No rules!

Our bus was to leave at four, and we slowly headed back to the terminal after our interesting meal. We had noticed a bakery with nice looking bread on the way, and since we had read in one of the forum entries that food had been scarce during the trip we wanted to make sure that we had something to eat. At a supermarket we stocked up on water, cheese, bananas and cookies – we would not starve, at least.

After retrieving our stored backpack we headed for Salida 1-109, the exit to the gathering area from where we'd board the bus. As in the other Latin American countries where we've travelled police presence was noticeable everywhere, and here at the terminal several policemen with dogs walked the corridors, likely keeping an eye (or a nose) on drugs. Drug trafficking, which was such a problem twenty years ago, is heavily punished, and drug possession is not tolerated either. We had nothing to fear, and neither dogs nor policemen were interested in us.

Our tickets were checked and stamped, and we joined the large group of people waiting for their respective busses. But travel is the main means of transportation in Columbia as well as Ecuador, and the travellers range from businessmen in suit and tie carrying laptop bags to indigenous families with cardboard boxes and huge bags wrapped in colourful striped sisal bags.

About fifteen minutes before the departure of the bus we were called outside to where the bus was waiting with open luggage doors. We handed our bag to the driver's assistant, watched it being stowed in the belly of the bus, received a receipt, and boarded. For the next 22 hours or so the two comfortable front seats behind the driver would be our home. We had plenty of leg room, too, which would make the journey much more pleasant.

Johann found what seemed to be a piece of a toy on his seat, and it didn't take long until a little boy on the other front seat called out something to his mom: yes, this belonged to his toy airplane, and he was happy to get it back. It soon turned out that the young woman and the little boy were the wife and son of one of the bus drivers. This was somehow reassuring: who would take their young family along if the trip was really dangerous? I started questioning this again, however, when an employee from the bus company slowly walked along the aisle with a video camera, capturing every single passenger. They obviously wanted to make sure that everyone would be accounted for in case of ... of what? A kidnapping? A bad accident? I didn't feel like spinning out this thought any further, and admired the blooming trees we were passing on our way out of the terminal area instead.

The weather had been nice for the first part of the day, but now a thunderstorm brought a huge downpour, and the roads could hardly contain the amounts of water. Cars drove with their tires half submerged, and still the deluge continued. I was very tired, maybe still an effect from the altitude, and as soon as the bus had left the terminal area I couldn't keep my eyes open, so I didn't see much of the sprawling outskirts of Bogotá. When I woke again we had almost left the city behind, and the rain had let up. The road climbed steadily, and construction made our progress slow on the rough road. Traffic was very heavy, especially big trucks, but many buses and cars as well. This didn't concern our bus driver much, however: he passed one vehicle after the other, honking his horn briefly to warn a driver who didn't make room soon enough for him to slip back in the line. This would be interesting!

After a while the slow stretch ended, and the road got considerably better – for a while. For the first part of the evening we were entertained with movies from two tv screens, one in the front and one in the middle of the bus. We had read that the drivers seem to favour action movies, the more blood the better, and our experience on this trip certainly would confirm that. The volume, of course, was turned up high so that everyone could get in on the action. I looked over to the little boy, who was maybe three or four, wondering how this would affect him. His mom did her best to distract him by pointing out things outside, and after a while he settled down to sleep in her arms.

Around eight we stopped at a restaurant that seemed to cater especially to busses, with a roof, but no outside walls. Here, passengers had a chance to stretch their legs, use the bathrooms, to get something to eat or a cup of coffee. A large-screen tv on the wall was the focus of attention: a soccer game between Columbia and Brazil – and Columbia was leading 1 – 0! Why did the guy from the travel forum arrive in Quito with an empty stomach? This was great, and we needn't have worried. We had, however, been on other long bus rides with little food before, so the precaution had seemed reasonable.

I slept for much of the night, and when I woke it was around 5:30 in the morning. Many people were up and about already, and in the little villages along the road restaurants were open, women were sweeping in front of their houses, and children in school uniforms were waiting by the road for their bus, or were walking in little groups. Once, on an incline, we had a small pick-up in front of us. Eight school children were standing on the covered platform (more wouldn't have fit!) and grinned at us, and almost as many were crowded in the front.

Now, fully awake, I became fully aware of the driving style of our bus driver as well. I noticed, too, that Johann was wearing a seat belt, which he never does on a bus, and if it's not mandatory. Only half of mine was there, so I had to succumb to fate. The bus was supposed to drive at a speed limit of 80 km/h, and a speed indicator on a little screen in the left hand corner above our seat let us keep track. Up to the speed limit the numbers were displayed in yellow, after that they turned red – and they were red a lot! Speed limits were habitually ignored: if it said fifty the bus drove 95, if it said 30 it could easily be 60, and it didn't matter one bit if we were in a town or not. Double solid lines seem non-existent and certainly don't keep anyone from passing. How much paint and signs could be saved - and the money invested in improving the roads!

