Southern Colombia: The good, the bad, and the things that make me furious!

The taxi let me off at Bogotá’s bus terminal and the driver asked for far more money than he was due. I argued his unreasonable price down a few thousand pesos, but I left the cab with a frown. In the bus station I asked a uniformed guard where I’d be able to buy tickets for Popayán and another man told me to follow him. He led me through the terminal to the gate. All the while I was bargaining the price. He introduced me to the driver of the bus and, when they asked for the 60.000 pesos, the driver pocketed 50.000 and the other guy pocketed the 10.000. The driver told me that the bus would leave at 7:30pm. Then they both disappeared.

I looked around. A cold feeling crept onto me as I realized that I had been duped. How could I have been so naïve not to see what was going on? Did I just lose 60.000 pesos?! I went up to the gate and, with panic rising in my voice, I explained the situation. The attendants took pity on me and helped me find the driver, who was really just around the corner. They told me not to worry and I sighed in relief.

That relief was short lived because as the passengers filed into the bus, the driver told me that the company had sold all the seats and there wasn’t one left for me. What this meant was that I would have to sit up in the front of the bus with the driver in the most uncomfortable seat for 15 hours. I was angry. I had paid my money and I wanted a seat. Why hadn’t I just gone up to the ticket booth and gotten a ticket? Why had I wanted to try to finagle a better deal?

As I sat the stiff seat in the front of the bus, the driver and the ayudante tried to make small talk. The small talk turned into more personal questions. Then it turned into inappropriate questions. So I stopped talking. Slowly a feeling of pain and anger and hurt came over me. Not only had I been taken advantage of, but now I’m put in an uncomfortable chair in an even more uncomfortable situation… for 15 hours. I started fuming and was near tears. The ayudante asked if I was ok, and I replied that I was furious. Surprised at my answer, the ayudante suggested that I might be more comfortable in the bed in the back. Bed in the back?! Why hadn’t I been told about this?! Of course I’d rather be reclined in a bed than in some stupid chair! The driver clearly didn’t want me to go back there and hadn’t told me about it. But at that point I couldn’t have cared less about what he thought. I grabbed my bag and crawled into the little bed area at the back of the bus.

After going over the whole situation in my head a hundred million more times, I finally fell asleep. A couple hours later the ayudante stuck his head in the compartment and said that the driver needed to sleep. Of course he did. So I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stumbled back to my seat the front of the bus. They switched drivers (while the bus was still in motion!) and I tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep. So the ayudante and I talked. He was a genuinely nice guy. We talked for hours as the darkened scenery passed without giving me much chance to admire it. We passed coffee country, toll booths, a sign that read ‘caution, you are entering one of the 100 most dangerous roads in Colombia,’ and many twinkling small towns.

I fell asleep finally in that terrible chair and woke up when two girls announced that they were getting off at the next town. And I knew what that meant: two free seats for me!

I curled up on the seats with my earplugs. I was finally able to get some well needed sleep. And sleep I did all the way to Popayán.

The sun was up as we pulled into the station. I gathered my things and spent a good 10 minutes looking for my sunglasses which happened to have magically disappeared. I shouldered my pack and started walking. I walked and walked, past busy roundabout intersections, small shops, and short buildings. I crossed the bridge and came upon Hostel Trail, a bright clean friendly place. Just in case, I thought I’d explore my options before making a commitment. I left my large bag there and set off to find the Lonely Planet’s hostel picks. Needless to say, I got a little turned around in my dazed state. And when I finally found the other hostels, they were dirty and unfriendly. I made it back to the first place and set my stuff down. What a long trip and Popayán was a friendly sight.

I set about to unpack a little and clean my dirty stinky self up. I casually notice that I can’t find some money. A large chunk of money actually. I rip through all of my things four times and still can’t find it. What? How can money just disappear? I panic. It must have been the bus. Either someone took it or it fell out when I took something out of my pack. But regardless of how, I was down about 100.000 pesos.



Defeated, I moped around the hostel and frowned my way around Popayán. I had been cheated, lied to and taken advantage of. I was not in a good mood.



Even the tamale, avocato, cheese and bread lunch didn’t help. Even the funky new sunglasses I bought to replace the old ones didn’t help. I was so upset and I felt like I needed to vent and tell the world about it. So I got online and told people at home about what had happened. I told some other travelers in the hostel about it. And we all shared similar stories of stolen money. The comradery made me feel much better.

I set out again, this time giving Popayán a chance. I walked to the bridge and around the narrow streets with whizzing cars. The motorbikes nearly ran me over! There were little boutiques alongside used goods vendors. I began to make my way to Morros de Tulcán to get a great view over the city. The streets started to get less populated. The buildings got more rundown. The overall vibe got a lot sketchier.

I asked a woman for directions. But when I asked her if the path was safe she told me no, especially not by myself. She told me that around these parts, you needed to be very careful. Always carry your bag in front of you and keep it close. She got me nervous all over again and convinced me not to go. To make it even more dramatic, a dark storm cloud rolled in over head.

I got back to the hostel and met up with some other travelers. The common language between us (folks from England, Australia, India, Switzerland, and the US) was English as is the case in many a backpackers hostel. We went for some coffee and dinner groceries. Mmm… A fresh vegetable dinner and red Chilean wine with Juno (and Spanish subtitles). Afterwards we listened to music and talked and drank wine. But our eyelids grew tired before any initiative was started to explore the Monday nightlife.

Everyone is up early. Tuesday is the day of the famous market in Silvia and everyone is going. Everyone except me. My goal was to get to Ipiales and I figured that it wouldn’t make sense for me to make the hour and a half journey to Silvia (and then back again) before the 6 hour journey to Ipiales. That would be too much time in buses and money spent on things I would hardly have time to experience. But it was a shame to miss the event.

After a yogurt and granola breakfast and a luke warm shower, I shouldered my pack and began the walk to the bus station. I caught a bus to Ipiales, this time buying my tickets from a booth. The attendant gave me an honest deal, which I was so thankful for, and I was on my way! The Lonely Planet said that I should sit on the left hand side of the bus for the best views between Pasto and Ipiales.

We stopped for lunch at a restaurant with a great view. I wasn’t hungry so I wandered around sipping my limonada, which tasted like ginger ale and had the color of apple cider. Back on the bus, my seat wouldn’t recline.


It was a long ride. I’m getting awfully tired of all these buses. When am I going to plant my feet down on firm ground? In Pasto, I changed seats. The sun was going down and the clouds were coming in, so the spectacular view was gorgeous, but not as it had been built up to be.

It was dark when I reached Ipiales. I took a cab to Hotel Iforgetthename. The room was cheap and the bathroom was acceptable, so I signed in. I plopped down on the bed.

The day after arriving in Ipiales, I would reach the Colombia-Ecuador border and have one of the most frustrating border crossings of my traveling career. It would be a day of incompetent infrastructure, sunburn and ice cream, friendly acquaintances, and a chatty Ecuadorian who didn’t catch onto my “I’m really not interested in what you’re saying” look.

Food Highlights:
Not going to a single restaurant! There’s only so much comida corriente that I can take before it gets a little monotonous. Fried food, meat, rice… So I started buying my own fresh ingredients (avocados, tomatoes, cheese and bread) and eating how much I wanted when I wanted it!