I checked out of Hotel Amazon, I am moving to Divino Nino and no it was not like a scene from the Omen.

Carlos, my prospective guide I met in Peru yesterday came to the hotel to meet me. The front desk clerk showed a look of grave concern.

“Tours a la selva son muy, muy peligroso.

“Cocodrilos, serpientes o Piraña?” and yes I can find the question mark on this keyboard but it doesn’t emit a question mark.

“Los narcotraficantes en el Perú te va a matar.”

Then he gave the gesture of a split throat and a man being gutted.

I’m going anyway. I was sitting at a bar last night talking to a couple from Bogota and some big gringo walked up to me and said “Americano?” “Si, I mean yes.”

He was also staying at the Hotel Amazonas. I bitched about the fact the front door was always locked and the guard was passed out on the couch. All the keys were in boxes behind the front desk but the guy was too messed up to bother with it so I had to find my own, which was not in it’s designated spot.

Richard and I walked down to the river and took a boat over to Santa Rosa (Saint Pink… WTF?) There was nothing going on, but we wanted to get our passports stamped. Immigration was closed for lunch so we went to Restaurante Touristica and played with the monkey. I finally got someone to remove the dead anaconda from the box on the end of the pier. Finally immigration was open and we got the official to stamp our passports.

“Quantos dias?” How many days.

“Cerro” zero.

“Como?” what?

“dos horas” 2 hours.

A quizzical look crossed his face.

“Necessito solo stampe pora recarda visitante Peru.” I hope that means something.

“Y comidas, cerveza y bueno chicas” and food, beer and hot women.

Big grin from the guy, who told us where to find all of the above. But they were not of the quality we sought so 20 minutes later we requested an exit notation.

I said the the guy Ingles, Adios Mother Fucker. Richard gave me a startled look. He thought we were going to jail. Como. I repeated it very slowly, the man laughed harder than the parrot next door did.

On the ride back Richard asked how much I thought a boat for the day was. I asked the captain of the canoe on which we were travelling. 150,000 pesos a day. We booked it for tomorrow and figured we would scrounge around town for a couple of chicas to make the day even more pleasant while we were procuring food and water for the trip.

An hour and a half after we departed we were back in Leticia, Columbia.

How dangerous is this trip into the Jungles of Peru anyway

Damn this keyboard.

Seven o’clock in the morning found me dressed and ready for activity. I couldn’t find a map anywhere but I backtracked the route the taxi took toward the airport, looking for the zoo. A web page I was looking at the day I left said that there were as many animals out of cages as there were caged. This sounded like a good thing. Wanting some reassurance that I was heading the right direction I stopped a local “Donde esta parque zoological?” He indicated that I was heading in the right direction with a swoop of his hand and the attendant whistling sound that Colombians like to make with hand swoops. A bunch of Spanish but I did catch “todo” and “cerrado”. Always closed? No he must me closed all day on Sunday. A few blocks further I saw a large wall with interesting advertising every 50 feet or so. The vegetation was lush on the far side, what is over this wall? I stepped up on a rise and looked over the wall and saw a tiger in the distance pacing in a small cage. The grass was overgrown everywhere at least two feet tall. A tapir lounged in the sun and a pair of agouti ran by. I guess he meant that it was always closed. I turned and walked back and noticed the entrance that I had passed earlier, the gate was closed, one guy was strolling behind it and a big tapir well over 100 kilos walked by.

I walked around town for a while but everything was closed, internet cafes, restaurants, provisioning stores, tour companies. Ahh, it’s Sunday. A couple of hours later I walked back past the hotel and down to the river. A drunk was rolling on the sidewalk. Two more were passed out in the bar, one was staggering down the street. It was 11 AM. Welcome to the Amazon. As I approached the floating pier a man jumped on me like a salesman at a used car lot. I almost wondered if he was going to say “What is it going to take to get you on a trip today?” He wanted to describe his tour but I asked for some printed documentation. “Necessito describo escribe,” Close enough, he went off and fetched an accordian folder and pulled out a hand painted map of the area and told me about the island of monkeys that swarm you, climbing all over you, the lily pads multiple meters across, the pink dolphins and anacondas. The trip was 120,000. He explained that was because I was alone. Well, I told him I will just have to find a tour with more passengers, to get my cost down. Three people boarded a boat and he told me he could take me to Peru for diez. Okay, I can spare $5. A few minutes later we landed at Santa Rosa a Peruvian island in the middle of the river.

