Part Two: San Blas islands, arrival in Panama

There are about 365 islands in the San Blas archipelago, and about 49 of them are inhabited by the Kuna (or Guna); in fact, San Blas is called Guna Yala in their language. The Kuna are an indigenous group of about 300,000 who live on the islands, along the coast and in Panama City and other cities. Some also live in northern Colombia. They largely govern themselves and strive to keep their traditions and way of life, mostly without interference from the Panamanian government. They speak Kuna, and the younger people also speak Spanish, some English as well: tourism is increasingly playing a role. They live in communities concentrated on the inhabited islands, but every family gets to move to one of the uninhabited islands for three months at a time to harvest coconuts (and, after seeing the crowded conditions under which they usually live, maybe to have some more space and freedom for a while?). Their diet consists largely of fish and other seafood, wild rice, coconuts and yucca.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kuna_people

To enter Panama we needed not only the stamp from the Panamanian immigration, but also pay $20 Kuna tax per person, which is both done at the same time on one of the inhabited islands. 

To enter Panama we needed not only the stamp from the Panamanian immigration, but also pay $20 Kuna tax per person, which is both done at the same time on one of the inhabited islands.

Thus, after a few hours of relaxing in the water and on the beach of the first picture-perfect island (if one didn't look too closely on the windward side, where, among all kinds of garbage, a huge old TV had taken residence on the beach), we pulled anchor and moved close to the 'immigration island' where we spent the night.

First thing in the morning Juan took Tahsin (and Johann, whom Tahsin had asked if he wanted to come along) to the island with the dinghy. Tahsin had all of our passports and the money for the Kuna, and within a good hour they were all back in the boat. Johann said that the Panamanian official stamped the passports before they delivered the money to a Kuna representative in a different building. We were officially in Panama.

Now we were free to move among the islands. Tahsin and Rengin have a range of options. One aspect – besides the beauty of an island and its suitability for swimming and snorkelling - is very likely to visit islands where Kuna live and can benefit from the visitors, selling their handicrafts, food and drinks: beer and rum are generally at hand. The Kuna women make beautiful appliqued 'molas' and beadwork.  

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mola_(art_form) 

 

Now we were free to move among the islands. Tahsin and Rengin have a range of options. One aspect – besides the beauty of an island and its suitability for swimming and snorkelling - is very likely to visit islands where Kuna live and can benefit from the visitors, selling their handicrafts, food and drinks: beer and rum are generally at hand. The Kuna women make beautiful appliqued 'molas' and beadwork.

We moved on to anchor close to one of the islands where families spend time alone, and Juan took us, three at a time, over to spend the afternoon enjoying the beach and the water. The family of four or five stayed either in one of the bamboo-walled, palm-mat covered huts or a tent. There was also a shelter and a hut used for cooking, which would come in handy: Tahsin was responsible for the evening meal and had decided to make pork ribs, sausages and skewered mushrooms, plus potato salad. Under his tutelage Juan made a fire in the cook shed, and soon the flames flared up, fuelled by dripping fat. The result was delicious, just like every single meal we had during the trip. Rengin is an excellent cook, and it's still a marvel to me how she produced the gourmet meals for all of us in the tiny kitchen. Another highlight I forgot to mention was the fish caught during the crossing, a barracuda – Zoe's first catch ever – and a mahi-mahi, also prepared by Tahsin.

One more move brought us to within reach of this island and another, smaller one, the last ones we would visit. Close by was a boat graveyard of sorts: boats that had run aground on the reef and been abandoned there. Some were no longer visible, another still had the top of a mast poking out of the water. One of them was a huge ferry someone had bought in Canada and planned to use here. Tahsin told us that this man had got hung up on the reef with his catamaran and decided to use the ferry to pull it off – only to get the huge boat stuck as well. It is sitting there now with its lead-painted hull, rusting, slowly decaying. 'Blue Sailing's' suggestion to try and find reef-safe sunscreen seems ridiculous in the light of all these boats damaging the reefs so much more than any sunscreen could.

For one more afternoon and evening we got to play on the beach, have our meal delivered from the boat, watch the sun set over the Caribbean, party a bit in the moonlight. The next morning saw us up early, packs ready on deck, waiting for the lancha that would take us to Porvenir in about three quarters of an hour. 
 

