The van was beaten. People who lived in villages tucked into the jungle, among countless plantations of bananas, mangoes, coffee and military posts, returned home after doing what they had to do in the city. Every so often I saw a group of soldiers - very young - who followed the van with their eyes but did not stop us more than once to perform a routine inspection.
This part of the country was controlled by the FARC guerrillas not too long ago and Uribe's mandate had achieved greater road safety but there was still caution in these sections.
The vegetation on both sides of the road was very thick and barely showed beyond the barrier of banana trees, ferns and other plants that lined up as if forming a wall. As you have imagined, the road was not paved and the driver had to dodge the holes and larger stones, although the battered suspension barely supported the slightest rattle. Those who went inside ate everything.
I was sitting in the back because I arrived from the last ones and I was bouncing in the seat for several hours. The worst thing is that the distance between the ceiling and my head was short and I had to cover myself with my arm and legs in tension all the time to protect myself from the blows when bouncing. While the driver, to cheer the trick, put us some movies on DVD. Amazing, we saw 4 in 2 hours. With the potholes the DVD player was jumping and the movie was coming forward. Predator, from Arnold, lasted 15 minutes ... The whole movie.
But we didn't miss much because the repertoire was all of Arnold and Sylvester Stallone. Movies, come on.
Along the way, as usual in almost all of South America (except Argentina and Chile, I think I remember) people got in the van to sell some food. I bought a tray of strawberries like fists that were tremendous. He hadn't brought a sandwich and that was the only way to eat because we didn't go through any restaurant or anything like that. In fact, after passing the villages in the first third of the way, we hardly saw any more.
Shortly before reaching San Agustin We returned to the asphalt. Our asses thanked us quite a bit and soon they left us at a crossroads, took out our backpacks totally covered by dust and sand and we mounted a ranch of a Colombian who was waiting for us there to take us to the home of a friend of his. With the weariness we were carrying, we let ourselves be coaxed by man. The truth is that we did well because Juan's house was a good place to spend my days in San Agustín.
I'll tell you in the next one.