We had, of course, prime seats, with a view not only to the side but also to the front, which didn't contribute to our peace of mind. Time after time we passed vehicles – other busses, trucks, cars, motorcycles, bicycles – with only centimetres to spare. We passed uphill, with double solid lines, curves making it impossible to see oncoming traffic – and yet it all worked out. Everyone pays attention to what the others are doing, making room for a passing vehicle to slip back in line should an oncoming vehicle make it impossible to complete the passing process, braking when necessary, not insisting on right of way. Everyone gets their turn. Honking horns is used to communicate an intention or to warn, not to express anger, and we never saw the bus driver lose his calm when he was forced to make room for an oncoming vehicle where he would have had right of way in the traffic we are familiar with. Scary as it looks to the uninitiated, it is a system all traffic participants are familiar with and adhere to, and on the whole trip from Bogota to Quito we saw only two accidents: one minor one involving two motorcycles, and one more serious looking where a truck had overturned.

 

 

Meanwhile the landscape we drove through was absolutely stunning. We had read about 'breathtaking scenery', and the array of green mountains stretching out from the deep valley above which much of the road led us seemed endless. It was hard to believe that much of this trip took place between 2,500 and almost 3,000 m altitude: fields with beans and corn, onions and melons, potatoes and other crops we couldn't identify so quickly reached up the mountains, divided by lines of trees to prevent erosion. The rich volcanic soil, sometimes brick red, sometimes dark, was almost free of rocks, and every little corner had been planted with something. Once again we asked ourselves how people could work on these steep slopes. Some fields, even high up, looked as if they had been cultivated, yet no tractor could scale those slopes. Sometimes we saw a group of people working with their wide hoes. The grassy edges of the road were neatly trimmed as well, but unlike in Guatemala we saw relatively few horses and cows tied up; most of them were kept closer to the often small, poor houses. Pigs were tethered as well, and chickens, turkeys and geese were foraging in the gardens. A few times we passed groups of workers with reflective clothing with weed whackers, rakes and shovels: that's how the grass on the side of the road was kept short! It seems a daunting task, but it certainly works.

After about 22 hours we arrived in Pasto, glad to stretch our legs and take a break. We hadn't made any arrangements where to stay, but since Pasto has not a whole lot to offer it was pretty safe to assume that it wouldn't be overrun by tourists. We decided to try our luck at the 'backpackers' choice' (according to the Lonely Planet), the 'Koala Inn'. A taxi driver took us downtown and invited the anger of a long line of drivers behind him by stopping right in front of the hostel – on a narrow one-way street in very heavy traffic. Again we found not a single English speaking person, even in the hostel with a name that suggested an Australian connection. We must not have seemed like the kind of guests interested in a dorm, but were offered the choice between baňo privado (private bath) and baňo compartido (shared bath) with our private room. After so many hours on the bus we figured we had earned a private bath. The room didn't offer much in the way of luxury, but it was clean, as was the bathroom, and the shower had plenty of hot water. Even toilet paper and towels were supplied, not always a given in hostels or lower-end hotels.

We used our time to rest up a little, and at 6:30 on Friday morning we boarded the small bus that would take us  the two hours to Ipiales, only about two kilometres from the Colombian border. The bus was smaller and older than the one we had taken before, and the elderly driver looked quite mild, but his driving style was no different than that of his colleagues. Again we sailed at high speed around curves, passing where it seemed impossible to do so, watched the abyss right beside us with apprehension and took in the deep valleys and green backs of the mountains with awe at the magnificence of the landscape.

 

We found a 'collectivo' (small van) waiting to fill up on the curb. These are a common means of transportation here, cheaper than taxis since they usually wait until all seats are taken before they leave for their destination. This collectivo would have been full with Johann, who got in first, but the driver waved me in as well and made me sit on a ledge beside the sliding door, facing the rear. Thank goodness it was only for two kilometres!

At the Colombian border checkpoint we had our passports stamped, walked about 200 m across a bridge and were in Ecuador. Here, the line-up at the border station was much longer, and it took about an hour until we finally were officially admitted (and welcomed with a Bienvenido a Ecuador). The border guard was the first person to speak a bit of English since the taxi driver from the hotel in Bogotá.

Again we took a taxi, this time to Tulcan, the first town on the Ecuadorian side, from where the busses leave for Quito. This time we paid in American dollars, the Ecuadorian currency. Now handling money was a bit easier again: in Colombia, one Canadian dollar is equal to about 1,800 COP. It's a strange thing to hold a bank note with a face value of 20,000 in your hands!

Sign on Ecuadorian bus. Note the one on the left.

 

From Tulcan, at first sight a much nicer looking place than Pasto or Ipiales, we took the last bus on this epic journey. Driving wasn't much different than before, but the roads seemed definitely in better shape. The landscape, too, didn't change a whole lot until about two hours north of Quito where the road moved further away from the precipices, and the fields were not quite as steep and maybe a bit bigger than before. What almost looked like expanses of water glittering in the sun in the distance turned out to be massive areas of greenhouses. Did they, like the ones close to Bogotá, contain roses? By now we know that they do, and also other cut flowers for export.

We arrived in Quito at five, as promised, but it took us another hour to negotiate the city. Quito has about 1,8 mio. people, but it stretches along the valley forever. It was obviously not the best time of day to arrive, but by seven pm we were reunited with our friend Ale, and after another hour or so were finally at her home, which will be ours for the next few days.

While we were a bit weary from the long journey there is no question that we would do it again anytime – and in fact will, about three weeks from now. Our flight home leaves from Bogotá as well, and on the way back we plan to take a bit more time and see more of Colombia in the daytime. It was a great experience, and one I would not want to miss!