Whenever you think you can't go on, a little light comes from somewhere.

Colombia/Ecuador, April 1980 We, two young German students, had ambitious plans for our 8-month journey through Latin America, from Colombia to Bolivia. At a time when we had neither the internet nor a mobile phone at our disposal, we had consulted books, travel guides and maps, noted down the addresses of embassies and acquired some knowledge of Spanish. As a result, we felt sufficiently prepared for our trip.

We planned to climb the mighty active volcano Galeras in southwest Colombia from Pasto in the Andes. The town of Pasto is 2,897 metres above sea level, which is relatively high. So it should be easy for us to climb the 4,276-metre-high volcano. Or so we thought!

And so we did. We set off full of enthusiasm. Soon, however, it turned out that it was not a somewhat strenuous walk but a demanding steep ascent. The high-altitude air was getting to me. I was getting slower and slower and visibly weaker, and I felt nauseous. Finally, I signalled to my friend that she should go on alone. She could pick me up on the way back. I needed to rest.

A jeep, a large family and a bottle of Aguardiente

So I sat there on the side of the road, disappointed and hoping to regain my strength. I wanted to see this volcano. Then a jeep stopped next to me, and the driver offered to give me a lift. Of course, I didn't need to be told twice. I got into the car, where his whole family was already gathered, namely his wife, three children and grandma and grandpa. But there was still room for me too.

I told them that the altitude was bothering me. The family members told me this is a common problem for many; even locals are affected. The grandmother announced that Aguardiente is the best remedy for altitude sickness and promptly handed me a bottle of spirits, from which I gratefully took a big gulp. It was medicine, after all, I told myself. The local Aquadiente was strong and tasted of aniseed. It tasted good, but it didn't help much. I was still nauseous and weak on my feet.

Arriving at the top of the crater, we met my friend. After an obligatory crater inspection and a short tour, we drove back to Pasto with the family. Again, unimaginable, but even my girlfriend could squeeze into the car. Back in the lower-lying town, I soon felt better again, even without booze.

The guidebooks are not always up-to-date

The next day we had to leave early. Instead of taking the usual tourist tour across the Andes to Ecuador, we decided on a different route at short notice. We planned to go to the coast, and from the presumably idyllic harbour town of Tumaco, we wanted to take a boat along the Pacific coast to Ecuador. That was the plan. According to our travel guide, this should be possible.

A six-hour bus ride took us away from the Andes to the coast. The journey was an impressive incident. Within a short time, the landscape changed from barren mountains to lush green banana plantations, palm groves and lush jungle. We were thrilled. But when we got off the bus, our disappointment was great. Instead of a beautiful coastal town with a sandy beach and blue sea, we were greeted by a dingy city that reeked of waste and sewage. What we didn't know (and, of course, it wasn't in our guidebook) was that a few months earlier, in December 1979, an earthquake had shaken the Tumaco region, and a tsunami had devastated parts of the coast. More than a tenth of the houses had been destroyed. Yet, all around, one could still see the traces of the natural disaster if one knew about it.

Coincidences do exist!

This situation, which we had not expected, presented us with a problem. Where could we find accommodation? There was no sign of a hotel! We were horrified. Perplexed, we sat in a reasonably functional café to think about what to do now.

Suddenly we heard a familiar voice calling us. Indeed, the man coming towards us was the friendly driver from the day before. He was in Tumaco for business reasons but still had time to help us in word and deed. He promptly had a solution to our dilemma.

He took us to a family known to him, who had room for us in their big house and welcomed us with open arms. The children were happy to be able to show off their English skills proudly. The mother cooked for us with great passion and the father told us about the earthquake and the tsunami and drove us around in his car to show us the extent of the damage.

The next day he arranged a place for us on a boat along the coast to Ecuador - just as we had initially planned. What a friendly, helpful and hospitable family we had met again! A stroke of luck in the middle of a godforsaken backwater in a seemingly hopeless situation! And what a coincidence that we met our friend again from Pasto precisely when we didn't know what to do!