I disembarked and was beset upon immediately by a local who greeted me in English. His name was Carlos and he was a guide. Sure, I’ll hear about your tour. We walked 50 meters and sat riverside at some bar. He had a book of photos with a pet jaguar, lily pads with people standing on them, hammocks with mosquito enclosures. I asked him how much a 5 day tour was. When he started launching into all the things I was going to see I knew it wasn’t going to be cheap in the end he told me it was 120.000.000. No way in hell. Again he told me that I was alone and that they don’t make gasoline in Colombia so gasoline is expensive. Bud, that 9 horsepower motor doesn’t burn a gallon an hour, give me a break. Then he told me that he didn’t need the money for today, he was building a hostel. I don’t care what your motives are I just need a better price. I had read on the internet that such tours could be had for $250 USD. I took his number and told him that if he could round up some more people to give me a call.

I strolled down the sidewalk, no roads or cars here, nor was there any evidence of immigration, which was good as I had neglected to bring my passport.

Spying a sign for ceviche, for which I have a great fondness, I pulled out my camera. Some passing ham stood next to the sign and gave me a big thumbs up. I snapped the shot and continued down the sidewalk. The guy walked up a plank and gestured for me to follow. He read me well enough to not bother trying talk to me in Spanish. A monkey on a lead swung from place to place ocassionally onto a tourist. Other monkeys clambered the walls of large cages. Two small jaguars m(or were they ocelots? )lie on the wooden floor in the corner. The man then signalled me over to a low storage type box a meter tall, two meters deep and 5 meters long and opened the lid. Two boa constrictors lay coiled in a tub, one a spectacular Colombian red tailed boa and the other a darker brown as are common in Mexico and Costa Rica. Draped over the side of the tub was a two meter green anaconda which was flaccid and had obviously left this world in spirit more than a day before. Another anaconda laid coiled in the corner.

A large statue carved of wood of the famous pink dolphins that inhabit this river stood in the corner boasting a very large erect penis. I grabbed a local cutey, put my hat on her head and staged her next to it and had here companion take a picture of the two of us and this giant penis. After a while I realized I had to go, which I had time to get the email addresses of the Colombians with whom I had been hanging. They were from Santa Marta and would be a lot of fun next time I’m on the Caribbean. I returned to the dock at the appointed time, 5:40 but my boat was not to be seen. After 15 minutes of walking around I decided just to take any boat back. The fare was tres mill. The dickhead had charged me over three times the going rate. As we were pulling out dickhead pulled in an indicated that I should go on his boat. I declined but gave him the money for the previous trip.

Back in town I went to the hotel room, took a shower and finished off Tom Clancy’s “Debt of Honor”, went to the internet café, killed a little more time and then walked toward Tabatinga Brazil. On the way I encountered some clowns erecting a canopy and a group of children observing. I threw my hat on one kid and took his picture. A melee ensued as every kid present had to wear my sombrero and get his picture taken. I continued, crossed the border, this time with my passport and once again encountered no restrictions, just strolling on with little more notice than a sign that communicated some basic statistics of Brazil.. Spying a restaurant sign that proclaimed ceviche I sat down and placed my order. A short while later a bowl was brought out. I took of the lid but this was not my ceviche, but rather a green hot sauce. A few minutes later an enormous ceviche was presented and I dinned splendidly. It was so good I had to have the lingua gusada (tongue in gravy) but passed on the rice and beans. It was so tender I could cut it with a fork and the gravy was excellent. Sated I returned to Leticia and called my mother, my first call state side in four months. We chatted for about 20 minutes and I headed out in search of something else to occupy my time. I just strolled around for an hour or so and finally found a quiet bar with a few people sitting around and just sat down and joined them.

A large gringo walked up and said to me “Americano?” “Si, I mean yes.” He joined us. Richard is a 43 year old New Yorker now living in El Paso, TX. Richard had just gotten into town and was staying at the same hotel as I, the Hotel Amazonas. We bitched about the fact that the front door was always locked and you had to wake up the guard who was passed out on the couch to get in or out. He would fumble around inside the couch looking for his key and then return to his couch without fetching my room key from the boxes behind the reception desk. The lights were off, so I had to fetch mine in the dark and it was not in the correct box. I just took half the keys and walked down the hall and looked at them under a light as the lobby was dark. Nice security, I knew which rooms were vacant or the guests were out and had the keys. Time to find a new hotel. We returned to the hotel and agreed to meet in the morning and see what we could do about a tour.