Rengin would come to Panama City with us: she had to re-stock supplies for the way back to Cartagena the very next day, with another load of people, but it was time to say goodbye to Tahsin, Zoe and Juan and also to Gatito and Nadia, the much-loved ship cats. A bit sad we lined up for a group photo and took turns having our photos taken with the captain and crew. It had been a wonderful week with a great group of people, and I think at that moment most of us were a bit reluctant to once again be on the go. Yet it was time to move and stretch our legs beyond the perimeter of the boat and an island, which offer only limited opportunity to do so.

The lancha had picked us up from our boat to deliver us to the island in the afternoon, a large, deep boat with room for about twenty or twenty-five people, covered by a canopy; another had picked us up and taken us back to the boat later in the evening, this one without the canopy. I had expected the covered one to take us across in the morning, but when it finally arrived – half an hour later than expected – it was the open one. No time to cover backpacks, no time to get out rain gear: we'd have to sit through whatever weather came our way. Clouds nearly always hover somewhere close by, and often enough they deliver rain, sometimes in heavy downpours, though mostly gone as quickly as it comes.

We piled into the boat, told to occupy the rear seats first, our luggage stacked in front, and were on our way. First, there were a few stops to pick up passengers from a couple of other islands, and right away we realized that the covered boat would have changed nothing as far as getting wet was concerned: the boat plowed through the waves at a good clip, and the spray soon had soaked us completely: not a dry patch on our bodies, at least on the side where I was sitting, except for our shoulders and heads. That, too, was soon to change: the threatening rain materialized in a sudden deluge. With a measure of relief we saw that smaller backpacks (containing any electronics and papers anyone had along) had been stowed in a cubby hole in the front; there was hope that we'd find our things undamaged, and we, of course, would get dry in time. After about forty minutes we entered the mouth of a river and followed it upstream for another few minutes, then we had reached 'port'.

Soon we were divided up in groups of six and assigned one of the waiting four-wheel drive vehicles that would take us to Panama City. Another set of goodbyes, including to Rengin, another leg of the journey, along a very curvy paved road through the jungle and after about an hour on a straight highway right to Panama City. We were each taken right to our hotels and hostels, so didn't have to worry about orienting ourselves in a strange city when our minds were still in ocean-sailing mode and our bodies still swaying with the waves.

The glittering highrises of Panama City looked surreal in the mid-day sun: the downtown area is huge, the towering buildings in many cases not just square blocks of cement but with aesthetically pleasing architecture. Still, I felt out of place and was glad when the driver turned off into a relatively quiet residential area to drop us off at our 'Casa Andrea'. We hugged our four remaining fellow travellers and, still almost as wet as we had come off the boat more than two hours ago, took refuge in our huge room. After five days without a shower we now enjoyed the first hot one in a couple of weeks, washing the salt from hair and skin. Once again we were creatures of terra firma. 

 

By boat from Cartagena to Porvenir, Panama. Part 1: the crossing

When I'm lying down, I still feel the rocking of the waves ...

All too soon, however, the boat trip from Cartagena, Colombia to Porvenir, Panama will cease to be a body memory, though in all other ways the memory of this lovely journey will stay with me for a long time.

This is what I wrote a couple of days ago in Panama City, fresh off the boat. Already that prediction has come true: now, in the quiet town of El Valle, only about 100km from busy Panama City, the ocean seems worlds away. I better finish writing about it, then, so that I can move on to other things.

We had booked a trip on the beautiful 72-foot 'Vanett' through the 'Blue Sailing' agency in Cartagena a couple of months ago. Ever since we first heard about it from two Australians in Peru seven years ago Johann had wanted to do this, but it took a considerable amount of time to convince me that this was indeed a good idea. The first thing I found when looking for information was the recounting of a pirate attack on a small yacht, not the kind of experience I wanted to subject myself to. When we visited Cartagena in the spring of 2018 we stopped by the 'Blue Sailing' office, where not only we got all the information we needed but my fears were finally dispelled. Thus the plan to have this be part of this year's travels was born.

