Incidents of Travel in Latin America by Lars Holger Holm

Author:Lars Holger Holm
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781910524558
Publisher: Arktos Media Ltd.
Published: 2016-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

Turbo

In this and similar manner we stayed put for a week. Then we felt the need to break the spell. To do this we again had to risk our lives on the high seas. The two little dogs that had watched faithfully over us accompanied us to the pier and could be seen running along the beach wagging their tails while the speed boat headed for the open sea and the vegetation vanished into the glistening morning mist. The skipper was no exception to the ones we previously had encountered, and I might easily have injured my back this time too, had I not been mentally prepared for the ordeal ahead. Once again we were forced to take seats close to the prow, which, it must be emphasised, is the worst location for a passenger. Luckily the sea didn’t get heavier but smoother as we went deeper into the Gulf. The proximity to Rio Atrato announced itself by muddy waters effectively concealing massive logs or tree branches that the captain, steadily maintaining maximum speed, would have no chance of seeing, let alone avoiding, before it was too late. All the same we safely made it across to Turbo, the regional hub on the eastern shores of the bay.

Here the Colombian army, from having been quiet and discreet in their presence in the Darién, gave everybody reason to believe that no one was safe. Every boat had to report to a group of stone-faced young soldiers, who didn’t even bother to turn the points of their machine guns away from the passengers while questioning the captains. We were let through and came to behold something seemingly taken straight out of Africa. Even though I have never been to Freetown, Liberia, or Conakry, Sierra-Leone, this is exactly what I imagine them to be like, judged on personal experience of similar African ports. The only tangible difference was that this African port was primarily Spanish speaking. Otherwise the setting was a perfect backdrop to the opening scenes of Heart of Darkness.

Asíle was visibly depressed by the lacklustre appearance of the rundown ships anchored in the estuary and ramshackle edifices lining the piers. Some people were hanging off ship ladders, some swimming in the oily waters. There were fires. One of them must have been fed rubber or some other noxious substance since thick, black smoke billowed out from it. It was a hot, unforgiving monsoon afternoon waiting for its first lightning to crack the heavens open. But though the clouds looked menacing there was so far no sign of rain. We reached our destination without a single drop falling on our heads. On the other hand: like wasps attracted to syrup local helping hands were all over us. I got a firm hold of our luggage and blazed a trail through the mass of arms offering to help us carry it the twenty-five steps to the taxis outside. I don’t know if Asíle even realised how quickly I managed to get us out

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