A took a walk and saw a rock

I climbed the rock.

This is what I saw

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.

I left 3 pairs of good boots back in Dallas and I wore out the only pair I had brought back with me in January. The river sandals I had been carrying were exceptionally uncomfortable so I went off in pursuit of new footwear. As with most of my travels there was not much of a plan. I walked to the metro station and proceeded north until it looked like I was in a promising area then disembarked.

Map of Medellin.

Notes to self:

Stops

• I boarded at El Pablodo
• disembarked at Parque Barrio
• Spent an hour trying to get a pair of size 45 shoes, visited 14 shops, most selling cheap knockoffs
• embarked at San Antonio
• disembarked at

Oh hell, I don’t have time for this. Here is a bunch of pictures.

After inquiring about good places to do some hiking I was informed that I could go to Arvi and that the best way to get there was via the Medellin Metro. I grabbed a tourist map and walked down Calle 7 to Avenida al Poblado and consulted my map there. Yet another friendly local stopped her jogging to inquire if I needed any assistance and then directed me to Calle 10 to find the station. The station was very clean and quiet unlike the subways of New York for example. In Medellin the trains run above ground and the cables overhead. For 2,600 pesos I purchased a ticket. I slipped the small ticket into the slot in the front of the turnstile, the ticket was consumed, the light turned green and I walked through the turnstile. Signs everywhere were in Spanish and English. The cars were filled beyond seating capacity but not stuffed. In short order I got to my transfer station. The north bound portion of the trip was in a Gondola that seated about 6 people. We travelled up the side of the mountains, over the tops of the houses of the poorest parts of the city. More processions with people on stilts and carrying banners. When we got to the end of the line there was a short walk to an attached terminal that had cables that crested the mountain. An additional ticket was required, about 2,400 pesos I believe. The coordinator efficiently filled the gondolas. Groups of 4 were topped off with groups of 2 for instance. The ticket was a plastic card. After a half hour wait (this is a very popular destination on the weekends) I approached the turnstile. The attendant performed a proximity scan on my RFID card and took the card. Strange system indeed. Maybe they were recording queue times.

As the gondola approached to summit, the wind, unabated by the surrounding terrain picked up considerably. After crossing the peak the cable descending and ascended a small number of times and at the 23rd tower we arrived at the terminal exiting into the park for no additional charge. The park itself is small, less than 2 hectare (5 acres) with a large paved road winding through it. This was a bit of a disappointment but after following the road for a bit I found a trail that led off into the forest and spent an hour looking at a great deal of lichen in what appeared to be a deciduous forest.

The trail ended back on a two lane road that I walked for a bit and I took another trail that exited on what was evidently, once again the same road. Walking further there was a large boisterous party with people evidently having a great deal of fun, excitedly singing along with the band from time to time. I found an opening in the fence but it was guarded by a private guard bearing a break action single shot rusty shotgun. Despite having no great respect for the quality of his munitions I acceded to his insistence that this was a private affair. I walked a bit further down the road and then doubled back and exited on yet another trail, near a river. The trail followed the river and after a short time I encountered the party again, this time on the far side of the river. A couple of kilometers later I climbed a steep hill. I heard a voice behind me. I turned and there was a tall, slender young man at the base of the hill. I attempted to reply, but due to the distance there was no communication, just a brief period of shouting between us. At the top of the hill was a large gravel road that went both left and right with no indication as to the correct direction. I guess the correct direction would be based on your intended destination, I just wanted to return to the road from which I came, hopefully a bit closer to the cable station.

The young man came to the top and I asked him which way to go. His mastery was absolute. “We go this way, if we find no bus, we backtrack.” I was done hiking but I liked his attitude. His English was better than my Spanish, by a long shot but he apologized for it anyway. “Mi habla solo Espanol su comprende nada.” “I understood that.” We hiked for a while and finally reached the end of the lake I haven’t told you about and crossed the dam which was obviously hydroelectric. At the far side of the dam we were on forbidden territory passing the administration building we headed for the gates that were obviously locked. The chains could be seen from over 40 meters away. Two more private guards were with two women. They were folding up a tent. Don’t ask me I’ll never know.