When I wrote last we were sitting on the balcony of the hostel in Cartagena, waiting to take our luggage to the boat and meet our captain. We found that we were in easy walking distance to 'Club Nautico' and didn't need a taxi, and at a quarter to six we shouldered our packs, crossed the bridge and turned right to walk along the water until we reached the marina. Still trying to figure out how to get to our boat we heard 'Vanett' behind us: a young couple from Australia was looking, too, and together we wandered in the direction we were pointed to at the gate, soon joined by a couple of girls from Germany and the Netherlands. We found the Vanett moored in her place at the end of the dock, quietly rocking in the near-dark. Captain Tahsin awaited us on board, together with Rengin, his wife, Turkish-American both of them, and Zoe and Juan, the young crew. Within the next fifteen minutes the rest of the passengers arrived: a couple from Croatia, another one from the Netherlands, yet another Dutch girl and a man from Germany, all but the latter at most the age of our kids. Except for Tahsin we were the oldest by far. Right away we could see that this would, once again, not matter at all. 

Once we were all assembled on deck we were shown our beds one by one. When we booked and asked for a private cabin we didn't know that we'd be the privileged ones who got the master bedroom, the bed huge, even with a private bathroom, the room with the most stowage space, too, thus used for the many bottles of drinking water needed for the journey. Besides ours, in the back (or stern, or aft), there were three more, smaller cabins with two beds – two of those with bunks -, one more single one, and the three remaining people slept on benches and mattresses in the 'salon', the main cabin that, if the boat were privately used, would be the dining/living room under deck. Tahsin, Rengin, Zoe and Juan found sleeping space where they could, often on the benches beside the wheel.

We weren't going to leave before sometime between midnight and two in the morning, we were told, when the current was right, and were sent off to do some shopping or have a meal somewhere in the neighbourhood. Beer was one of the things on the shopping list for several of us, some needed snacks, but the meals, we were assured, would be sufficient to keep us well fed.

While we were waiting for our food at a restaurant – an interminable wait until it finally appeared after almost an hour – I was starting to feel a bit strange, and when the food finally arrived I found myself unable to eat it. Not a good omen ...

Back on the boat I soon disappeared under deck, grateful for the spacious cabin and the little fan. I was not feeling well at all. Somewhere I had done what I almost always have been able to avoid during our travels, contrary to Johann, who is so often afflicted: I picked up a stomach bug. Nevertheless I fell asleep soon. Sometime in the middle of the night I woke to the rumble of the engine. A glance at my watch told me that it was shortly after three, later than expected – and then the rumble quit, and once again the quieter noise of the generator prevailed. Unable to rouse myself enough to question this too much I fell asleep again. What a surprise, then, when we found ourselves in the morning exactly where we had been at night: moored still, all quiet. It turned out that there was a problem with the electrical system, and Tahsin had left messages with both the mechanic and the electrician as soon as he noticed in the middle of the night. They both arrived fairly early in the morning, and several times throughout the day the engine started, ran for an hour or so and was shut off again.Once, early in the afternoon, we even left port, but turned around again after an hour because things were still not working as they should.

It took most of the day until they were satisfied that the problems were taken care of. Now all that was needed was to wait for the current to be right at night again. 

All obstacles removed, we were on our way sometime during the night, and whenever I woke I felt the heaving and rocking of the waves, even though I was still sick and would remain so for much of the day not an unpleasant feeling at all. Seasickness, I think I can safely say now, is not a problem for either one of us. We hadn't assumed it to be, but of course there is only one way to find out, and the sea was rough enough that only very few of our fellow passengers were not affected at all. I had bought the suggested anti-seasickness medication, just in case. Being on deck in the fresh air and wind proved to help me to feel better, and we sat and watched the dipping and rising of the nose of our boat while it made its way toward the calmer waters around the San Blas islands.

We had expected this trip to be a sailing trip, with the motor as a backup, but it soon became clear that, at least during this trip, the sails would be for ornamental purposes mostly, in fact would be lowered for most of the journey. With the San Blas islands the main focus of the trip (something else we hadn't realized) we needed to get there in as short a time as possible, and we had lost a lot of time waiting for the boat to be fixed. Also, Rengin – a capable sailor like Tahsin – explained, we just entered the windy season and didn't have enough wind to make good speed yet. Later in the season that will change, presumably. 

Tahsin at the helm

For a while the sails aided the engine, and the currents were so much in our favour that not only did we catch up, but made the crossing in record time, 29 hours. The average time is about 33 hours, and it can take up to 36.

