Remember that time I said that I’m really paranoid about missing my bus stop in foreign countries, and ya know, ending up in another even foreigner country? Well — if you thought that was silly, you were obviously giving me too much credit.
I didn’t end up actually leaving Colombia. But I did take a two hour detour into the mountains.
I was on my way to Santa Fe de Antioquia, the former Antioquian capital and a popular day trip from Medellin.
I’m a sucker for those cutesy colonial places and Santa Fe has effectively been frozen in time since losing the prestige of capital to their modern metropolis neighbor in 1826. I hopped another bus from the Terminal del Norte with a little more confidence than last time and began what should have been an easy 90 minute ride.
My bus ride seat mate was an older Colombian gentleman, dressed in casual business wear and eager to chat. I offered my apologetic, “Lo siento, no hablo Espanol,” and he laughed and kept chatting with added hand gestures. I shared my chocolate bar with him and he offered to buy me a Popsicle, which I declined. Who eats a Popsicle on a bus, you ask?? THIS guy, that’s who — with a mischievous smirk he wiped his sticky green hands all over the bus window curtains upon completion.
I got a bit caught up in our entertaining exchange of sign language and in watching him just miss my lap with all that Popsicle juice. I heard them announce Santa Fe. I should have immediately bid this new friend farewell and hopped off the bus. But something stopped me.
There was nothing around us when the stop was announced. We were still on a relatively empty dirt road. Only a handful of people got up to exit. So I asked my friend, “Santa Fe?” Pointing at myself with confusion. I thought I was effectively asking if I should get off now. I thought I had already communicated to him that Santa Fe was where I was going — apparently not.
I somehow convinced myself this couldn’t possibly be the main stop for Santa Fe, and relaxed back into my seat — my seat friend seeming to agree with the decision for me to remain on the bus.
About ten minutes later, the back up driver walked down the aisle and stopped at our row with a quizzical look that said precisely,
Gringas on the bus still? That’s not right.
“Donde Vas?”
“Santa Fe,” I answered, already accepting that I had screwed this up. He laughed, shook his head, and pointed towards the back of the bus, indicating that obviously, we had passed Santa Fe. He exchanged words with my seat partner, who also laughed.
I was not laughing.
“Necesito regresar!” I pleaded, hoping my verb selection made sense and I hadn’t just made up a word.
They both nodded with several “si, si, si!’s” and we continued on, my destination disappearing behind turns as we climbed back into the mountains.
Forty-five minutes later and no “regresar.” I was no longer amused by my “friend”‘s insistence that this was all bien bien because I could come stay with him. Suddenly he wasn’t so charming and I was much less obliged to converse.
My second driver of the day, aka Senor Lifesaver
Then we came around a particularly sharp turn as another bus came at us in the opposite direction. Our driver laid on the horn. By this time, the entire bus seemed aware of the lost white chick and everyone was looking at the passing bus and at me in anticipation. Sure enough, the bus passing us slammed on its breaks and we did the same. Now EVERYONE was looking at me as the driver turned around and gestured for me to get the Hell off his bus and onto this other one. I grabbed my bag and boogied as my new chariot opened its door, pointing beautifully in the right direction.
This new bus was completely full, so I was invited to sit next to the driver — immediately receiving an overwhelming amount of attention. The entire bus was already amused by the lost tourist — add my center stage seat and two flirty bus drivers to the equation and suddenly, I’m a star.
The passengers behind us were thoroughly entertained as I offered “Claro!” with uncomfortable laughter to all of the drivers many questions — clearly having no idea what I was saying”Of course!” to. I probably agreed to bear seven children and serve as his handmaid and pedicurist for all of eternity — but I was receiving a free ride and despite my frustration with the whole afternoon, felt obliged to entertain them.
At some point that day, I did make it to Santa Fe de Antioquia. More so than screwing up my bus ride, the afternoon that followed may have been my biggest failure as a travel blogger to date. It was hot. The town was deserted. I was grumpy and forced myself to stay there for a few hours because I had made the trip and felt like I had to. But in all honesty, I didn’t enjoy anything about the town, other than the two beers I downed at lunch.
I should probably go back, and if you go to Colombia, you should probably go to. I’ve heard the area is great on the weekends — there’s a big arts and crafts festival and tons of resorts on the outskirts of the town where you can pay to use the pool for the afternoon. None of this was going on when I was there, so if you visit — go on the weekend, take more pictures than I did, and get off the damn bus when the driver announces the town!
(Don’t worry, I didn’t fail you completely… here are the pictures I did take of Santa Fe to hopefully convince you to experience more of it than I did…)
The pool does look lovely, doesn’t it? Next time…
Tip: pretend to be interested in staying at a really expensive hotel so you can enjoy a few minutes of their air conditioning and some lovely views of the town while you check the place out.
The center plaza has some nice little vendors selling touristy knick-knacks and snacks.
These guys have it all figured out. Nothing better to do on a hot afternoon than find some shade and crack some beers … cowboy hat required.
The train to Ventimiglia (20 Miles),Italy was the trip that should have been better thought out!
When I was backpacking with my friend around Europe eons ago. We had made it to Florence, Italy via Greece, our trip originating in Israel. We decided to take the train to Barcelona. We didn’t know that we needed to reserve a seat to go on the fast train. So we opted for the all night local. We had made friends with a Mexican chef who was in the same boat. We sat in the same compartment and chatted on what was going to be an all night trip. As we started we noticed a strange elderly man walking up and down the train closing all of the windows. We stopped somewhere some time later. We noticed that same man across the platform in the opposite train walking up and down closing windows. Weird enough, but it didn’t end there.
After a few more stops, an alcohol scented man got into our little compartment. He only spoke Italian. He immediately got on and handed us all candy. I pocketed the candy, thinking – that is not really safe. Then he began to chat, sort of with obvious language barriers, with our new friend. Our new friend seemed uncomfortable (later he told us that the stranger was telling him how they should spit the two of us women up). As we sat we noticed the swastika tattoo. Did I mention we were Jewish? Then… we noticed the bloodied knuckles. We were not comfortable. But we were stuck. The train stopped again. We were in Ventimiglia. They told all of us to get off. They told us to all leave the station. Then they locked up!
So there we stood on the steps of the train station. The three of us saw the swastika man and ducked behind a lot of other clueless backpackers and turned a corner. We sat down in a corner to wait the 4 hours till the station opened and we could take the next train. As we sat we ate peanut butter (funny enough) that the Mexican chef had brought, we watched the scarey man stumble off into the night.
Lesson learned: Make reservations for the train you want!
Wow… sounds like a stressful experience!! But also a great story. Thanks for sharing!
Britany Robinson recently posted..Climbing the Mountains via Metrocable: A Trip to Medellin’s Parque Arví