Pasto Adios!! Hola Popayan. . .

Although I still get worn out a bit easily, leaving boisterous Pasto behind was a no-brainer.

Colombia has some different travel options, including small buses and vans.  The best part about the smaller transports is that the windows open plus we don't have to tolerate a LOUD, obnoxious (U.S.) movie.  Sure seemed like a good idea to try a small bus for our next trip northward.

With 8 tangerines and plenty of drinking water, We headed out for Popayan, population 270,000. I visited here in 1972 with my college buddy Paul, so I was curious to see it again.

The road we traveled is the Pan American Highway, just a fancy name for a two lane road that twists, winds, and spurts through the Andes.  Our small bus carried only about 20 passengers, an advantage when passing the innumerable tanker and freight trucks. This means that we spent a good deal of the time driving down the WRONG side of the road, barely skimming by the oncoming traffic.  These drivers seem to have an amazing sense of spatial relations.  I just look away.

With Mario Andretti behind the wheel, we passed through beautiful green valleys, deep arid canyons, coastal plains, and eventually climbed up into Popayan through a valley of beautiful banana, coffee, and bamboo groves. I love bamboo.

Did I mention it was hot at the lower elevations? Humid too. We saw (from the bus window) some perfect land where we would like to live. The unfortunate part is that we've been told this entire area in one of the last strongholds of the FARC guerilla forces and that we should only travel it during daylight hours.

Popayan is okay.  It was as clean and colonial as I remember. The whole town was leveled in the 1880's by an earthquake and was rebuilt. And I must say it's holding up very well.

We took an evening walk from our hostel up through the center of town and all was peaceful. Small groups of people, and very few cars. Utterly different than everyplace we've been. Quite lovely in a cobblestone/gaslight sort of way.

We had a tasty dinner of cheese and chicken arepas. New to me, but Starr treasured them during her Venezuelan days.

Our hostel is the best we've stayed in. The staff is helpful, information about the town is well-prepared, and almost everything works. We have a private bathroom, as well as a sitting room with a view of the city above one of the busier intersections in town.

One of the reasons we like staying in hostels is that the guests like to spend time in the common rooms comparing notes about their travels and how to make the traveling life work. Much better than staying in hotels where everyone stays to themselves.

Popayan is a place we like.

Cancel Uruguay

Days passed by while we just hung out in Otavalo, waiting to see what would happen with Jeff.  His symptoms seem to wax and wane but as long as he keeps taking acetaminophen and the antibiotic, he definitely feels better, though not cured.  At least he can get out of bed - AND go for short walks.

Heading off to Uruguay has become out of the question.  We were SO close to immediately returning to the USA just to get decent medical care.  Now, before doing anything big, we have to make sure he's really on the mend.  Taking another major plane trip wouldn't be a good idea right now.  That means cancelling our flight.  But that's okay.

So one day he woke up with some energy and decided he wanted to head off to Colombia.  That just means relatively short bus trips which he felt he could handle - plus he got really bored sitting still in Otavalo.  So north it was.

From the bus window, Colombia looked so much more interesting than Ecuador: cleaner, more colorful, much better maintained, homes showing love and pride, people more open.

We landed in Pasto, Colombia an a rockin' Saturday night.  Dang, that's a place to avoid.  Just a city out of control: bright lights, speeding cars swerving in and out, loud music from all sides, lots of people in the streets talking loudly.  The taxi driver made it clear that he didn't trust a single person he saw, calling them "ratones, todos son ratones." (Rats, they're all rats.)  "Guard your money, keep it under your shirt, hang onto your suitcases, don't trust anyone", were his parting words.

This seemed like a bit of a warning.  Jeff was feeling pretty good, thank God.  I backed into a storefront with the suitcases, Jeff went into the street to begin TRYING to flag down a taxi.  Finally he caught an empty one that knew of a hotel on the outskirts of town.

Taxistas are truly our best guardian angels.  Time after time these men have saved us.

We got our wish: a miniature sweet hotel with a locked front door: the clerk has to unlock it from the inside to let people in AND to let people out.  They seem to feel a bit insecure around that pueblo -and if THEY are that scared, we're a bit nervous too.