Being a saint's day of some kind today, this past weekend was 3 days long. Originally I had thought I would be accompanying my housemate down to her parent's home for the holiday. However, having far too much work to enable a 3-day vacation, she reluctantly had to cancel that adventure. Luckily, I found out about that on Tuesday, and spent Wednesday afternoon at the climbing gym where I surreptitiously asked a few people what their plans were for the weekend...
Lots of chatting and a round of amazing looking pictures later, I found myself invited to La Mojarra in La Mesa de Los Santos, for a weekend of sport climbing on a cliff that appeared to be at least half a mile long. The only catch? This stunningly beautiful canyon was a good 7-10hr ride from Medellin, and my crew would be leaving at 4am on Friday, a day I still had to work. However, if I wanted to take an overnight bus down on Friday, J could pick me up at the nearest town on Saturday morning and we'd spend all day Sat and Sun on the rocks. Not sure what to make of this development on the spot, we exchanged contact info and agreed to confirm sometime on Thursday.
I had a full day of work to get through on Thurs since my revised drawings were due at the end of the day, but I did manage to run my tentative weekend plans past a few of my co-workers to suss out whether an overnight bus through the countryside on my own was necessarily a good idea. Without exception, every person I talked to said, 'Bien viaje!' told me it was a gorgeous part of the country, and made no further comment alluding to any safety concerns. Quite excited by the enthusiastic reception, I nearly jumped out of my seat when J called to confirm, said I was definitely interested, and asked for more details on how to get there and meet up with everyone. He told me his sister would give me a call in the morning with the bus schedule and that all I had to do was get a bus to Bucaramanga, disembark and find a local bus to Los Curos. Sweet!
I barely slept on Thursday night after packing up my climbing gear, some clothing and a camera. All day Friday I was waltzing on air as I sped through my tasks and eagerly awaited my pending instructions. Just as I left work and was on my way over to the Department of Security to register myself, which apparently all foreigners have to do, I received a call informing me that my bus would be departing at 8:30pm from the northern terminal on a company called Brazilia.
Unable to register myself due to the office closing at 3:30pm, I basically took a very scenic route home through the Southwest portion of the city, and arrived in time for a yummy meal, a short nap and some last minute packing. At 7:30pm, I skipped out my door and headed for the bus stop. Well, I was trying to head to the bus stop at least. Before I'd gone half a block I spotted a bus that advertised going to the Northern Bus Terminal, flagged it down, double checked with the driver and hopped on board. Assuming that the terminal would be unmistakable, I sat jittering in my seat and staring out the window. As we got on the Regional (the hwy that runs though the middle of town), we stopped briefly at a turnout with a couple other buses and I thought maybe we had arrived. On closer examination, the spot we were at appeared to just be a gas station and there was none of the milling about that I typically associate with busy bus terminals, nor any signs of indicating anything beyond the sale of petrol, so I sat back and kept an eye out. A few minutes later we turned off the Regional and started winding our way up through the steep streets of the mountain side. Getting nervous and watching the clock tick by, I quietly asked my neighbor how much longer it was to the northern terminal. Looking rather shocked, he sadly informed me that we had passed it 10mins ago but that if I got off at the next corner, there would be a bus headed back that way. Saying my thanks, I hopped off, hailed the first taxi I came across and headed back downhill. It being 8pm at this point, I was dreadfully worried that I would miss my bus to Bucaramanga and hence loose an entire weekend of climbing in an exciting new place having never even left Medellin. Luckily, the taxi driver had no such qualms and assured me he'd get me to the station by 8:15 at the very latest. We pulled off at what I had thought was a gas station, took a long loop around to the other side of the river and I stepped out of the cab at precisely 8:14pm.
