The Road; The Walk

We rose early (seems to be an unfortunate habit on this trip...) and made our way to the bus station. The morning was cool and crisp, with dew underfoot and a dense fog all around. Bit descriptive you may think. I only remember it so well because we were at the bus station for about 6 hours! The 'morning' bus we'd been told about only left when it was full; which turned out to be about midday.

Crammed in a well overcrowded minibus (damn greedy driver) we set off down the worst 'road' qny of us have ever been down. Potholes, flooding, fallen trees - we had the works! Some of these potholes were ridiculous: huge pools of muddy water stretching from one side of the mud track to the other. When the driver edged down one side of the collapsing verge, the vehicle felt as if it would topple over (about four people sitting on the roof, as well as luggage) before we made it through, leaving waves in the giant puddles. Add to that a very uncomfortable seat, crammed in between people and biting flies, we didn't have the best journey. You won't believe it until I get some photos up.

After about three hours on this hellish track, we arrived in Susannah (18km from Varela). This was as far as the van could go because of flooding and a collapsed bridge. As we picked up our gear it was about 4pm. Some others from our bus were making the walk to Varela and so we tagged along. Much to the local's suprise I might add - laughing and waving at us.

There was an old man in a gold tunic and a younger guy, who was a fisherman, set the pace for us to follow. God, was it quick?! We were completely unprepared for this; no water, quick change from flip flops to shoes (minus socks in mly case) and carrying a helluva lot of weight in our backpacks! Maneuvering round the flooded potholes became more and more difficlut as the road fell apart before us. Massive lakes of stagnant water, deeper potholes - it was crazy how anything could get down here.

After an hour or so we reached a collapsed bridge. Piled up at the side of the road were the remains of the former metal bridge, and in its place across the river were creaking wooden slats. No wonder the minibuses couldn't have made it that far; the bridge would have definitely collapsed under its weight! The road didn't get any better after the bridge. The tail end of the rainy season had a very negative impact on the roads - the pot holes were deeper and wider than before and the water had turned the whole track into thick mud.

We seemed to walk for miles. Well, we did. We walked eighteen kilometres in the end, taking just under three hours, arriving at Franco's Chez Helene just after dusk. What a journey! Blistered feet, sore thighs, dehydration - the works! Arriving at Chez Helene we polished off a beer each and followed it all up with lots of chilled water. More on Franco and Varela later, even writing about the walk makes me feel tired, and brings on a throbbing in my feet!