I worriedly asked the ubiquitous taxi question of “Cuanto cuesta?” And was delighted to have the driver reply with a price under what I had expected.
So, off we sped, at a fearful speed, swerving around other cars, etc. to get the 4km to the border. And since we had little use for any US cash, of course Will gave the driver a tip (which we have dispensed with doing, in most cases, since we figure 8 out of 10 times we are paying a tourist rate for the rides we take). And then, before we could even get our packs out of the trunk, there was an nice honest looking young woman talking to us about Colombia and where we needed to go. After asking her, “Un vez mas, por favor. Mas despacio.” (Which is one of my most common requests.) She then slowly explained that she could offer a service of taking us directly to Colombian immigration and then on to connections with whatever bus we needed for whatever city we wanted to continue to in Colombia, all this for approximately $17 per person. I pointed out that we needed to handle leaving Ecuadorian immigration first and that we would think about it.
On the walk into the Ecuadorian offices I told Will what she had said that he hadn't caught, though he had the gist of most of it, and we looked over our shoulders at the bridge into Colombia and the tons of people crossing with kids, etc. and the building visible on the other side of the bridge. And we figured we could safely and easily walk there on our own legs just fine. So, we got our exiting stamp from the Ecuadorian officials, and we got our stern stares from the Ecuadorian national police in fatigues on the way out and we walked into Colombia. And other than being swarmed by offers of “Cambio, cambio, dolares, pesos, cambio” which we thankfully didn't need, we walked into Colombia and got our entry stamps just fine. They like to ask what your profession is... this is hard enough to explain to friends in the US, it is near impossible in Spanish, we say things about being building mangers and this is usually fine. Upon exiting we found a taxi, with a driver who seemed to have his son along for work that day, and the inquisitive little boy bounced into the front seat. This time when I asked that worrisome taxi question I got an answer quite a bit higher than I was expecting so, I questioned it and he repeated the same price. So, we accepted it, because we were already on our way. As we neared our destination the driver informed me that he would only accept payment in Colombian pesos (obnoxious since he worked side by side with all those cambio guys at the border) but I told him we understood and it wasn't a problem. He also drove a bit wild, especially since I anxiously watched his son bounce around on the front seat, but fortunately not out of the window.
We arrived at the bus station. And then we found a company with a bus leaving at 11am. This worked out perfectly, since by our calculations we needed to be on a bus leaving by 11am in order to get to Popayan before dark. We found coffee and a bench and waited for the bus. We put our bags in the bus cargo and much to our relief received claim tickets for them. While in Ecuador this never happened. The bus systems there seem to work on more of a cooperative system that allows the rates to be low and anyone to get around the country for approximately $1 per hour of travel. This means just about everyone can afford to ride the bus. In theory, I think this is superb. In reality, it means the buses smell a bit more from the folks who don't have the luxury to bathe every day and it means that you worry a bit every time the bus stops and the luggage compartment opens that someone might be making off with your bags. So, we weren't all that sad to return to buses that cost a bit more, but also included luggage claim tickets, and as we were soon to find out, a functioning bathroom! In Ecuador, if there was a bathroom on the bus, it was always locked. And the only option for using the restroom was to ask the driver to stop and to hope for a few bushes to hide behind along the roadside. This system is shit, if you ask me, so to speak. Anyway, so back to our first bus in Colombia... after marveling at our claim tickets, we boarded the bus and Will said, “gotta love that new bus smell” I laughed and he said, “I've always wanted to say that.” And after Ecuadorian buses, I knew what he meant. The bus was clean and smelled clean too!
You may have wondered earlier at my mention that we needed to leave Ipiales by 11am in order to reach Popayan by dark... this happens to be because our lovely Lonely Planet on a Shoestring travel guide (which we call our Travel Bible) noted that bandits have been known to waylay buses on this route between Pasto and Popayan at night, even in a police vanguard. How lovely. So, since we had decided to cross by bus and not fly (continuing to worry about carbon emissions and also wanting to see as much of the country as possible), we needed to negotiate this time restraint. And since hereabouts near the equator the sun has a pesky way of going down at the same time somewhere between 6 and 6:30p every night, this bus needed to stay on time. The ride was gorgeous. Somewhere after our very civilized lunch break in Pasto (where I chose to order something called a hamburgesa that contained an unidentifiable meat and was by far the worst hamburger I have ever eaten) when we got back on the road and were treated to a real movie (by this I mean one that does not star the Rock or other B grade Hollywood stars), with which Will was thrilled, even with dubbing and Spanish subtitles (the movie was Midnight Express, directed, he tells me, by Alan Parker), we started to realize that our excitement about one of the bus' features might have been premature.
The air conditioning would come on only after we could hardly breathe and then only stay on until we felt barely human again. And the cycle would continue. We realized that we had traveled from northern Ecuador that morning, where we needed our fleece sweaters in the morning, all the way into a tropical climate where all the folks on the roadside selling mandarins and bananas from their front porches were dressed in tank-tops, shorts, and flip-flops. But even accounting for that, the bus was damn hot. And the cycle from hot to cool made me feel like I was going crazy (and very much look forward to menopause... oh the things to look forward to!) We drove through mountains and valleys and little towns and watched the faces and the flora change. We saw waterfalls and roadwork and had the pleasure of being detained by the national police twice. Neither time could we see that they wanted to do anything more than simply make the bus wait. In fact, that is what our conductor told passengers who asked, what happened, he answered, “Esperamos.” We wait. (This, as a side note, happens to be Will's favorite verb in Spanish: esperar means both to wait and also to hope. And Will likes to stare off into space and ponder how often these two actions are really one and the same thing.) The police didn't open the luggage compartment under the bus to take even the most cursory glance. They simply pulled the bus over, made calls on their cell phones and we waited.
The second time, we all got off the bus, in hope of cold beverages nearby from one of the roadside tiendas. But, there didn't seem to be electricity that far out because none of the three places had anything cold. They did have a freshly butchered cow hanging up and the restaurant next door smoking a ton of beef. We could see the stall a few meters behind the butcher where the head and legs remained. And the turkey vultures hung out in the trees nearby, hoping for their turn. The local dogs thought they might have a better chance and inched closer and closer until some youths came and removed the remains to somewhere behind the house. Eventually, with the snap of fingers we got back on the bus and left. I had some worrisome day-nightmares about how we'd been delayed and were going to get robbed on the road just before we got to Popayan.
However, other than dealing with the cycling A/C and tropical heat, we didn't have any other adventures on our bus trip. We arrived in Popayan around 8:30p. We saw on our map that our hostel was the closest one to the bus terminal and that it was walking distance. And then somehow (probably because we were delirious with fatigue) we double-checked, didn't see any safety warnings about Popayan, and decided to walk the 2km to our hostel. We love trudging down the streets like turtles with our big packs on. Just when we thought we might have the address wrong, there was a big welcoming sign on the corner saying “Hostel Trail” and we buzzed the ringer and were welcomed into the nicest $30 a night room we've yet had. We had a corner annex to our room with a beautiful view of the largest church in town. So, now being about 9pm, we looked at each other and agreed that even though we hadn't eaten since 1pm that we simply wanted to fall onto the bed and go to sleep for the night. Well, perhaps with the exception of a little “checking in” on the internet (which to our pure joy was a good strong connection) and a quick shower. Oh, and the rest of the peanuts and raisins we had in our packs. And with that, despite a fellow hostel mate in the lounge below drinking cheap Colombian beers and talking loudly (I feel compelled to point out that he was German. For some reason during our travels so far, many Germans seem to be loud, especially on buses and in hostels where you'd want them to shut-up), we went right to sleep.
-Cher
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