A bit of a lazy, comtemplative day on my first full day in Colombia, so I marched over to this internet cafe in sandals and socks. There is a lady in the back yelling on/at the computer in what I believe to be Mandarin Chinese. If the world works the way it should, at this very moment there is someone in an internet cafe in China yelling on/at the computer in Spanish.
Or, as they call it here, Castellano. Here, Español is what is spoken in Spain and Castellano is what is spoken in Latin America. Sort of like English and "American" English. Just a side note if you, Oh Wanderlusting Reader, are ever traveling in South America.
I woke up early yesterday morning in Quito after a very nice last day and embarked on a series of automotive transportation types en route to Colombia:
1. Taxi from panaderia to Quito bus station: Short ride, happy to have some bread in my backpack for the trip.
2. Bus from Quito to Tulcan (near Colombian border): Ticket guy was shady and insisted on simply telling the bus driver that I had paid instead of giving me a ticket. Didn't trust him so much, but the bus driver and assistant kid were good people. At least, 'good' in the sense of 'honest' -- not so much in the sense of 'bus driving'. We circled the bus station for a good twenty minutes waiting for someone to bring the driver his license. Then went the wrong way around the hills of Quito and had to execute a driver's-test-failing 3 point turnaround. Then, about an hour outside of Quito on the Panamerican Highway, the bus started smelling funny, pulled over, and it was realized that the engine was leaking a significant amount of oil and other liquids. Everybody off. Several of the male passengers initiated the customary ritual of standing around the engine, staring at different angles, and pretending to know what the problem was. A school bus stopped by and offered a big water jug to refill the cooling system. Everybody back on! Here we go! From personal experience I knew this would be short-lived, and I was proved right a few hundred feet later when the bus pulled over, shut down, and everybody off. Fairly soon another bus with the same destinations came by and we all piled on. Rest of the ride was easy. Side note: the girl sitting across from me was severely Goth-ed up, including a picture of Hitler on her black sweatshirt.
3. Taxi from Tulcan bus station to border: Somehow I was unaware of the distance between bus terminals on opposite sides of the border. I had to make an ATM run in Tulcan, luckily close to the station, before proceeding to be ripped off by the taxi driver. It was a twenty minute ride to the border, costing $3.50. I did not really have any other options, no buses or taxi drivers not in league with the rip off artists.
4. Taxi from border to Ipiales bus station: The border was a simple cross, althoug the line on the Ecuador side was very long and for a while they only had one agent working. Made friends with a Colombian couple (actually not sure of their romantic status) heading to Guayaquil and we swapped some travel ideas. Walked over to the Colombian side with the woman ahead of me in line and she ushered me to the correct line and a taxi to the bus station. However she could not protect me from getting swindled by a money changer, who gave me a 2,000 peso note instead of a 20,000 peso note, which is about a $9 loss, which I only realized when I arrived at the hotel that night. Taxi driver was an older man, very friendly, and immediately blew away the one travel guide warning I had about Colombians: Don't talk politics. He talked nothing but politics. And his name was Marco! I add the exclamation point not because of the import of the name Marco, but simply because I am surprised to remember this detail.
5. Minivan from Ipiales to Pasto: I got ushered by a teenager into a waiting minivan right after walking into the parking lot of the bus station. Also, I accidentally hit the trunk door on this teenager's hand. My Pegleg strength has yet to depart me! The minivan filled up within a few minutes and we took off for a strangely calming ride through the Colombian dusk and along some very deep tree-filled canyons and their eternal salsa partner, winding roads.
6. Taxi from Pasto bus station to hotel: quick and cheap, and I had a little fútbol discussion with the driver.
The Hotel Manhattan! What a place. I had some touristy fun explaining to the lady how I lived in the United States' Manhattan, and that this one was much calmer. It is an old colonial mansion coverted into an interesting hotel, with enormous ceilings and a big second-floor patio off of which all the rooms open. I am certain this place is haunted. Everything creaks and shakes. I love it.
I was planning on taking the 9 hour ride to Cali in two pieces, one today to Popayan -- about half way. However as I was preparing to leave, bags packed and all, I went to hand my key back to the lady and asked her why there was a student parade in the street. She explained that today was the celebration of the founding of the city of Pasto, and that tonight would be a big mariachi party in the Cultural Plaza two blocks from the hotel. I put some thought into this news and decided to stay another night and do the 9 hours to Cali tomorrow. Tonight should be fun.
Today I wandered around a bit, filled up my wallet at the heavily guarded bank, and spent much of the day reading and watching the high school student parade -- marching bands followed by the non-musical students holding little Colombian flags and looking either bored or embarrassed (Is it possible to appear to be both at the same time?). I am reading Atlas Shrugged, which I do not recommend, highly or otherwise. I traded for it with one of my roommates in Quito, and along with Graham Greene's Travels with my Aunt, it makes up my entire backpack library (not counting my dictionary). It is a long book, which I am determined to finish, before or after the mariachis.
Sleeping is still a problem, which I find interesting the more I think about it. For the first few weeks of my trip I was sleeping a lot -- 10 to 12 hours a night most nights, going to sleep and waking up early, and almost never arising in the middle of the night. However since my first night in Guayaquil I have yet to last without waking up at least twice, and I have been unable to take a nap despite trying several times. These sleeping patterns were not affected by my environment, and so it must be something inside of me. So many possibilities!
Resolved: Any country that regularly serves fried bananas is a great country. Jesus, they are delicious. Sorry. Only that first sentence was the resolution. But they are frickin' delicious.
3 comments:
1st of all, Google Earth thinks there is only 1 Pasto, and it's in Finland. Clearly, no fried bananas.
2nd of all, you are now fully informed about the glories of globalism: fewer border and currency ripoffs. That should be good for a term paper at the grad school of your choice. Which is where again?
3rd of all, you're either having a lot more fun or your prose style has emerged from a gloomy spot. Perhaps it was leaving Finland!
4th of all: Lack of sleep. Have they no cerveza? Como se dice "hops" en Castellano?
While you are there, you must visit the House of Marquez and Shakira. It is excellent.
Chinese Orange:
1st, keep looking and take those umlauts off.
2nd, not telling.
3rd, both?
4th, the amount of weak Colombian beer I would need to drink > normal consumption. would you buy a cheap beer for 3000 of any currency? i would.
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