Once while I was still sick a couple of dolphins came playing beside the boat, and now, nearing the islands, another pair appeared and kept us company for a while. Other than that the only animals we saw during the crossing was a moth, clinging to the back of the captain's chair for much of the journey, and, twice, a butterfly, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, gone again just as fast. Gulls, then, were the first sign that we were about to reach land, and soon after, about 10:30 or eleven in the morning, the first palm trees appeared in the distance. We could see several small islands, most of them seemingly uninhabited, gems with white sand, surrounded by turquoise water. The waves became wavelets as soon as we had entered the protection of the reef. We had arrived. Rengin carefully steered us close to one of the islands, and Tahsin dropped the anchor: time for the first swim. Suddenly even the people with the palest faces had regained their colour, the ones that had spent the whole crossing under deck appeared again: the ordeal was over - time for fun!

Good bye Cartagena, good-bye Colombia

Two days ago we arrived in Cartagena, the last station in Colombia. The old walled city is just as charming as last time we were here with its colourful colonial houses, narrow streets and the thick wall with its fortifications surrounding it, yet I am less enchanted than I was in the spring of last year. It has to do with the heat, no doubt, which is relentless and makes me tired and listless after an hour's walk already, let alone dripping wet in no time at all. I suspect it also has to do with the amount of people, the tourist shops, the constant necessity to say 'no' to hawkers trying to get you to buy anything from cigars to hats, chewing gum to crafts, or to restaurant employees implying you to enter their venue. I believe I'm suffering from sensory overload at the moment.

It's all well enough in a place like this, where we sit on a shady balcony right across from the city wall, a slight breeze sending its cooling breath. Any place with air condition or at least a fan will do to make things more pleasant, as does a walk along the ocean near sunset. The hustle and bustle remains, however. It is time to move on and take a break from populated towns and cities.

Tonight we will set sail for Panama – literally. Well, not we ourselves, maybe, but captain and crew of the 'Vanett', a 72-foot sailboat that will take us, together with ten other passengers, to Porvenir on the Panamanian coast. We will cross open ocean for a day, then spend three days island hopping around the San Blas islands and reach our destination after another day of crossing open waters. I can't really imagine yet what it will be like, but I do look forward to it very much.

We had to check out of the hotel where we stayed the last two nights at noon, and since we didn't feel like spending the hot afternoon walking around in the city we booked a tiny room in a hostel not far away for those six hours until we are expected at the boat.

We didn't do much here this time, but I took lots of pictures of an ever-fascinating subject again: the interesting door knockers that can be found all over the old city. We also found an antique store yesterday that sells them and are now proud owners of a bronze lion head.

Time to go and find something to eat – not at all difficult here – and get ready for the big adventure. There will be no internet on the boat, of course, and thus no new blog until we've arrived in Panama City, but I will have plenty of time to gather new material. 

How to leave Mompox

I woke up early on our last day in Mompox yesterday and sat in one of the rocking chairs in front of our room, in the corridor that bordered the little garden. It was still pleasantly cool, and I watched two bird couples going about their courting, by the looks of it. The cinnamon-coloured males made quite a ruckus, hopping around on the ground, wings fanned, going at each other, while the females waited in a nearby bush. Later, they seemed to have settled affairs: each of the two females had taken up residence in a pocket formed at the juncture of trunk and frond in the palm tree nearby.

When Eduardo had opened the two wings of the big outside door we went out for one more walk along the promenade, quiet as the morning before. Not much happens here before noon, if then, while the next block over is a major thoroughfare. Along the river, things come alive in the evening, mostly.

Construction in Mompox

We had breakfast right beside the wall bordering on the Magdalena river, the most generous and tasty breakfast we've had so far, the crowning glory a piece of chocolate cake. It was tempting to linger in this place, a temporary rest and refuge from the hustle and bustle that comes with towns and cities, but of course it was time to move on: on December 2 we have to be in Cartagena to get ready for our sailing trip to Panama on the third.

