Guatape

Warning, I am writing this while I am on a bus. I have nothing else to do.

A couple of days ago I joined couchsurfer.org at the suggestion and request of a friend in El Valle, Cocles, Panama. If you have been paying attention, you know about Charles, if you have not, it is really of little consequence. Charles primarily wanted me to give him a good reference as couch surfing is a web of trust, built by references from highly credentialed people. To be highly credential many people must have vouched for you, either as a guest in your house or as a host. It was time to repay my hospitality by joining and vouching for Charles. There were over a 100 people in Medellin who would be happy to put up a guest for free for 1 to 7 days. They just like to meet interesting people.

I contacted a few all of them responded, the women suggested that I would have better success if I posted my picture. Although this is not a dating site I guess if my nose was pierced and I had satanic symbols etched into my forehead I could expect to receive fewer invites. I added more to my profile and posted a picture, which my facebook “friends” said looked like a mug shot and all of a sudden all three women replied again saying they would be happy to meet for drinks. The least attractive of these women was pleasant, one very cute one is young enough that she could be my daughter.

A profile that interested me was that of a 36 year old engineer who got sick of the rate race and was planning to open an eco resort in Panama. I dropped him a line and he didn’t decline, didn’t accept as I had not requested and told me that he was in Medellin for a couple of weeks before he was going to return to the US. I noticed that he was actually in a location that I had intended to visit, 2 hours east of Medellin on a large man made lake.

A guy just got on the bus, said a few words in Spanish and brought out a sheet metal cylinder perhaps 5” in diameter, a foot long dented like it had been shot thousands of times with a BB gun before being folded. It had a handle halfway up the side and he proceded to brush on it with 5 wires that stuck out of a handle and singing in spanish. The man next to me pulled out some money, whether to reward him or make him stop I don’t know. The man folded the money and put it in his shirt pocket, apparently this is a reward to the mobil busker.

The Columbians may not be rich but they are industrious. From selling gum, (2 chicklets in a box for 100 pesos) to a minute of cell phone use for 150-250 pesos they all seem to be at least making an attempt. The man just stopped and I rewarded him for stopping with a 1000 pesos the amount the man next to me gave him. We pulled to a stop, the “music man” exits; (total time on bus, maybe 10 minutes) and a man boards with a wide variety of food, mostly fried goods in home made cellophane bags. A few passengers buy some items and he hops off the bus before we have time to get through the toll booth.

Back to the main entry. What the hell, why not? I took a shower, packed my bags, went to the ATM, bought breakfast (scrambled eggs, toast and coffee was 9,500 pesos, way too much) returned, paid my bill, bid my hosts and fellow guests at the hostel goodbye and left. I had not met anybody there that would become a facebook friend or with whom I would exchange emails. They were friendly enough but we acquaintances, we never took any tours, organized or my style together so there was not much more binding than sympathizing for the drumming the Red Wings were getting or playing a little billiards.

My back pack is filled with my support electronics and camera while my clothes, 2 shirts, 3 pair of socks, 2 pairs of shorts, a towel, my toilet kit, my machete and a walking stick are in a rubberized boat bag. You never know when you might find yourself on a boat in a raging river. Hopefully I’ll be on the Amazon hunting giant anacondas in a few weeks, but I digress. I was hoping to get a proper back pack, like the fantastic one I have in storage back in Dallas. There were none to be had in Panama; I’ll have to go to a mall in Medellin and get one when I’m done with this little side trip.

The taxi ride to Metro was only a couple of kilometers and the weather was very pleasant. The bag is light but to large to carry in conventional style without dragging on the ground. Like some sort of a lazy ass I fetched a cab and took a ride to the metro, the fare was the minimum fare, 3,900 pesos ($2), for another 6,000 pesos I could have been dropped off at the bus terminal, but that seemed like cheating. I walked up the stairs to the station, paid my 1,350 pesos and without hesitation descended to the proper side of the terminal. I made a few notes on my I touch, moved some items from my fanny back to my back pack and the train came. I put on my back pack, grabbed my bag and a man came up to me and said some words in spanish. I didn’t bother to say anything I just gave him a quizzical look and he said “your bag is not zipped.” Thanking him I put it down and zipped it fully, it was only open an inch or two. Columbians, at least those in Medellin are exceptionally considerate people. They give up their seats to the elderly, a woman with a child in arms will be given a preferred standing location on the metro so she can hold a vertical pole while holding the babe with both arms. A cripple is assisted by an apparent stranger (albeit a metro cop) up a flight of stairs. A man drops a 100 peso coin, 5 cents and a child picks it up and hands it to the man. Daily life is a stream of small kind acts.

Yesterday I was walking down the street inspecting the strength of the garage doors. These doors were exceptionally strong, built from ¾” solid steel bars to 2” extremely thick walled tubular steel. How do I know? I was in the physical security business for years. I banged on the tubes, I pulled on them to see how much they would flex, I inspected the way they were fastened to the walls. All the while a man stood in front of a building watching me engage in this exceptionally suspicious activity. He finally came over and said something I’m sure translates into “What the fuck do you think you are doing?” but I have no comprehension. “Puerte muy “ then I flex my muscles not knowing the work for strong, “no necessito, muy tranquillo par que ?

