During a trip as I stuck around South America during late 2008 and first half of 2009 if you want to backpack and spend the least, normally your favorite mode of transportation will eventually be the bus. There are people who claim to have an innate love and passion for the long haul in this transport but most said that after zillions long bus-I ended up ducking around 50 in 200 days, cast and accounts-one gets on the following inertia and because it is a much cheaper option than the alternative carrier.
Some routes will endure better than others, which depends primarily on the quality of the bus itself. Cruz del Sur in Peru and Arrow Bus in Argentina for example make the topic is tolerable, with your little movies, your service on board and others.
But there are others who despaired at the time and now I remember me and smiled. This is what has the time and perspective. Right now I rise from my desk and I teleported to curro that van that was falling apart as we tried to carry Popayan San Agustin in southwestern Colombia. Come on, but without thinking.
We left at 8:30 in the morning with sleep caretos everywhere and wondering if it would have been wrong about arrival time. They said 15.30. Come vaaaa! 7 hours for 130 miles. I thought that these people even more exaggerated than the Buenos Aires!. But no.
The van was fucked. People living in villages tucked into the jungle, among countless banana plantations, mango, coffee and military posts, returned home after doing what they should do in the city. Every bit was a group of soldiers-very very young-who followed the van with his eyes but we came to stop more than once to perform a routine check.
This part of the country was controlled by the FARC not too long ago and had gotten Uribe mandate safer roads but there was caution in these sections.
The vegetation on both sides of the road was very thick and hardly could be seen beyond the barrier of banana trees, ferns and other plants that lined as forming a wall. As you may imagine, the road was not paved and the driver had to go dodging holes and larger stones, but the battered suspension hardly stand the slightest rattle. Those who ate everything we were going inside.
I sat in the back because I was the last and bouncing on the seat for several hours. What’s worse is that the distance between the roof and my head was small and had to be covering me with his arm and legs in tension all the time to protect myself from the blows to bounce. As the driver, to encourage the roost, we put some movies on DVD. Unbelievably, we saw 4 in 2 hours. With potholes the DVD and the movie jumped ahead. Predator, Arnold, lasted 15 minutes … the whole movie.
But we lost a lot because the repertoire was all Arnold and Sylvester Stallone. Peliculon, come on.
Along the way, as is usual in most of South America (except Argentina and Chile, as I recall) got people to sell the van for some food. I bought a tray of strawberries as fists were tremendous. Sandwich had failed and that was the only way to eat because we did not spend for any restaurant or anything. In fact, after spending the villages in the first third of course, hardly saw any more.
Shortly before arriving in St. Augustine returned to the asphalt. Our asses we thanked him and soon enough we stopped at an intersection, got our bags were completely covered by sand and dust and got in a van of a Colombian who was waiting there to take us to the accommodation of a friend’s home. In tiredness we had let ourselves be fooled by the man. The truth is we did well because the house of John was a good place to spend my days in St. Augustine.