With the smuggler's boat into nowhere

With some delay, our boat trip started around noon. We sat in a small motorboat with a boat driver and other passengers. On the way, we picked up other passengers directly from their houses. These houses stood on stilts in the stinking water, through which the passengers had to wade to get into the boat. But nobody complained. Everyone was happy to have got a place on the boat. After all, the boat was overcrowded and hanging worryingly low in the water.

I noticed that our boatman was steering around the mangrove swamps for a little too long for my liking. We didn't seem to be making any progress. It was gradually getting dark, and I was getting a bit nervous.

But suddenly, our boatman came to life. He cheered and thrust his fist towards the sky in joy. It seemed that, apart from us, he also had illegal cargo on board and, at that moment, had escaped the danger of being caught by the border police. From then on, we could get going and would hopefully arrive soon.

When the boat finally stopped and we were asked to disembark, it had been dark for a long time. We had no idea where we were. The few people who had got off with us quickly disappeared between the houses somewhere. Perplexed, we took our backpacks and made our way into the sparsely lit place. It was 2 am - not exactly a time you wanted to be looking for accommodation in a strange dark town. But we finally found a hotel and rang the bell without much hope. But we were let in. We paid and moved into the room we had been assigned. It was basic. The beds were narrow and worn out. But we didn't care. We were exhausted. When we asked where the toilet or bathroom was, the receptionist pointed with his head in one direction. Since there was no light, only candles, it was quite convenient that you couldn't miss the toilet if you followed your nose. The stench led the way.

Finally, I made myself comfortable in my bed, letting the torch beam glide over the wall, which was a big mistake. In the glow of my torch, a giant gecko scurried across the wall ten centimetres from my face. It must have been thirty centimetres long, but it appeared monstrous in the shadow of the lamp. Now, of course, my head began to spin. What other vermin and creatures might be in our room? I shuddered. Sleep was now out of the question. Towards morning, when the first roosters crowed, and it was dawn, we left our inhospitable hotel and went in search of - yes, what?!

Attentive people exist in the remotest places

The place was surrounded by water. Were we on an island? The roads were flooded because of the heavy rain during the rainy season. We had to wade through puddles where the water was knee-high. Aimlessly and somewhat despondently, we wandered around. Finally, we came to a place with steps leading to a church. On these steps, we settled down and tried to grasp our situation.

We had no idea where we were. Still in Colombia or already in Ecuador? If we were already in Ecuador, then we had a problem because we had neither an exit stamp from Colombia nor an entry stamp from Ecuador in our passports. So we were in this country illegally. But how could we enter legally now? And how were we ever going to get off this goddamn island?! If only we had taken the bus over the Andes!

As we squatted on the church steps, frustrated and worried, we heard a dark pleasant sonorous voice addressing us. We looked up and saw a slim black woman in front of us who asked kindly if she could help us.

This woman probably instinctively understood that her help was needed here. She called out to her husband to get something to eat and invited us to have coffee with her. We accepted with thanks and shortly afterwards enjoyed the sweet rolls that the man had bought for us. Only when we devoured the rolls with ravenous appetite did we realise that we had not eaten for almost a day.

Strengthened in body and soul, we told our hostess about our desolate situation. All not so bad, she said. She told us the way to the regional governor's office, where we could get an entry stamp. But now it was too early, she said because he would not be in his office until around 10 am. She also informed us that we had indeed landed on an Ecuadorian island. But around noon, a boat could take us to the coastal town of Esmeraldas. All right. Our seemingly insurmountable and oppressive problems were solved. Even the sun was beginning to shine. We could go on.

I will never forget the slender black woman with her dark warm voice. Like a guardian angel, she appeared to us in this dire situation. To this day, I feel tremendous gratitude. I am grateful to her and all the other helpers on this and other journeys. This experience has shown me that the saying that keeps appearing in my childhood poetry album has some truth to it: Whenever you think you can't go on, a little light comes from somewhere.

(LL)

Traditional saying: Whenever you think you can't go on...