“A qué hora es el proximo autobús a Cartagena?“
What time is the next bus to Cartagena? A simple enough question, except in Colombia. Time is measured here differently (if at all).
After an exhilarating boat ride from Isla Fuerte to Paso Nuevo (in which the boat turned around to pull up onto the shore and we got hit broadside with a huge wave, nearly capsizing the boat), all of the passengers worked together to arrange a collectivo to Lorica. Traveling together gave us better negotiating power. 40 minutes, they said.
Nearly 90 minutes later, 11 passengers loaded into a small minivan which was definitely more than the vehicle’s suggested/recommended/physical capacity. Two people from our boat opted to hire motorbikes instead, and I’m glad because I can’t fathom where they were going to sit in this vehicle!
After an hour, we arrived at the Lorica bus station. Men ran around selling bus tickets, taxi and moto rides, beverages, snacks, and who knows what else. When we arrived a bus was ready to leave, but after the cramped collectivo ride we opted to wait for a later bus. Thus my question of what time for the next bus. The guy told me it was at 2 in the afternoon. Since it was 12:30 we opted to wait and get some food.
As we had a snack in the station café, the ticket salesman comes to tell us the bus is here and leaving soon. It was barely 1:00! But since we didn’t want to be in Lorica all day we got on. We will have to be sure to have a nice dinner or Luke night riot – missing meals isn’t his favorite.
The bus looks like a modern interpretation of the bus scene from Romancing the Stone. It’s a modern coach bus with AC (thankfully), but amongst the passengers are bushels of bananas, bags of rice and potatoes, and assorted luggage items. Only the bags of bananas behind the driver’s head are tied down – the rest is just wedged in wherever it fits. I’m writing this with a 10 liter drum of paint at my feet. Thankfully there are no chickens, although I feel pretty confident that if a passenger with a live bird wanted to board nobody would bat an eye.
Despite my propensity for feeling car sick, I’m writing this from the bus to distract myself from the ride. We are casually careening amongst motorbikes, trucks with all manner of cargo, and men pushing handcarts on the road. Our driver clearly gets paid extra for early arrivals because we are flying along roads that warrant substantially more restraint with the gas pedal than he is willing to engage.
With some good fortune, we will be in Cartagena in about 4.5 hours. 🤞
UPDATE
I lost my paint bucket footrest about an hour into the ride. It seems that the bus picks people up along the way, and the number of passengers isn’t limited to the number of seats. One of our mid-route arrivals needed a seat so he got the paint bucket. How luxurious!
UPDATE 2
Said passenger who took my paint bucket for his seat had the bus stop a few miles outside of the city to pick up a box of CHICKENS!
Vacation Days 