After a nightmare bus ride where somehow i managed to doze off to sleep while the bodies tried to get comfortable in the isle and the cumbia (music blaring from the speaker, you guessed it, right over my head) i arrive early than expected in Sucre, 5 in the morning in fact. Yes, i had booked a bed but for the night to come and nor would the hostel let me wait in the lobby, "no you´ll have to come back at 10"... let´s just say that i made it to the dodgiest and dirtiest and priciest alternative that i had at that ungodly hour. And i was adamant on getting my rest because i came all this way, not to visit Sucre, but to get to Tarabuco´s Sunday market, an hour out of town.
So at the information desk at the bus terminal i ask for directions. There is where i met him, Mr Magoo and his young niece, telling me he owned the terminal and he knew from which corner to get my bus. The desk clerk nodded in agreement. He also said he could give me a lift to close where i needed to go. "you don´t have to worry about me, i won´t rob you" he says and he starts to walk off his way whether i was going or not. Ha! i´ve heard that one before. the desk clerk looks at me and motions, go with him! I assess the situation and my gut wasn´t churning so i hobbled after him.
Mr Magoo trots to his leather clad latest model mercedes where his 2 very teenage nephews take the back seat and we´re off.
Is it cold in Tarabuco? i ask
Nah, it´s the same as here, the boys inform me. Sucre is refreshing but very sunny. 2,500m high about.
Now why do you want to go to Tarabuco? Mr Magoo´s face complains, i really don´t know what all the fuss is about. It´s 4000 metres high you know...
Is it cold? i ask worried, cos if it is i have to go get a jacket.
Yeeees it´s cold and nasty. what do want to do there? buy weaves or rugs or woollens?
...If it´s cold i got to get off and get well dressed you know, i don´t want to...
He´s talking over me, i´m looking out the window seeing the blocks distancing me from where i have to return.
You want clothes huh? he asks, i´ve got a factory you can get stuff there.
...No, but if it´s cold and i´m going to get a cold...
The boys in the back are laughing cos they can´t but in either, but Mr Magoo finally assure me that it´s not that cold when he realises what i´m actually asking.
Oh, ok then. I relax, only cos i dreaded the walk back.
I don´t know why everyone wants to go to that market anyway, he mutters.
I don´t want to buy anything really, i add, but the thing about the market is that it´s interesting to visit, is all, and in our countries we don´t have country folk congregating to sell their wears and artisans.
I think he concedes. Pause.
So where are you from? he asks.
I´m from Australia.
Oh, Italy, i was there recently, 3 months ago. Have you been to Florencia?
No, no, AUSTRALIA.
Yes it´s really nice there. And Florencia?
No, i say resigned, no i´ve never been there. The nephews try to but in a few times to make the correction but Mr Magoo pays no mind. I´m forced to have a negative response to all his questions, cos afterall, i´m not from Italy. One nephew taps him on the shoulder and clarifies my origins.
Oh! he says surprised. Australia... i don´t know anything about that.
Mr Magoo ends up going around and around a round-about while nephews are politely trying to point the way, and all confused he says, How about i take you all the way there huh? that would be nice wouldn´t it?
My eyes shoot across the dashboard and say, yes thank you very much sir, after taking note that where he had told me was the bus stop wasn´t and was under instruction to take me to the real bus stop... I got out, smiled genuinely and thanked him.
The most horrifying part of all this was that when i mentioned this lil´episode to some travelling folks one night, they weren´t quite sure who Mr Magoo is or hadn´t even heard of him....
The horror....
So at the information desk at the bus terminal i ask for directions. There is where i met him, Mr Magoo and his young niece, telling me he owned the terminal and he knew from which corner to get my bus. The desk clerk nodded in agreement. He also said he could give me a lift to close where i needed to go. "you don´t have to worry about me, i won´t rob you" he says and he starts to walk off his way whether i was going or not. Ha! i´ve heard that one before. the desk clerk looks at me and motions, go with him! I assess the situation and my gut wasn´t churning so i hobbled after him.
Mr Magoo trots to his leather clad latest model mercedes where his 2 very teenage nephews take the back seat and we´re off.
Is it cold in Tarabuco? i ask
Nah, it´s the same as here, the boys inform me. Sucre is refreshing but very sunny. 2,500m high about.
Now why do you want to go to Tarabuco? Mr Magoo´s face complains, i really don´t know what all the fuss is about. It´s 4000 metres high you know...
Is it cold? i ask worried, cos if it is i have to go get a jacket.
Yeeees it´s cold and nasty. what do want to do there? buy weaves or rugs or woollens?
...If it´s cold i got to get off and get well dressed you know, i don´t want to...
He´s talking over me, i´m looking out the window seeing the blocks distancing me from where i have to return.
You want clothes huh? he asks, i´ve got a factory you can get stuff there.
...No, but if it´s cold and i´m going to get a cold...
The boys in the back are laughing cos they can´t but in either, but Mr Magoo finally assure me that it´s not that cold when he realises what i´m actually asking.
Oh, ok then. I relax, only cos i dreaded the walk back.
I don´t know why everyone wants to go to that market anyway, he mutters.
I don´t want to buy anything really, i add, but the thing about the market is that it´s interesting to visit, is all, and in our countries we don´t have country folk congregating to sell their wears and artisans.
I think he concedes. Pause.
So where are you from? he asks.
I´m from Australia.
Oh, Italy, i was there recently, 3 months ago. Have you been to Florencia?
No, no, AUSTRALIA.
Yes it´s really nice there. And Florencia?
No, i say resigned, no i´ve never been there. The nephews try to but in a few times to make the correction but Mr Magoo pays no mind. I´m forced to have a negative response to all his questions, cos afterall, i´m not from Italy. One nephew taps him on the shoulder and clarifies my origins.
Oh! he says surprised. Australia... i don´t know anything about that.
Mr Magoo ends up going around and around a round-about while nephews are politely trying to point the way, and all confused he says, How about i take you all the way there huh? that would be nice wouldn´t it?
My eyes shoot across the dashboard and say, yes thank you very much sir, after taking note that where he had told me was the bus stop wasn´t and was under instruction to take me to the real bus stop... I got out, smiled genuinely and thanked him.
The most horrifying part of all this was that when i mentioned this lil´episode to some travelling folks one night, they weren´t quite sure who Mr Magoo is or hadn´t even heard of him....
The horror....
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