Bus Stories 8: Travelling by bus in Colombia - For Sale for 10 Dollars?

April 1980. Popayan region. Colombia.

I was once again I am travelling by bus in Colombia, on the way from Popayan to San Antonio. There, as I had read in my travel guide, one should be able to visit many prehistoric excavations. I am fascinated by such insights into times long past. So I was curious to see what would await me there. But already, the way there over bumpy and winding roads through the impressive Andes landscape was an experience.

Travelling on a chiva through a beautiful Colombian landscape

As is common in many rural areas of Colombia, our bus was a Chiva, the most uncomfortable but cheapest means of transport. A chiva is a truck-like vehicle with wooden planks as benches in the loading area. Our chiva was full. On each of the five benches, six to seven people sat tightly packed with their luggage, sacks of potatoes and onions, even a few chickens and whatever else they had snatched at the market and now dragged home.

It was raining hard. But we didn't mind because we were sitting in the dry.

The mood was good. My fellow travellers were absorbed in lively conversation. Such a market day is always an excellent opportunity to meet acquaintances and exchange the latest gossip. It was downright boisterous even on the front bench, where four to five men sat, including the driver. They laughed raucously and joked. A bottle of Aguardiente, the local aniseed liquor, was circulating among the good-humoured group. From where I was sitting, I couldn't see if the driver was also drinking from the bottle, but I wouldn't have been surprised. I felt a little queasy because of the many bends and unpaved and muddy roads. But the driver steered his bus safely into and around the bends.

My fellow passengers were all in a good mood and not the least bit worried. Everything would be fine. After all, like most bus drivers in Latin America, the driver had a crucifix, a picture of the Mother of God and one of Che Guevara hanging from the rearview mirror. "Dios nos bendiga", the sign on the dashboard read. God protect us - and if he doesn't help, then surely Che Guevara will.

Travelling by bus through Colombian's beautiful Anden landscape

After a few hours of travelling on the hard planks of the bus, my backside started to hurt, and I was glad when we stopped for a short break at a small market. With stiff limbs, I got off the bus to stretch my legs. Then a little older man came rushing towards me. He seemed very excited and shouted something from afar that I couldn't understand. The fact that he was frantically waving a 10 US dollar bill made the behaviour even more puzzling. When he finally reached me and grabbed my arm to pull me along with him, I was perplexed and shocked simultaneously. He was scruffy and stank pathetically of alcohol, but his eyes were glued to the young blonde gringa (foreigner), that is, to me. His hands tugged at me, and as he did so, he kept encouragingly waving his dollar note in front of my nose. I had no idea what the man wanted from me! So, naturally, I tried to fight him off, as one would fight off someone who had perhaps succumbed to a misunderstanding and was, therefore, not responsible for his behaviour.

But then it hit me. - No! This can't be true! Absolutely not! I shouted at him to get off me, fighting back with my hands and feet. A crowd had formed all around me, but they were all laughing. I didn't find it funny at all.

Just imagine! Such advances from someone like that! And for 10 dollars! And everyone was laughing so hard they couldn't contain themselves!

The situation was soon defused. The bus driver intervened. He told the man to leave me alone and go away. He went reluctantly, cursing loudly to himself, pocketing his useless US $10 note again. The laughter certainly rumbled in more than just my ears.

The bus driver explained that the man had drunk too much Aguardiente and that when a beautiful gringa stepped off the bus, he had seen his moment of happiness coming. - That was supposed to reassure me now?! Well! At least I felt safe again.

The other passengers began to realise that I was in no mood to laugh. Some women came up to me, comforted me and shared their delicious cooked potatoes and turnips with me. Finally, we laughed together at the scenario of the scruffy drunken old man failing miserably with his amorous intentions to the baffled gringa.

I would have liked some of the aniseed liquor; the shock was still in my bones. But unfortunately, this was not on offer. The bottle was probably empty.

Soon after, we returned to our bus, and the journey continued. Some passengers were still giggling. They moved closer - now I was one of them.

But I was secretly grumbling to myself: Just 10 US dollars, what an insult!

(LL.)