The next
morning, Bea and I headed back on the boat to Turbo, along with our new
friend from Miami who had blindingly white teeth. Disappointingly the weather
was fine and the sea calm, so no exciting ocean adventures with the threat of
death happened this time around. In addition to a calm journez by sea, the
driver who took us to Monteria was much more careful at driving around potholes
so it was a much less bumpy journey by car as well. It was altogether civilised
by Colombian standards – just the 1 tree blocking the road, 1 long wait as a
digger built the road we were driving on (you know you are in South America
when...) and 1 forced stop by soldiers at a random road checkpoint. Oh, and a
completely flooded city with the streets of Monteria gushing with water.
Just the usual sights you see on a bus ride
We found a cheap hotel, a cheap
restaurant and watched the news in English for the first time in god knows how
long. Watching Anderson Cooper on CNN after 3 months in a South American bubble
was slightly surreal, and I realized just how consuming South America is – I was
suddenly reminded of hundreds of things I hadn’t thought of since I touched
down in Chile.
The next day
was my last full day in Colombia. Just in case I’d thought that after 3 months
in South America, things would go smoothly, it was another ripper of a day.
Monteria may be the biggest city in the area but it is so untouristy that it is
deemed unworthy of visiting by LP and there is no mention of it whatsoever in and
tourist literature. It’s all fine and well to stay in a place foreign to the
concept of tourists but it means that basic stuff associated with travelling
such as airport buses and information about how to get to said airport is not
there. Despite
Googling and searching our previously trusty friend, The Thorn Tree forum, we
checked out of our hostel with nary an idea where the airport was or how we
were going to get there. We asked the receptionist and she took us to a bus
stop where we talked to a slurring man who was impossible to understand. It was
hot, our backpacks were heavy and we were surrounded by people arguing about
what bus we should take and taxi drivers hassling us to come with them. The unintelligible
man was in charge of buses and kept waving hands, shaking his head muttering
things we couldn’t understand, making understanding which bus to get on a no
go.
Things that are nicer than dealing with buses in Monteria: lying on a beach in the Caribbean, staring up a palm tree
Eventually,
he waved in the vague direction of a bus, we gave up trying to understand and
decided just to get on and see where it took us. Throughout this entire
process, one particularly eager taxi driver had been all up in our faces
pushing his prices. Fed up with the impossible to understand man and having no
idea if we could even get to the airport by bus, I was tempted to just give up
and take the taxi, but Bea stood firm. An endearing aspect of Team Beatrice in
Colombia was that in any situation involving money, all 3 of us would have our
obstinate moments when we suddenly decided saving twenty cents was imperative
to financial liquidity. Whilst it was Bea who stuck to her guns about the taxi
in Monteria, it had been me who had pettily refused to pay an extra 1000 pesos
(60 cents) to the taxi driver before, so I knew where she was coming from.
So we hopped on the bus going
somewhere we hoped included the airport and noted with some relief the mumbling
man muttered something that sounded vaguely like Aeropuerto. Trundling along,
looking out for anything involving planes and runways, the bus filled up the
point where Bea and I both had to lug our backpacks onto our laps to allow
other passengers to sit down. Heaving 17kg on top of you and being unable to
see, therefore rendering it impossible to look out for the thing you desperately
need to fine – ideal. I saw a sign with a name that resembled the airport’s
name (the one piece of information we’d managed to find out from Google) and
Bea asked the girl next to her. Lucky she did, as the bus driver had no
intention of stopping and it took half the bus shouting him down before he let
us off. You haven’t experienced fun until you’ve dragged an unwieldy bulky 17kg
backpack through a jam-packed crowded bus. Sometimes I truly hate my backpack.
Off the bus, we discovered what the
man had probably been trying to explain in his mumbles. The bus drops you off
ages away from the airport and you need to get a mototaxi for the final
stretch. One last motorcycle ride in South America, zooming through the tree
filled street, only slightly weighed down by the backpack. Finally we arrived
at the Airport. Victory! Between the bus fare and moto taxi we saved a grand
total of 2000 COP (NZD 1.20) than what we would have spent on a taxi. We agreed
at least we’d had one last South American experience, even if the taxi would
have been a thousand times less troublesome.
Off to Bogota! Or so we though, not allowing for the fact
things are never as simple as they seem. Despite our plane being scheduled for
1.05pm, there was no indication of boarding or any sign our plane existed up
until about 1.25pm. Eventually boarding after a delay, we sat on our propeller
plane and prepared for takeoff, with the engine roaring and definite movement…before
being informed there was an engine issue. The entire plane trooped off the
plane, back to our old friend the departure lounge and Bea and I reflected on
the prospects of never leaving Monteria. After awhile, we were allowed back on
our plane which now felt safe and error free for all of us I’m sure. We made it
to Bogota alive and made our way to North Bogota where we were couch surfing.
Bea and Helen had stayed at the same place on their way up to
Santa Marta and had enjoyed it enough that they made repeat visits. A flat with
approximately 8 people (constant coming and goings meant even the flat mates didn’t
seem that sure), it was full of different nationalities and people doing all
sorts of interesting things to scrape by in Bogota – English teaching,
commercials extras work, hand modeling. One word of advice: always word your
offer to help out with dinner carefully or else you may find yourselves paying
and cooking for the entire household and then cleaning up afterwards.
Bea and I shared a romantic night together sleeping together
on an upside down couch. The next day Bea headed off to explore La Candleria,
the historic center of Bogota and Team Beatrice parted ways once and for all,
with me heading off to the airport for my next destination: Spain. My almost 3
months in South America had so many highs, coupled with one or two lows (the tragedy
of my ankle springs to mind). I managed to make my way from Patagonia all the way
up to Panama and got to visit a glacier, the Easter Island moai, ride a boat up
and down the Amazon River and have sun, sand and fun with Bea and Helen in
Caribbean Colombia. I spent heaps of time in Chile and Colombia, but also
managed to spend time in Peru, Brazil and Panama. Sometimes being in a Spanish
speaking environment 24/7 and the frustrations that come with communicating in
a foreign language made me want to bang my head against a wall but it was an absolutely
amazing experience and I’m so glad I went. Hopefully it won’t be too long
before I can come back and explore other corners of South America, because it’s
a pretty incredible place.