As far as we could ascertain a collectivo (small van) was going to Bodega, the ferry/boat terminal, about every hour, and while none was in sight when we arrived at the bus stop about ten to eleven we were assured we'd leave as soon as there were more passengers. Two well-dressed women on their way to a shopping trip in Magangue arrived soon after, which meant we had enough – not for a van, but for a regular car, by no means new, but in working condition, even though Johann remarked later that the motor wasn't running smoothly. I sat in the back with the two women, a broken spring under my seat making me glad that it was only about 45 minutes to Bodega, not half a day. The road, as on the way to Mompox, was a succession of potholes and brief stretches of smoother pavement.

At the terminal, amidst the usual tangle of motorbikes, cars and people, our driver got the boat tickets for us and showed us where to go: the boat, displaying a sign saying 'Especial' – special – was ready to leave. It was pretty much full, the last two seats, right in front beside the driver, were waiting for us. Our big backpack was tied to the roof, we got our life vests, like every other person on board (except the captain), and we were off to Magangue. I can't say I felt really comfortable in the low lying craft in the midst of the huge muddy river; it looked as if we were almost below the water level. Now, we were surrounded by the small 'floating islands' of grass and water plants we had seen drifting by when we walked along the river in Mompox.

After a brief ride, no more than maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, we reached the harbour in Magangue, a sizeable town with connection to Cartagena. We had decided to interrupt the trip one more time and had chosen Sincelejo, the capital of the Sucre district, an hour or so by bus from Magangue and a few hours from Cartagena, for our overnight stay. This was, supposedly, an agriculture-based city in the midst of cattle country, and it sounded like a good option.

We walked over to the 'Brasilia' bus company's office from the boat terminal, but found out that they didn't have a bus going; we'd have to go to the terminal, ten minutes by car. I felt extremely uncomfortable in the area around the terminal: men sat at tables filled with empty beer bottles, and I just didn't feel safe enough to attempt to walk to the bus terminal. We returned to the parking lot behind the boat terminal and were immediately surrounded by a group of men talking all at once, all promising to get us to Sincelejo (or, I'm sure, Cartagena, had we wanted to) by taxi in no time at all. We tried our best to get them to take us to the bus terminal, but they were obviously totally unprepared to do so. 'There is no bus!' they assured us, time and again – not true, of course, but with my unwillingness to subject myself to the perils of the streets here there was little option. We finally agreed to take the taxi to Sincelejo and were assured that we'd be there in an hour – much better than the bus could be, ever, they said. Why would you want to take the bus if you could get there by taxi?

After the guys had changed the flat tire in the rear – which left the car without a spare, of course – we piled in, together with a local man and woman, and off we went. Once we had left the town the road led through a lovely landscape, small hills stretching out to both sides of the road, drier than before, with loose stands of wide-crowned trees. This must be the heart of cattle country in Colombia. Once we entered Sincelejo, however, the calm and peace turned into congested traffic, honking cars, incredibly many people, and no loveliness whatsoever. Our 'Hotel Central', it turned out, seemed to have earned its name by being right in the midst of the biggest shopping area. It is clean and comfortable, and we had a good night, but right now the power is off completely after threatening to go off for the past three hours. It's time to pack up and leave! 

The church - the only really well maintained place in Sincelejo we could find

A quiet day in Mompox

After yesterday's excitement we decided we deserved a day of recovery. Mompox, a UNESCO world heritage site and one of the patrimonio towns of Colombia, is a perfect place for spending a quiet day. We walked on the beach walk along the Magdalena river, admired the architecture of churches and houses – our own hotel among them – and let the world go by in this sleepy town that once had much more importance as a port city until Cartagena took its place.

We watched a huge iguana near the water, well over a metre in length, and laughed with a couple of old local men at its 'macho' behaviour; it watched us, then started to nod its head vigorously before stopping, head pulled back, chest puffed out. We watched another lizard slip into the open door of a house, only to be chased by a dog. I saw horses, their ribs showing, but hooves in perfect condition, patiently waiting hitched to wagons with bricks and other building materials while their masters were shovelling sand and concrete at some building project. 

Old men and women were sitting in front of their houses in the shade, a group of boys jumped into the river for a swim, and a long, narrow boat ferried people back and forth across the river.

 Tomorrow is a travelling day again, but hopefully not a very long one: we decided to interrupt the bus ride to Cartagena one more time. 

Me and Julio down by the ...

