Assured
we wouldn't have to go back to Bogotá or all the way to Bucaramanga
to get to San Gil we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at the small table
in the front garden of Villa San Miguel, surrounded by blooming
geraniums, lilies and bougainvilleas. The climate in Villa de Leyva
is pleasant, in the low twenties during the day (which feels quite a
bit warmer when you hike along a dusty road) and cooling down enough
at night that the warm blankets are still welcome, and it's just
slightly too cool to sit outside without a jacket in the early
morning and in the evening. Our hostess wanted to introduce us to one
more comida tipica
(food
typical for the area) and prepared envueltos,
wrapped corn cakes. It's a lot of work, as I found out when I read up
on it: corn is husked, the husks saved for wrapping, then the kernels
are cut off and, together with melted butter, eggs, sugar, salt and
grated cheese processed in a food processor. Two corn husks are
arranged on a work surface, the corn mixture spooned into the centre,
and the husks rolled up tightly, the ends twisted and secured. The
corn cakes are then put in boiling water and cooked for about an
hour. I think they would have tasted better if they had been hot
(which they weren't; our landlady obviously had had breakfast long
before us – we were the only guests), and the arepa
(a kind of pancake made with ground maize) that accompanies the eggs
at breakfast time here most often, is very filling in itself already.
It was nice of Loretta to introduce us to more of the local cuisine,
but I'm afraid in this case I was not as appreciative as I should
have been because it was simply too much.
We
shouldered our packs at a quarter past ten and were on our way to the
small bus terminal, about 750m from our accommodation. We had just
crossed the road leading out of town when a bus came by from the
direction of the terminal. 'Tunja?', the driver called over to us.
Yes, that was indeed where we wanted to go – not hard to guess if
you see a foreigner walking with a big backpack. We crossed the road
again, put the big pack in the back and joined about ten other people
on their way to the city or anyplace in between. That was extremely
quick! Our journey had started out well. Here and there the driver
stopped to let people on or off, sometimes, seemingly, in the middle
of nowhere. Several of them wore the traditional ruana,
a kind of cape, older men usually simple ones of undyed white or
brown wool, younger people fancier ones in brighter colours. These
are very useful in the cool Andean climate. Even in the country,
however, most people are no longer dressed in traditional clothing,
and many Colombians are extremely well dressed and, especially in
cities, after the latest fashion.
As
on the way to Villa de Leyva I wondered again how people were able to
cultivate the steep, steep hillsides. Many of the fields were big
enough to be cultivated with machinery, but it seemed impossible to
use a tractor. Now, I saw how things were done: on one steep hill a
man was moving steadily uphill swinging a pickaxe, on a nearby hill,
already cultivated, two men were pulling a big rake horizontally. On
three other occasions men were engaged in spraying crops, using a
backpack sprayer, no protection whatsoever beyond pulling the hood of their sweaters
over their heads. Surrounded by sun-lit spray mist one man walked
along the rows, another was stirring the chemical mixture in a big barrel. Once again
I thought what an easy life we have in comparison.
The
ride went by quickly, thanks to relatively empty roads and a driver
who was eager to reach his destination, and we reached the bus
terminal in Tunja a scant hour later. We were the last to leave the
bus and were immediately approached by a couple of men: 'Bogotá? San
Gil?' They waved us along as if our life depended on it, so that we
thought the bus to San Gil was waiting for us already – but all
they did was take us to one of the offices in the terminal with
connection service to San Gil. The first company had a bus leaving at
three, three and a half hours later, so he took us to the next one
whose bus left at 12:45. As soon as he had delivered us he was gone
again: likely working on commission. It's a huge hustle for
passengers at every bus station, several bus companies competing for
passengers, calls for one or the other city or town contributing to
the general noise. We got our tickets, the bus number and departure
time and were told to wait downstairs. This we did, watching bus
after bus come in and leave for Bogotá for the next hour, hour and a
quarter, hour and a half ... Finally came the call for San Gil and
Bucaramanga, and although the motto 'Siempre
a Tiempo'
(Always on Time) was broadly displayed on the side of the bus we left
45 minutes after the expected departure time. How long did it take to
get to San Gil, I asked the driver. Cuatro
horas – four
hours. No, we would not reach San Gil before dark, we realized.
The
bus was comfortable, with wide seats and lots of legroom, and the
landscape through which we travelled was stunning: the arid
conditions around Villa de Leyva soon gave way to lush tropical
forest, interspersed with small farms, some small sugarcane fields,
more cows again, now that we were on a lower elevation more brahma
type cattle than around Bogotá. Such lushness can only happen with a
lot of rain, and we got quite a downpour when the bus stopped at one of the
frequent roadside restaurants geared to serving busloads of people.
The bus driver told us we had half an hour to have a meal or stretch
our legs, and all this time it rained heavily, eaves spilling water
into reservoirs soon spilling over. This half hour was added to the
four hours of travel, of course, which had not been an overly
generous estimation in the first place, it turned out. At 6:30 pm we
arrived at the terminal, about three kilometres outside of San Gil,
and were delivered safely to our hostal by taxi.
The
Hostal La Casona de Don Juan is one of those colonial buildings with
a breezy courtyard and rooms that must be nearly five metres high, simply
furnished with just a couple of beds and a nightstand, but a private
bathroom (in our case, and I'm not sure yet if the shower has hot
water). We have all we need, including the perfect temperature for
sleeping: warm enough for only a sheet for cover, cool enough so that
neither fan nor air condition is necessary. Both the tall door and
the shuttered window open to the courtyard, which is likely one
reason that the temperature is pleasant both day and night.
We
went out to the plaza only about three blocks from here, the Parque
la Libertad, for a stroll and for something to eat. Shortly before a
small group of protesters making a lot of noise banging pots and pans
had gone by, but here, far away from the capital and other large
cities, these protests are peaceful. By the time we reached the plaza
the group had become part of the crowd enjoying rock music in one
corner and more traditional folk music in the opposite one. The
plaza, as in so many south and central American countries, is the
heart of the community, with people of all ages enjoying themselves.
I look forward to finding out what it's like in the daytime.
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