The man took me over to the building he was standing in front of showed me his door, which was easily a 1,500 pound garage door, it was locked with rods at 6 different locations. He told me the door was 30 years old. “Ah necessito 1980, wars Escobar.” I was trying to indicate that when the worlds most dangerous and richest criminal Pablo Escobar was in Medellin, blowing things up, killing cops, judges, civilians by the tens of thousands things were probably a bit different. Then the man showed me the offices he rented out, the apartment, gave me his name, showed me where he lived and told me to come if I ever needed help on anything. That is the third time in three days something like this has happened to me here.

Back again to the story, where was I? Oh yeah, getting on the train. In front of me was yet another stunning beauty with perfect teeth, complexion that looked air brush, full firm breasts a narrow waist and hips that completed the rest of her form perfectly. The primary export of Medellin used to be cocaine, now it is beauty queens, models and stunning women who inhabit brothels and strip clubs in other Latin American countries. How can one not just stare, slack jawed?

“Proximo Hospital.” We are nearing the Hospital exit, mine is the one after that. I move closer to the door as people enter and leave in a very orderly, efficient but unrushed and polite manner. At the “Caribe” station I exited the train and walked over to the Bus Terminal.

There were 5 guys in white shirts standing in front of what appeared to be a ticket booth. This didn’t look too promising as based on the writing on their shirts they were all employees of some transport company. Nonplussed I walked to the window and tried to order a ticket to my destination, mispronounced it. A consecutive sequence of the correct dipthongs is not comprehensible without the correct syllabic stress. I wrote it down and the woman smiled and pointed behind her and said something in Spanish. I headed off in the direction she indicated and the man in line next me said “quince”. All right then, I’m off to terminal 15.

While waiting at the aforementioned terminal, I was second in line the man came up behind me and stated my destination as a single word interrogative sentence. This man was the master of communication, “I looked at him and said “Si, mi dumb ass gringo.” He laughed and indicated I should follow, and walked me over to a ticket booth I had previously passed that was plainly marked with my destination. I got to the window and tried to talk to the woman in the booth, but a sound like dozens of 50 foot metal locusts swarming drowned out all attempts. I showed her the name of my destination which was written in small letters on the bottom of a small piece of paper and looked at it, with a twinkle in her eye, looked back up at me and pointed to the 6” letters over my head on the window that separated us. “Si, uno.” She just smiled. None of the disgust that this may have evoked in Panama. “Dumbass of course you want to go to ??? that’s the only place we go.” She said “auto o bus” and pointed to a picture of each. I said “bus” she wrote me a receipt for 11,000 pesos and I gave here the equivalent of slightly less than 6 bucks for a 2 hour ride. Another smiling guy appeared out of nowhere grabbed my bag, looked at me, walked down the terminal a ways, took a right to where the buses were lined up, walked down the row, took a left, walked on the bus, put my bag on the seat, gave me a thumbs up and left not waiting for a tip.

Ok, I’m caught up with the day, I think I’ll watch the scenery for a while.

Time passes… This is written in the evening at about 8:00

After I arrived I entered the first hotel I saw, the bus stopped in front of it. I walked up a flight of stairs to see a lovely little hotel. I looked around for a bit and a woman came out. Private rooms with baths and TV were 30 mill (mill as in thousand like millimeter) . $30.000 is how they would write it here, the ‘.’ being the separator, so that is thirty thousand pesos or about $16 USD, no taxes. Are you getting this currency stuff?

The woman saw all of the Dollars in my wallet and wanted to buy some from me. After about a minute I got here to understand that I wanted to know at what rate she wanted to buy them. She offered a rate of 1,700 pesos to the dollar I told her I could get 1,870 to the dollar in Medellin, so no thanks. The room was small but very clean. The bed has 2 sheets and 3 thick blankets. How the hell cold does it get up here at night?

I grabbed my camera, donned my specs, Tilley and camera and headed out for parts unknown. I made it about 100 meters down a block and two men were holding a sheet metal cabinet with a countenances betraying consternation. I offered to assist and the man made a gesture that I understood to mean this had to be carried up a flight of stairs. “No problemo.” I grabbed the back and off we went. The gesture meant across town and up a hill. Oh well, the cabinet was light and the town is small. The only gringo in town, he just showed up and now he is a laborer, what the hell?

It was time for food so I walked around for 20 minutes, saw a cop’s motorcycle and ate there. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The local cops know where to get high quality food and good prices. The place was crammed with eating spots, a small shelf lined a corridor with chairs lined up in front of it. Tables jammed every room. Obviously this place gets packed on the weekends, when the residents of Medellin invade the town. I ordered the tipico (“typical”) dish, once mill (Do you have that 11 thousand pesos, about 5.80 off the top of my pointed head.) I could plainly see into the kitchen. I like to eat at restaurants that don’t have to hide their operations, or the cutie making my lunch.