They allowed us to pass and said something in Spanish which Juan said meant that I obviously was tired. A few kilometers down the road we passed a hotel and Juan asked me if I wanted to visit it. Now, why in the name of god, would I want to visit this hotel? “No, gracias.” A minute later… “Cerveza su vende hotel?” “Possible” We backtracked a little bit. Yet another private guard with the substandard armament was visible. A bus pulled up and we attempted to scurry past the gate while he was checking out the bus but were intercepted. “Necessito comprare dos cervesa aqui.” Yeah, I’m the master of Spanish. The guard looked at us and just gave us a nod. I don’t know what I could have said that would have denied us entry. “Tenemos que ver a las chicas jóvenes que están lejos de su padre” would probably have worked, but I didn’t google translate with me at the time.

We each had a quick beer. I found out that Juan was an attorney fighting for the rights of the workers and defending himself from entering into a pact with the devil by not over exerting himself. I explained how big law firms work in the US, turning idealist young men into soulless sources of income promising that if they could suck enough cash out of enough people by working 80 hours a week at 1/4 the rate they were being paid they could in turn abuse the next generation while taking the profits of their labor.

Invigorated we returned to the trail and found a large queue of buses ready to take the revellers back to the gondolas to begin the reverse trip to Medellin. The lines extended into the forbidden territory and I just didn’t want to deal with it all, getting more and more frustrated. I bid him goodbye and started to walk back.

By now I was pretty tired and I stuck out my thumb as I walked but I don’t think that hitch-hiking in Columbia is a fruitful exercise no matter how bedecked one is in Gringo attire. Full bus after full bus passed me as I marched on.

At one point a bus passed me and came to a stop and a head emerged from the rear door. I ran to the bus and saw that it was Juan who was standing at the rear door. He had evidently boarded the bus and caused it to stop and wait for me. I shook his hand warmly and he directed me to the front so that I could pay. The bus was silent during my walk up the aisle but after I gave my money some guy whispered something to the guy next to him about the gringo. I turned and said “Gringo apreciar bus alto” which probably translates into “shove a plate up your ass” but there was quite a bit of laughter and peopled started talking about Juan stopping the bus for the overheated gringo.

A bit further down the road a tall, slender attractive woman whose hair was an improbable shade of red boarded the bus bearing a bouquet of flowers and a bag and indicated that she wanted to sit next to me on the seat. I was on the front seat of the bus so I had to fold my feet underneath me to get them behind the rise that separated the passengers from the driver. She tucked her flowers on the far side of the partition that separated me from the driver. The partition bore an image of a Spanish Christ, (nobody down here seems to think he would have looked Jewish or Ethiopian) and I turned to her and said “No necessito flor pora mi” and pointed at her flowers. She gave me a bemused and confused look and turned her direction gaze straight forward. Two other men boarded right behind her and secured proximate positions to this lovely woman, blocking the traffic from others who wanted to board the bus.

The old man who sat on the hump and faced backwards quickly read that the woman wasn’t with me and engaged her in a protracted conversation. Juan walked back up the aisle and apologized for me not understanding that there was a bus that would take me directly back to Medellin and took a seat behind me. I watched the beautiful scenery as we wound our way up and down the hills on the way back to Medellin. Finally my legs couldn’t take being folded back any more. I asked the woman to extend her legs to the right of the partition and to the left of the man giving her the attention so I could have room to rotate and pull my legs out from under the seat. The man pointed to her legs and his shoulders. I stifled a laugh, she laughed out loud. I thought this old guy went from being a complete peckerhead to a pretty cool guy and she was very well humored. Juan and I exchanged email addresses once before boarding the bus and I had him enter his address on my itouch while we were on the bus. He told me to write him if there was any way he could help me. The people here are very friendly and helpful.

We got off the bus in the middle of the city. Juan wanted to make sure that I could make it to the metro to get home, but I told him I would just wander around for a while and then get a cab. An hour later I hailed a cab. This was like crosstown traffic in Manhattan with Panamanian taxi drivers. We went nowhere and horns blasted all the time. Maybe Medellin isn’t Nirvana after all. I told the driver “This is crazy. Fuck this, I will walk.” He looked back at me, I couldn’t even get out of the cab unless I rolled down a window and crawled out of it. After a while he got to a cross street and got us out of it and we proceeded apace to less hectic sections of the city.

I got back and wrote a big blog entry on this while hanging out with the exceptionally attractive receptionist and the incredibly built cleaning woman while the residents all changed clothes into “I’m going to go out and get me some” attire. Then the whole draft went away.

So that’s what you get, more than what you wanted anyway.

I was ready to move on, the heat in Cartagena was just stifling. Rodney was evaluating his options, he was considering going to Santa Maria, maybe. The bus to Medellin left at 11.