This beautiful place is where we are now. Yesterday it felt even more like paradise when we finally arrived. What an adventure it turned out to be to get to Mompox!

People travel between small communities all the time ...

We had allowed plenty of time to make it to our ten o'clock bus, so were surprised to find the Co-Taxi employee we had talked to the night before at the taxi stand, talking to three people at once but ready to look after us. We were even more surprised to find the bus waiting already, and stunned when it left twenty minutes before ten, the time we had been given. It was a good thing we had aimed to be early!

We drove north on the smooth four-lane highway for about an hour and then turned northwest to head for El Banco, making good time all the way. 'Did you say goodbye to the Andes?' Johann asked when we left the four-lane. I turned around once more, a bit wistful: I love the highlands, and it's always been a bit sad to say goodbye. New vistas were awaiting, however, and soon I turned my attention to the big cattle herds in the savannah-like landscape. Just like in Costa Rica, huge solitary trees spread their branches to provide shade for the animals: arboles májicos here, too. The secondary highway was surprisingly good, too, and with a well-airconditioned (this time not too cold) bus we had a pleasant journey. It occurred to us that the bus we had so fortuitiously reached before the expected departure time was in fact the one that had been due to leave at 8:30, in which case it wasn't leaving too early but an hour late; this was a much more likely scenario. No matter what, we were glad to make such good time and arrived in El Banco in less than two hours.

This is when the trouble started. All of a sudden things came to a complete standstill, and we found ourselves in a lineup of busses at a place that was most definitely not the terminal. Only three or four people besides us were left on the bus by then, and everybody, including the bus driver, was at a loss what was going to happen next. Finally I gathered that this had to do with the paro, the general strike, and that we would not reach the terminal: all roads into and out of town were barricaded by the strikers.

How would we continue on? No busses, no taxis – should we return to Aguachica? And then what? Go on to Cartagena after all? Wait another night and try again the next day? When would a bus go back?

A group of guys with motorcycles – the local 'mototaxis' – surrounded us quickly and talked, all at once, obviously offering to take us wherever we wanted to go. Mompos? No problem, they could take us there. But how? We had the big backpack and were two full grown people, after all (that question, had I thought about it a bit more, shouldn't have even posed a problem: everybody travels on motorcycles, whole families sharing a single one, transporting the most amazing loads). No problema, no problema, we were assured. Welllll ....

It's hard to think in a situation like that, faced with a totally unexpected situation, pressed upon by some very determined people who try to make the decision for you. The men pointed to their motorcycles, the shag carpet covering the back seat for a comfortable ride, very, very eager to take us to Mompox. Johann was very reluctant (maybe rightly so), and I, weighing the different possibilities, was not exactly keen, but something nudged me: it would be alright, I felt, and we'd get to this elusive place within ... what? A couple of hours? What would it be like to travel on the back of a motorbike, with a backpack on your back, for 70 km? Only one way to find out. 

 

The intersection was mayhem, strikers, police, and all kinds of people milling around, and there was no way to get through with a motorcycle either: mototaxis trying to do so were considered strikebreakers, that much was clear from their gesticulations even to us. The two men who had so urgently tried to talk us into going waved us to follow them on foot, and once we had passed the intersection they took two from a group of motorbikes, placed the carpets on the back seats, and gestured for us to get on. 'Are you really sure,' Johann asked. Not really sure, no, but wanting to. My guy, the one who had done the talking, assured me that we would travel together, that the road was quite good for the most part, and that they would drive carefully, then the other one – his brother-in-law, as it turned out – took our big backpack in its cover in front of him, Johann in the back, and I hopped on behind Julio, my (smaller) backpack on my back. We encountered no trouble on our way out of town, but saw another road plugged with trucks, mostly, unable to reach their destination. Within a few minutes we reached the outskirts of town, stopped once for gas – how that worked is quite evident from the photo – and were on our way, only a kilometre, maybe, on the dusty, bumpy road before we reached the smooth highway.

