Voyage to South America travel blog

Showing Electra to some dudes at the town square in Aracataca

Where is that placa from?

Sancohoco - best ever

Landslide

The line of trucks waiting to pass

Coco hands? And yeah - a little smelly. Smelly cat, Oh smelly...


April 5, 2011

I left Taganga two days ago at 9am. Hell it was hot. I rode for only three hours. At 12 noon it was hades. I had to drive through Santa Marta and find my way to the highway leading to Bogota. Yep! Goin’ home.

The terrain and situation reminded me of Sinaloa state, Mexico. Heat hot heat. Reverend Horton Heat – ha ha ha. Yeah, my mind is/was melting.

I stopped after only three hours. I wanted to stay at Aracataca, Colombia. It’s nothing in the book about this village but I know that this is where Gabriel Garcia Marquez was born. March 6, 1927. Two days from Susan and five from Jeffey.

Gabriel is a novelist, short-story writer, screenwriter and journalist. AKA – Gabo. He is considered one of the most significant authors of the 20th century. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1982, and is the earliest winner of this prize to be still alive. I have yet to read any of his literature as I have not yet found any here in Colombia in English; and, to be honest, really only discovered him here in Colombia. Who knew? I’ll wait until I get home to order some of his work.

I got settled in to a hole-in-the-wall that had AC. $COP27,000.00/$USD13.00. Finally some prices that I can afford! I could not do this without AC. This is NOT a tourist town. When I arrived I do what I usually do – go to the square and look for a room from there. I was mobbed; but only after a while. When one came, they all came. All men – of course.

Where’s the chain? Is it automatic? Where are you from? What size is the engine? How long did it take you? Same, same, same. I will admit that my Spanish revolves around these questions and food and accommodations. And a little more – quite a bit more – of course.

Once I got settled in I headed to the museum. I had to ask for directions as – once again – this village is not in the ‘book’ and thus I had no idea where it was. I found it and arrived at 1:30pm – the museo closes at 2:00pm. It’s already all locked up. Time to raise a little hell – pleasantly. I hollered and yelled. No answer. Then, when I peered around a little corner I saw a security guard. He saw me – Ha ha ha you fucker – NOW you have to get off your ass. This guy is slow. Hey dude, I have nothing but time AND if you are sloooow I have a lot of nothing to do at the museo. He slowly gets off his red plastic coke a cola chair, looks at me while he straps on is gun belt [yep a museo guard] and pain staking saunters the 30m to unlock the gate. He gets to the gate. Nice gun – Chrome .357 – a little much for a museo security guard. Maybe he has another job? I have fucked him over in his having a beer with the boys in a ½ hour. Did I mention that it’s HOT? He struggles with the key. I just stare at him. I have nothing – he has the key. However once in – I have ‘the key’. He knows it too. Look dude once ‘in’ I wield the hammer. And guess what happens – I am it. I am not a prick. It was cool and all but 20 minutes I am done. 4:25pm. In 5 minutes he can lock up for real and in another 10 he’ll be having beers with the bro’s. As I am walking out of the gate, a family of five upper class Colombians are getting out of a Toyota SUV. Karma’s a bitch.

I left Aracataca at 5:30am. It was just getting light. I don’t know what the temp was but I got sticky if I just stood in my riding gear. Once moving – it was nice.

I wanted to stay in Buca but I kinda knew that it was unlikely. I can’t do more than six – in this heat. Fuck that. After about six hours I had passed a town called Aguachicha – should have stayed here. After Aguachicha I started to climb in to the Oriental’s.

I didn’t hear about the rains that this area has experienced. There were huge Durumbes. There was HUGE devastation everywhere. So huge, in fact, that only motorbikes could get through. Yah me!! I have said this many times - the line of semi’s waiting to get through was indescribable. It was not as bad as what I saw in Guat {the durumbe I crossed with Cara was EPIC!] - but close. A few houses were partial. I wonder how many people died. EVERY creek flowing into the main drainage was washed out and the main drainage [don’t know the name] was the one that eliminated parts of the road and A LOT of houses.

I arrived in Bucaramanga around three. I was spent. I will never ever drive that long again. You think, “Only one more hour to Buca.” Then the landslides and two more hours added. I don’t need that shit.

My BMW gloves, that I love, have finally broken down and got a hole. I have had these gloves for about three years. They don’t make them anymore. I have washed them a several times but now the heat and sweat gotten the best of them. They are as rich as Electra.

April 7, 2011

When I re-read parts of my journal I can’t believe how stupid I sound. I want to re-write the entire thing. If I think I am and idiot then others must think same. I won't be getting a Nobel Prize for Literature anytime soon.

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