The walk to the bus stop was about 9 blocks. I was staggered by the huge number of buses queued and driving in the street, none clearly marked. I had read that taking a bus alone was a bit of an adventure. After the third bus passed me I just inquired to the guy who hangs out the door of the bus, “Terminal Cento?” “Si.” I got on the bus. It was clearly marked as a 1300 peso ride. After almost about and hour of winding our way through various city streets I started to get a little apprehensive. I didn’t know that Cartagena was so large and began to be concerned that we were actually not going to make it to a terminal.

When I arrived at the terminal I walked by a guy standing near the front gate who spoke a great deal of Spanish to me that I did not understand. I dismissed him with “No Comprende. Mi Espanol muy poco. Necissito bus Medellin.” This evoked a great deal more Spanish and I thought that I was hearing that I was at the wrong terminal for intercity transport. God damn it. He gestured that I should follow him. We walked a couple of hundred meters and he looked at a bus that had no obvious markings and patted it on the side and said, “Medellin Directo ocho horas.” I had no idea that there was a faster bus. He attempted to grab my bags and put them in the storage in the back of the bus, but I wasn’t letting them out of my sight. He saw my apprehension and just carried them on the bus. Now I took up two seats, but there were plenty of empty seats, so what the hell. After I boarded he showed me 110000 on his cell phone. I gave him the requested number of pesos and he left the bus. He didn’t scurry off, but nobody else was giving him any money. He brought on a guy wearing a company shirt and pointed at me. I asked “Necessito ticket” to which he replied “Tranquillo”. What the hell? The bus company guy seemed to think that I was set, but was I really? I inquired with the driver, “Hasta Medellin Directo?” Si.

Then a company guy came on and starting charging people and giving them tickets. I didn’t have enough pesos to buy a ticket if I just got ripped off, but I left on the bus, the only passenger without a ticket. We stopped frequently and people got on selling juices and all manner of foods, getting off shortly thereafter, presumably boarding a bus in the opposite direction in a travelling market. I had read about the hyper effective air conditioning on Colombian buses but there was no air on this bus. Every time we stopped it was stifling. After many hours we came to another bus stop and everybody got off. I inquired and was informed that I had to change buses, I thought. Direct my ass. The whole cycle repeated itself. After about 9 hours on the bus we got to another terminal I bought a couple of juices but after 9 hours on the bus I need to urinate and there was no bathroom available. I was told there was one one the bus. Another person took my bags and carried them to my seat, reclined my seat, lowered my foot rest gave me a thumbs up and walked off the bus, no pregnant pause waiting for a tip. After another hour we stopped at a restaurant, but by this time I was too tired and just wanted to rest in my seat. Finally Medellin was visible through the window, stretching far up the hill in a sea of lights. I saw no taxis and inquired; they were on the lower level. After descending the stair case there was a see of Chevy cars the size of Mini Coopers, all yellow at least 4 score and I was the only person at the taxistop. I showed the location of my destination to the taxi coordinator and inquired “Queno questo?” and received the response “Doce Mill”, 12,000 pesos. I had a 10,000 note in my wallet. I got in the taxi, it had a meter, I had obviously left Panama. We whizzed down clean well maintained streets at 100 km/hr, the driver couldn’t find the place with the map I handed him, but with three quick inquiries after getting off the highway we found ourselves at my intended destination. Everybody was very helpful.

Casa Kiwi only had a bed in the dorm and no lockers available. I walked to the ATM but it had a windows boot message that it could not locate “hal.dll”. Shit out of luck. The town was hopping, beautiful women were everywhere. The town was in full swing but nobody was obnoxious or loud or rude. The weather was perfect but started to drizzle as I was writing this post and has already stopped. This is going to be good.

I visited a museum, the House of Inquisition, which sucked big time. All torture devices were reconstructions although the breast clamps looked like something out of a mammography warm-up.

Religion is great isn’t it? Thank god this bullshit is all over and we are all englightened.

Oh, wait.Maybe not.

What do you mean what do I do? I travel around. I go to visit friends in places I’ve never been, friends I’ve never met before. Then I move. Too much world to see.

“As your attorney, I recommend you wipe the SD card on your camera, overwrite it several times. Overwrite all images on your hard drive. Deny everything always, today, tomorrow and forever. It never happened.”

Hunter Thompson’s three hundred pound Samoan from “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” gives me a visit, reincarnated as a Columbian.