I went all the way to Mompós and all I got was this blog post...

While traveling, especially the way I travel, you end up putting yourself, your safety, and your possessions in the hands of others. It’s that trust in someone you've just met that is so difficult, but sometimes unavoidable. As a tourist you can’t know everything; you have to ask advice or help from the locals. Either I don’t know which stop to get off at or I don’t know the best way to get around a city or I don’t know how much everything is supposed to cost. And in these cases, I often find myself completely vulnerable.

When we were on a bus to Magangué and told to get off at the random deserted intersection, we had no idea where we were. If I had been given a map of the country and asked to point out our location, I wouldn’t have been able to. It’s one of those times when you have to acknowledge that you are helpless and you have to do a difficult thing: surrender control of the situation to those around you. And believe me, as scary as it is to trust a stranger, more often than not, the inherent kindness of people shines through.

And of course you get the people that will try to cheat you out of a few bucks. You find them everywhere. But if you look them straight in the eye, the desconocido mist around you disappears and you become a person, just like them. They see you not as a gringo, but as un ser humano. And the chances that they will give you an honest answer are significantly higher

That being said, you always have to be careful. Siempre. Stay vigilant. If you feel like something is wrong, follow those feelings and ask the right questions. Always keep a door open, a possible escape route, you know por si a caso.

Y por eso, I’m not surprised at all that we finally made it to Mompós. It did set us back a few thousand pesos and left us drained, but we made it.



The woman in our collectivo brought us to the hotel where she was staying and we negotiated the price down a little bit. We set our bags down and I collapsed into the bed. What a day so far!



After un descansito, I was ready to explore this city that we had spent so much effort to get to. We started walking up and down the streets. The preferred modes of transportation in Mompós have two wheels. Motorcycles and bicycles dominated the streets. There were pedestrians of course, but we were clearly outnumbered.


Mompós is too small to be a bustling big city, but too big to be a cute little pueblo. It’s at that awkward adolescence period. Nor is Mompós a tourist city. Para nada. There’s no one running down the street asking us to please step into their store or selling the trinkets hanging from their arms. Everyone is quite content leaving us alone and continuing with their day. We get tired looks, but it seems as though my tourist status isn’t going to win me a popularity award.

The streets are narrow, the houses are short and colorful, the ground is not paved, the big export here is wooden rocking chairs. We walk along the water past plazas and churches. We get apathetic looks from the locals. The funeral homes outnumber the number of restaurants that I see. No more of that carefree Caribbean coastal attitude. I’m starting to doubt Lonely Planet’s suggestions. Oh no. Was Mompós a mistake? Sigh. Maybe.

But then I think about it. Mom and I are tired from our full day of traveling and I’m pretty certain that my countenance expresses the stresses of the hectic transportation system. So I start smiling and turning to people on the street with a simple “buenas!” Pleasantly surprised, they smile and return the greeting. Now we’re getting somewhere! The people of Mompós aren’t cold, they just don’t know what to do with tourists who swing by their city but don’t bother to interact with the residents. Fair enough, that makes sense to me.


But after a few hours of wandering up and down the small streets, we’re tired. At this point I don’t know what I really think of Mompós. I was so excited for it based on the hype of Lonely Planet, but what confronted me was mildly disappointing.



That night I felt something on my foot, so I brushed it off. Even though the room was dark, I could tell it was something larger than I expected.

In the morning Mom says that she found a waterbug in the bathroom, which must have been what was hanging out on my foot. Ugh. I cringe just thinking about it. It also must be what chewed its way into my plastic bag of galletas.

We decide to walk around Mompós again, now that we’re rested, to give it another chance to impress us. We walked by a produce market and I asked the names of some of the fruits, but have forgotten them since. We waded through puddles that had collected on the dirt road. I really want to like this town, but I don’t know if I can.

As I write this we are on route to El Banco to take the bus to Bucaramanga. The car is completely packed and they're trying to stuff more people in. The guy next to mom keeps staring at me. The car is past capacity at this point. Everyone is complaining. The rooster is squacking. The air conditioned ride we had been promised has turned into a hot sardine mess. I’m sure we’ll look back at this and laugh, but right now no one is even smiling. Oh, Colombia.

Hours pass. Mom and I have some of the best seats. The van lurches and bumps on the potholed road. The journey is not for the faint of heart. We go from 40km per hour to 2km per hour and back again. Slam! There are the brakes again. And acceleration! Now we are backing up into a dirt road. We pass concrete houses without electricity. Tiny barefoot children play in the road. An old woman tries to wave us down. Long narrow wooden boats glide over the water. Trees of all shapes and sizes frame the countryside. And we continue bouncing along.

We arrive in El Banco. I climb on top of our van to retrieve the bags while mom fends away the persistent people looking for money. We are told that our bus for Bucaramanga leaves at 2:30pm! It’s 2:15! I grab two bags of plantain chips and rush back down to the bus. There we wait. And wait. And eat some sweet pastries. And wait. And wait.

Ok. We should have known, things in Colombia never go as they say. It’s close to 4:30pm when we set off. We prepare ourselves for the 7 hour journey. Hardly a half hour into the trip, we squeeze onto a ferry with two other large buses. We glide along and a bald guy tried to get me to take a picture of him and his turtle. I told him not to tell me what to take pictures of. In reality, I was trying to eavesdrop on a political conversation that was desarrollando at the front of the boat.



The sun was setting. And it turned the countryside into all sorts of wonderful colors. When the paisaje disappeared, we settled back and watched some bad movies and tried to sleep. We made a rest stop where almost everyone got off the bus to take another route to Bogotá. The airconditioning was blasting and we curled up as best as we could.




We arrived to Bucaramanga around midnight. Disheavled and tired, we grab a cab to a hotel. The cab driver was super nice (although he kept referring to me as señora) and put us in a great mood. We got to the hotel and he didn’t try to rip us off. The woman at the front desk of the hotel was also wonderful. I think I’ll like this city.



The next morning I grab a tinto from the lobby before heading out. We walk through the bustling streets. Bucaramanga has an exceptional energy about it. Mom and I both agree that this city is pretty awesome!




We walk through the busy streets in search of breakfast and we order our usual scrambled eggs with tomatoes and onions and an arepa.




On the way back to the hotel we stumble upon a lovely plaza. People are sitting, relaxing, selling, strolling, eating... just doing, Bucaramanga style.






But, sigh, we must not overstay our welcome in this wonderful friendly city. So we hop a colectivo to the Terminal for an Omega.




What we didn't know at the time was that that fateful Omega bus would land one of us in the local medical clinic and leave the other fearfully hysteric and covered in blood.

(to be continued...)