I soon started to enjoy it: the breeze felt good on my skin, the road was nearly empty, except for the occasional motorbike or pedal bike, once or twice, and only after quite a while, a car: news of the strike must have been keeping people away. To the left and right stretched savannah or swamp land, cows grazed peacefully, followed by their attendant white egrets, sometimes only their top half showing in the swamp. From time to time we slowed down to let a small group cross the highway. They were in no hurry. We passed through a few small communities, San Alberto, San Félipe, San this or that, only a few houses, few people. Every once in awhile there was a milestone, numbers getting smaller: soon we would reach the only 'real' town along the way, Guamal, at 35km halfway to Mompox. The nice, smooth road turned into a dusty one, pocked with deep potholes which our guys circumnavigated skillfully. For a short stretch the road improved, and we crossed the Magdalena river, before it turned again into a maze of bumps and dips. Julio and Damian drove carefully, and at no time did I feel unsafe. For a while progress was slowed down by the poor road, but finally the poor stretch was over and we made good time again.

We had only about 8 km to go when a passing motorbike driver honked his horn at us and pointed behind him. We turned around to find Johann with his pack walking towards a bus shelter by the side of the road, and Damian pushing his bike in the direction of a few small houses a bit further back: the weight and rough road had proved too much stress for his rear tire, and he had a flat. The three of us waited for him at the shelter, used the time to snack on some peanuts and have a drink of water, and after maybe fifteen minutes he came driving back, ready to go, but – the tire was already flat again. Back he went, and we waited again, trying our best to make conversation in my limited Spanish, limited even more in this case because Julio, like people here in the lowlands and on the coast in general, speaks a very different Spanish than the clear pronunciation I was used to from the towns we had visited before. Somehow people seem to swallow letters, sometimes whole syllables, which makes it difficult to understand even things I usually might. But we managed somehow, and he told us that driving the motortaxi was what he did for a living, mostly in El Banco itself, but on occasion to towns in the area, Mompox one of them. With three sons – 16, 14 and six – to raise it cannot be easy.

He asked where we were from, a question that usually happens much earlier in a conversation, and nodded when we said Canada, but it soon became apparent that this didn't mean anything to him. He had no idea where to find Canada, and I'm not sure if he'd ever heard of it. We told him that it was much, much colder than here, and Johann showed him our weather forecast, which, at -11 as a high, was not even an extreme one. 'Once,' he said – eleven, shaking his head. 'Menos,' I pointed out – minus, but that was more than he could imagine. We showed him photos from home, with snow, and he gazed in wonder. Then he remarked on the colour of my eyes and the paleness of skin (and here I thought I had tanned quite nicely already) and wondered about Johann's, motioning him to remove his sunglasses. Does everyone have such light coloured eyes, he asked. And the hair? Clearly, two completely different worlds had come together, for each one, quite likely, a day that will stick in our memories.

Again Darian returned, this time with a quite new looking tire, and we were on our way. The tire only lasted for another four or five kilometres, however, before it again went flat. Darian pointed to Julio's motorbike: he would take us. 'Juntos' -together – I asked, incredulously. Si, Julio grinned, todos – everything. So little left, no problem. I was not afraid for ourselves, but very much so for Julio's motorbike, not wanting to have another bike break down, but he had no such qualms. Thus he heaved the pack in front of him, I climbed on behind him, hanging on to him, and Johann with the small backpack was in the back. There was not really a place where we could both put our feet, so I lifted mine up and pointed them backward, thinking Johann would use the foot rests. Julio headed, slowly and carefully, for town on the now quite busy road. After maybe ten minutes we came to an intersection with a few taxis at the corner, and I asked him to stop: we could go by taxi now and save him from going further into town with this big load. He didn't object, called the taxi driver over and made sure we were on the right way. What a nice man, taking his promise to get us to Mompos seriously until the very end. We paid the agreed price, waved in parting and went our separate ways.

We had tried to find an accommodation while we were waiting for the tire to be repaired, and had an address we could start out with. We hadn't dared to book beforehand because the way to Mompos was such a vague thing, but from the booking.com website we knew that there were plenty of hotels to choose from. It only took a few minutes until the taxi driver let us out in front of the 'Café Mompox', but although a room had clearly been available on booking.com the guy at the reception regretfully shook his head: no, he didn't have a room at this moment. His brother did in his hotel, however: did we want to talk to him? He put me on the phone, and after a few minutes we were standing in front of the Café Niento, like the other one a beautiful colonial house, but right on the Magdalena River instead of facing the main thoroughfare through town. It really was like landing in paradise after a rather demanding day.