Twists and Turns: Of Colombian Roads and Life
As I get off the bus, a man asks me where I am going.
I have gotten off at a juncture that most foreigners usually do not. However, I missed the 7 am Chiva to my intended destination, partly by choice and partly because my alarm did not go off.
I rarely wake up early for something, especially if I know there is most likely another option. However, no one told me the option, and I had to hope I did not have to return to Medellín a three-hour ride just to take another 3-hour ride only a bit south.
I did not.
As I disembarked, the man wanted to take me to a stop up the road and told me it was more secure. He alluded that this location might not be the safest for me, a gringa.
I declined and asked around if the bus for Támesis passes by, and they all agreed it did, but no one had any idea at what time.
I walked by a table full of men drinking beers and the campesinos enjoying their Sundays off. I went into the tienda, bought a Bretaña Soda, and sat at one of the tables.
I placed it in my earbuds and continued listening to my book. If anyone I asked what time the bus was correct, it would arrive within 1–2 hours. I was prepared, the phone fully charged, and a table in the shade.
