The longest day of my life III- A guardian Angel

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I just realised I missed my stop, i have no money, no phone and I´m dreading to go to Barranquilla by night in those conditions.
I don't know exactly how far Barranquilla is but in a way I'm looking forward to get there. I'm crossing my fingers, hoping that Barranquilla's terminal bus has a cash point. But I doubt it... I don't really want to go to the city center with my massive backpack in back. It s like a big sign saying "gringo", "turista", victima"... Suddenly I'm distracted from my negative thoughts by a group of street vendors getting on our bus, to offer (once again), sweets, sodas... I haven't eaten or drunk propely in 24hours, been on this bus for 8, I would kill for a nice chilled coke. But I have no money and I don't fancy killing such a young person..
I'm a bit more abrupt than usual in my refusal but polite.
Then, one of person who got on the bus at the same time as the street vendors, comes to seat next to me. She's a woman, in her mid 40's. She starts talking to me and is really surprised that i am not colombian despite being "morenito", brown skinned, like lots of them. She's called Patricia. She asks me where I´m going so I explained her how I manage to go through Santa Marta, a city of more than half a million souls, without realising it, how i don't have a penny on me and huge fears regarding Barranquilla.
She got pity of me, and offers me to get off the bus with me just outside of Barranquilla and to do the journey again to Santa Marta, where she lives. She's ready to lo lend me the money to do so, and offers to leave me outside of a nice and safe hotel. She's doing a great job at reassuring me. But I don't dare telling her I'm having doubts about my UK debit card working in Colombia. I trusted her almost immediately.
And when I understood that her too, was on the bus to sell stuff, I thought she must be honnest.Having such a "job" and offer to lend money to a "gringo" she just met, without real guarantee of seing her money back, I was really impressed and grateful.
She was selling tea bags, with medicinal virutes ("cleans the impurities from inside, a cleaner, not a laxatif", hearing that I managed to smile). I was watching her doing her pitch. She was good. People were listening religiously, some of them even interacted with her, answering her rethorical questions.
Good saleswoman, Is that good new for me, I dunno...
Eventually we reach the outskirts of Barranquilla. 8 hours that i hadn't been outisde of that bus. Chaos of buses around me, it is really hot and humid and stinks badly. Patricia is only talking about this, the bad smell and the bad people from here. Nevermind if we are surrounded by the locals.
After 1h30 (and after Patricia has hyptonised her second bus accumulating the equivalent of US $50 between both buses) we reached Santa Marta, finally.
That was actually El Rodadero, resort, 3 miles away from SM, popular with colombians holidaymakers. First cash point and 1st disappointement. Technical problems prevent me from withdrawing money... Not a great start. I was already seeing myself calling my bank in the UK shouting at them for being so stupid. It took about half a dozen ATMs before one finally accepted to give me some cash . Hallelujah!!! I can breath, I'm independent again. During that time and all along, Patricia was with me, reassuring me even offering me to sleep at hers when she saw itwas really looking bad for me. I gave her ,her money money back, times 2. And invited her to eat by the beach. The beach was crowded, live music everywhere, street vendors, great atmosphere.
Strangly people keep offering us a room for the night...or the hour. I'm starting to think that the resort might be a bit of a red light district during the low season...
I keep voicing my gratitude to Patricia. We chat. She loves God and smoking. Well, at least we'll agree on half of the topics.
I'm starting to be tired, all I want is check in a hotel, put my feet in the sea and have a well needed shower.
But instead of that, I let her talk about religion for ages, although she knew by then than I´m an atheist. She convinces me to have a cigaret with her on the beach near her's before I go. Ok then.
Quick journey on a mototaxi and here we are. Rodadero south. Not so noisy or trendy as the the north. That's where she lives. She insists to buy me a beer. How could i say know after all she has done for me. I end up, i dont know how, buying two meals for her 2 kids waiting for her at home. ok fair enough you just "saved my life"...
I try to get out of the" smoke by the beach". Nevermmind she goes to buy her cigarets anyway, comes back and keeps talking to me about God inviting me at her's.She's got no husband and no job like she said when we met earlier. I'm feeling increasingly uncomfortable. At times I have the impression she's preaching and at other times, that she's trying to get me in her bed...
She talks about her past, how she used to hang out with bad crowds, how a "sicario", a hitman, had told her she was going to die and how he died later but that wasn't her who did it. Well that's a good news!!!

After a long conversation, she accepts the idea of me wanting to sleep in a hotel,I spot a sign for rooms to rent just 1 block from her's. US$5. I visit the room, take it straight away and go down to the beach with her.
More theological conversation, I try to be as tolerant as possible. Eventually extract myself off the bench and we both start walking back. She insists for me to stay out a bit longer, to have a drink, to chat some more. I'm getting a bit worried and annoyed. Cant remember where my room is. I almost have to argue with her to get her to walk me back.
I say my goodbyes and thankyous one more time. She decides to come tomorrow around 8 or 9 on her to "work" to say good bye again ?
And here I am in my room, after over 24 hours of travelling and not being alone. And then the reality of what I had just paid US $ 10 for, hit me. This room is actually horrible. It is not a hotel. It's a rudimentary house with a sheet-metal roof. The rooms are separated with walls which happen not to go all the way to the top, so you can clearly hear wat is going on in the other rooms. Thankfuly nothing too bad is happening in those rooms, but still, the guy constantly caughing in the next room, could be seating on my bed, that would be the same.. The bed? well a dirty sheet on matrice, 2 pillows, that's it. Staff accomodation back in the UK looks like a 4 stars hotel compared to this...
And it is boiling in there, thankfuly there's a big old fan that will do the trick.
Can't wait to leave already, I don't fancy sleeping here but too late to go anywhere else. Let's write this diary then....
Tomorrow, the beach, Taganga a lovely fishermen village and later the tayrona Park.

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