Following my friendly taxi driver's advice, I went through what vaguely resembled a strip mall and raced downstairs into what was obviously a busy bus terminal. Scanning the ticket windows I was relieved to see Brazilia directly in front of me with no line to speak of. Nearly out of breath, I impatiently waited for the saleswoman to look up before asking for a ticket on the bus to Bucaramanga. To my near terror, she simply shook her head. Was I too late?! It leaves at 8:30, right? Another negative shake. 'No hay.' (don't have). um...ok...is there some other company that DOES have a bus to Bucaramanga? My answer was a vague wave towards the corner and a curt 'mono.' Since I was clearly not going to get anywhere with this lady, I glanced at my clock, 8:20. S***! I ran around the corner, glanced up and saw a sign with the welcome word "Bucaramanga" on it. Awesome! Looking hopefully at the lady behind the counter, I asked for a ticket to Bucaramanga and she replied, 10pm. What?! Looking at the wall behind her I was devastated to see a large placard announcing departures at 5:30, 6:30, 8:00 and 10pm. If I had made it there 30mins earlier, I would have already been on my way. With a heavy sigh, I walked away, called my friends who had already made their way to La Mojarra and confirmed that the 10pm bus, which would get me to Bucaramanga at 8am, and hopefully to Los Curos around 9am, was acceptable. Getting an affirmative response, I turned back to the ticket counter, paid far more than I had expected for the trip, stopped by an ATM to restock and sat down to wait.
Two hours later I was seated in an amazingly comfortable bus with plush, reclining seats as we pulled out into the rain and headed through the streets towards the mysterious destination of Bucaramanga. As we got onto the highway, I was struck by the beauty of the city lights as they swept up the hillsides all around, looking like a blanket of twinkling yellow stars reaching out into the cloudy night. Once we left the city, there wasn't much to see beyond the shadow of grassy banks, so I shut my eyes and did my best to sleep. As the sun rose many hours later, I found myself staring at the rusted carcass of a half finished bridge as one by one vehicles were ushered across a massive brown river. From there on we wound through high mountain passes dotted here and there by the occasional village. I dozed in and out, greeted by flashes of white washed town centers, rolling hills and steep drop offs until we finally pulled into a pristine bus terminal on the edge of a large city and everyone started to disembark. Just to be extra sure, I asked a fellow passenger if this was in fact Bucaramanga and received a slightly incredulous stare and a very brief nod. Good enough for me!
Starting at one end of the station, I was sequentially directed further and further down the line until I reached the very last teller. Here, I inquired for a bus to Los Curos, was looked up and down, and told 8am. It being 7:30am, that suited my purposes just fine. The price, on the other hand, appeared a little steep for my understanding of the distance, but having no real recourse to argue, I paid the fair, got my ticket was directed downstairs to my awaiting bus. When I stepped on and showed my ticket, the driver named somewhere other than were I was trying to get to, so I corrected him and asked if he could please tell me to get off when we got to Los Curos. He looked again at my fair, shook himself slightly, confirming my suspicions that I had been over-charged, and pointed to an empty seat in the first row. Too tired and too happy to at least be on the right bus to really care that I'd overpaid (the grand total still only being about $5), I settled into my seat, called my friends and told them I was on my way.
Sitting in the front row, I had a the pleasure of watching the driver, the ticket taker, the gate keeper, the police man, the ticket agent and some other guy all hand money and receipts around to each other at varying intervals. Rather intrigued by these exchanges, but unable to decipher them, and having spent the entire night attempting to sleep on a bus, I soon dozed off once more. About an hour later I woke up to the driver telling me that we had reached Los Curos while he stared at me with a look that said, "Are you SURE you want to get off here?!" Not entirely sure that I did with that kind of reaction, but armed with my cell phone and J's assurance that he would come pick me up, I cheerfully waved goodbye and stepped off the bus.
As the bus pulled away, I looked around and a rather desolate stretch of road with some trucks pulled off to one side, a rolling green hillside and a small restaurant with a sheltered porch. Stepping onto the porch to escape the rain, I set my bag down, pulled out my phone and confronted the rather discouraging message "network search." Hmmm...well, this town can't be that big, and I'm starving, so I guess I'll buy some food and wait. Filling my belly with a chicken empeñada, I wistfully stared at my phone wondering which direction I should wander, when, to my surprise, the phone came alive! Yes! "Hallo?! Si, estoy aqui. Donde estas?" A short exchange later and I looked up to see J striding around the corner with a welcoming grin. Whew!
As I stepped into J's car and drove away through absolutely breathtaking scenery, chatting away like old friends, I felt light as a feather. I'd made it! 10hrs of traveling into the unknown had brought me back to a friendly face. I silently thanked my parents for our years of spontaneous adventures and the amazing gift they've given me of always taking things as they come.
And now, my dear readers, I must leave you with visions of rolling hillsides lightly sprinkled with mist, fields filled with spiky pineapple, and a long, winding ride into the the beauty that is Colombia. But don't worry, all the best is yet to come...
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