It all worked out fine in the end! Diary of an older woman travelling solo in Colombia.

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Had to get up at the unearthly hour of 5.45 this morning as the bus for Salamina was leaving at 7 am and had been told to be there ' una horita' beforehand which I think is a very flexible term, so checked that half an hour would be fine. Began to get a bit worried that I would miss my bus as the loudspeaker announcements were just a tangle of numbers. Asked a group of older women where they were going and it turned out that they were heading for one of the intermediate stops on my route so relied on them to tell me which bus to get on. Had difficulty in understanding two of them and vice- versa but the third acted as an interpreter – still in Spanish, obviously!

It has been raining all morning with visibility very poor and not much of a view, therefore, although I could tell we were winding our way up, down and across mountains. Am actually writing this paragraph sitting on the bus which is now stationary for a second time, both times due to accidents, and both times for more than an hour. The older women are getting very agitated every time a bus the same size as ours ignores the queue and zooms past! 'Vea, vea' (Look, look!) they shout. I was getting worried about whether the little compartment at the front was a loo and, if so, was it working and fit to use. One of the woman told me it wasn't a loo but there was a ‘casita’ over there, by which she meant a private house. We went over together and were shown the loo for which there was a modest charge. It worked fine although no water for hand washing and I wished I had asked them for a coffee, like one of the drivers did.

Well, the women got their way! The driver succumbed to their pressure and pulled out from the queue. There then followed a few nerve-wracking minutes as we squeezed between the queue of stationary lorries on one side and cars and buses trying to do the same as us coming from the opposite direction. The worst bit was when we had to squeeze between the lorry and bus which had been involved in the accident. I swear we had less than 3 inches either side and no effort had been made to move them - we could still be there now! Everybody gave the driver a round of applause.

We stopped for lunch and the young women took charge of me. I ate the same as them, a very good fish soup but declined the 'claro'. Thought this might be related to a ‘clara’ which is Spanish for a shandy but it turns out to be made with maize and water and looks like milk! This sort of drink is obviously a specialty as I have just been offered, and declined, after tasting, a drink made of 'avena' which is oats. The women could just about cope with the idea of my travelling around Colombia on my own but almost fell off their chairs, literally, when I announced that I had a husband back home!

In the afternoon the weather improved and the views were stunning. We climbed up into the clouds, out over them and back into them again. A good three quarters of an hour before we got there we spotted Salamina on the opposite ridge. We finally reached there more than three and a quarter hours late, a total journey time of over eight hours. There were other delays and we drove for the best part of an hour on an un-surfaced road. I now understand why approaching Salamina from this direction is not recommended. First impressions were underwhelming and until we got to the main square it seemed just like any other scruffy Colombian town but busier. It does in fact have lots of lovely colonial buildings.

As the young women were getting off one of them asked me if I knew where I was going (I had an address but that's all) and suggested I come with them but the driver said he would look after me - and this after the drive from hell! He handed me over to a man with a strong resemblance to a baddie in a Western. I declined to go with him and said I would take a taxi but I have to say the taxi-driver looked equally unsavoury! There then followed a five minute conversation in which various passers-by joined in, trying to agree on the whereabouts of my lodgings which we did eventually find.

The ‘hospedaje’ (guesthouse) is run by a pensioner and her son who also both live there. They have only been going for about six months and the son, who is an engineer, is lending a hand temporarily whilst he is unemployed. Just as well, since I really struggle with his mother's accent. He is very bossy and managing but am sure with the best of intentions. Within a few minutes I was being given a guided tour of the place and introduced to all manner of people ranging from the coffee buyer to a man who makes craft jewellery and who has an English wife from Norwich!! Tomorrow he has organised a visit to a coffee ‘finca’ (farm) which he is going to accompany me on and would have got the rest of my stay organised too, given half a chance. He is very keen I visit a factory which makes loafs of brown sugar, a typical product of the region - presumably they grow the cane as well. He keeps calling me ‘Doña Judy’ which makes me feel like a character in an opera - must put a stop to this. Went out for a meal, fried chicken - everything seems to be fried here - which was actually quite good. With a beer I paid 13 000 pesos, about £3.25!

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