Leaving Colombia Attempt #4

We woke up at 4:30 by a voice shouting in the distance. The word "Pasto" triggered this internal alarm. We got up from our very un-soft beds, grabbed our bags and ran off to the terminal. In the rain, I ordered a coffee with sugar and 2 buñuelos (some round bread ball, made with cheese and deep-fried). For a coffee without sugar I ad to go to the next stool, where it was custom made for this strange outlander that drinks coffee black. I gave the coffee to Mar who was already waiting in the goods compartment of the pick-up truck. Fortunately the bench was fitted with a soft comfortable cushion because the road was everything but comfortable. It led us over a dangerous, bumpy road and our toes started freezing as the fog made it pretty chilly but prevented our fear from kicking in as we didn't realize the conditions we found ourselves in.
In Pasto we hoped to find my bank card waiting at the office of Servientrega, the Colombian Express Post. However, after a call with the hostal in Bogotá for the reference number, we learned that the card hadn't even been sent. Next day, they lost track of the card. Later they found out that the person who was going to send it, was ill and had the card with him. The day after that, nobody was in possession of 2 Eur necessary to send the card (pay on receive wasn't possible). When they finally send it, we found out that it takes two days for the card to arrive and unfortunately the office was closed on saturday, sunday and monday was a holy day, so all official instances were also closed on that day.
Another fine example of the impossibility of planning in Colombia. Instead of passing through Pasto we got stuck here for 7 nights. The morning of the 23th we finally crossed the border without any further problems. My passport in Colombia was valid till the 24th (and it would have costed me a fine of 700 000 Pesos if I had crossed the border after the valid date of my passport....)

Leticia Intermission

For several reasons, Puerto Asis is a dead end until we get certain things done that we can't perform here so we leave for Pasto with the bus from 16h.  Unfortunately we find out in Mocoa that no bus to Pasto went today nor will go, so we need to stay there for the night. Twice unfortunately, because we hoped to spend the night in the bus, saving us the cost of a room. As soon as we get off the bus, a pushy person tries to sell us a ticket to all places in the country and a room. The price he names us (5000 pesos) convinces us to check it out and we decide to stay in the hostel for a final price of 7000 pesos for the both of us (that is 23000 pesos cheaper than what we mostly expect to find). The hostel, which is basically two floors the size of a big room, divided by wooden byobus, making these the size of a bed + 15 cm, is right opposite the Terminal, which is very convenient as they tell us that sometimes a minivan shows up at 5 am going to Pasto. If this is the case tomorrow, we will shout through the window, grab our stuff and jump into the minivan...

Finally on the move again

After they fired me from my role as manager/cook/waiter/dish washer from Restaurant Amadeus (aka Restaurant Fatima) due to the fact that I renamed it Restaurant Amadeus, but primarily because I wore no shoes, I decided not to stay in Bogotá much longer. Unfortunately I was waiting for my bank card that had been stolen a few weeks earlier on a drunk night in a concert somewhere. The fourth Monday after my new card had been sent, I decided to wait no longer and made a transfer through Western Union from my credit card so I had some cash to pay back all the loans I had made and I was ready to take off.
Mar, who had never been in the south of her country was excited to join me (although she threatened me that she didn't want to wait around any longer, which is one of the reasons why I decided not to wait for my card any longer either). Her abuelita (grandmother) and her dad were not that happy with her decision as for the upcoming elections this region wasn't the safest because it is in the south that the FARC (Fuerzas Armada Revolucionarias de Colombia) reside. In 2000 the FARC closed down all connections to a village called Puerto Asis and drove the population to near starvation to force the government to review their agenda (which they didn't).
It's in this town, that's a connection for goods and people with Leticia, a village far into the woods, that we are waiting now. Waiting for the elections to pass, because no administrative services are being performed and although the danger is as usual exaggerated, it is still safer to stay in the town than being on the road to avoid contact with the FARC. We want to get to Leticia, which is only reachable by plane or by boat, in the cheapest possible way. A passenger boat takes about 15 days over the Putumayo, the river that ends up in the Amazon, which is where Letitia is situated, on the border with Brazil and Peru. The Putumayo meanders its way going in and out Ecuador, but that doesn't mean that my passport will be considered valid when I arrive after its valid date, the 24th of March at the border, so I will have to take actions to extend it again before I set off to Leticia.
Yesterday we went to the harbour where goods are being loaded (by hand) on the pontons to ask if any of these sailors is willing to take us aboard to work for our transit. Their eyes and reactions tell us that this is a sheer impossibility as we need a marine-working permit, but a little later we find out that it's also a matter of trust and that we have to stick around and get to know some people to make the transit easier. Nevertheless we already start dreaming from spending our time on one of these boats as it slides through the marvelous rainforest where we'll expect to be surprised and thrilled by the environment...