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