What Goes Up Must Come Down

Termales Aguatibias

Well, we departed Colombia. All in all, it was a pretty uneventful departure marked by hours of bus rides as we headed south to the Ecuador border.  Colombia sure has a knack for underestimating (lying through their teeth about) bus trip times – every trip was easily three to four hours longer than we were told it would be.

Lance and I did managed to squeeze in a day trip to some hot springs about two hours outside of Popayan, an old, bustling colonial town that we stopped in on our way South.  The Termales Aguatibias had three wonderful steaming swimming holes with lush, green mountains and misty, rolling fog as a backdrop.   After bumbling up a muddy, dirt road in an old WWII jeep, I was worried that the cold and rather persistent rain would spoil our fun, when in fact it merely added to the ambiance.  It made jumping into the steaming hot pools of water that much more enjoyable.

Aguatibias also had a big, long, blue concrete waterslide that wound its way down the side of a hill.  It was surprisingly fast and fun.  Thanks to the lousy weather, Lance and I practically had the place to ourselves and we enjoyed running up the hill and riding the slide again and again.

The final piece in our trifecta of fun for the day was taking a luxurious dip in a thermal mud bath.  I am not sure what I had envisioned, but this was not it.  Essentially is was just a shallow and rather slimy mud pit with mildly warm water in it.  We felt around and scooped up large handfuls of the “best” and gooiest mud and liberally slathered it on our bodies as if we were at some fine spa back home.  Whether or not it was all in my head – my skin felt deliciously soft afterwards.

After enjoying some rather satisfactory (and salty) carne asada, Lance and I were relishing in what a perfectly lovely day we were having.  Between the joyously relaxing hot pools, careening ourselves down the “Colombian water-luge” and giggling like school children as we smeared ourselves with mud, there was little to complain about.  Lest we start enjoying ourselves too much Colombia gave us the kick in the pants that it all too good at giving you.

The friendly chap who happily chatted with us as he gave us a ride up to the hot springs offered to return in three hours to give us a ride back to town.  So, after finishing our lunch, we dried off, I changed out of my wet clothes and we waited the 15 minutes or so until he was supposed to arrive.  Well, 15 minutes turned into one hour and there was still no sign of the old, red jeep.  Lance and I dressed like a couple of weekenders ready for a day at the beach – shorts, tank tops and flip flops and not for a day up in the cold and rainy mountains of Colombia.   My feet were freezing, it was wet and cold and I was quite frankly, growing tired of waiting.  So, we decided to try our luck flagging down a bus on the road as it drove by.  Armed with nothing more than my sarong to shield us from the freezing rain, Lance and I stood shivering under our lousy makeshift umbrella watching car and motorcycle after car and motorcycle drive by.  After standing there for over 40 minutes, feeling more and more dejected about our seemingly never-ending, lousy transportation luck, we could finally hear the rumbling engine sounds of a bus coming down the road ahead. 

We immediately began flagging the bus down as it rounded the corner – except it was not a bus, it was a huge cattle truck.  It slowed to a stop though.  They must have felt sorry for the miserable, soaking wet, sack of gringos shivering on the side of the road.  The front cab was full of bundled up Colombian women and children and we gladly began trying to squeeze ourselves inside when they opened the door.

Slathering ourselves in luxurious thermal mud

The truck driver hopped out and said, “No, not in here.  In the back, there are people in the back.”  There are people in the back?   I thought to myself how lousy my Spanish is and was mad that I did not understand what he was saying.  I did not question him though, because I was not about to turn down a ride and a way out of the rain, so I followed him around to the back of the cattle truck and happily climbed up inside.  Sure enough though, there were people inside (and thankfully no livestock).  Hard-faced Colombian farmers stood against the grates while children and women wrapped in ponchos sat perched on bags of rice.  They stared at us wide-eyed looking us up and down as we stood there gripping the side of the truck.  Without saying anything at all, their expectant stares screamed, “Why, what in tarnation are you children wearing in weather like this?!?”  That is a right good question my friends.

After dropping all of the locals off in the small town Coconuco, our luck seemed to work in our favor yet again.  The truck driver was driving all the way back to Cali that night and he offered to give us a ride back to Popayan.  We gladly climbed in the front seat of the cab this time and chatted him up about Colombia’s hot spots, futbol (soccer), the economy, and poverty in the US.  I was just so

All aboard the cattle truck

happy that we did not have to try and find a bus to catch back to town that when he offered to drop us off at our hotel I abruptly turned him down.  I told him just to drop us off wherever was easiest and said we would hail a cab the rest of the way.  Well, we ended up standing in the rain again for a good 15 minutes trying hopelessly to flag down a cab.  Apparently cabs in Popayan are not a dime a dozen like in every other city in South America.

After being pooped from the day’s events, I wanted to do nothing more than lay in bed and watch a movie, so I talked Lance out of going to dinner and instead running to the grocery store because it would be “easier.”  What a dangerous word.  Apparently all of Popayan does their grocery shopping at precisely 7pm on Saturday night.  The Megasuper was absolute mayhem.  What was supposed to be a quick trip to pick up a few things for sandwiches turned into an hour and a half ordeal.  Lines snaked down the aisles and looked like what supermarkets in the US look like the day before Thanksgiving (except the lines moved much slower).  I ended the night with a tasty sandwich and wine though, so all was well in the world again.

 Oh Colombia, I’ll miss your feisty sense of adventure!