Not-so-perpetual motion...

The journey from Salento to the local town of Armenia, and the bus station, takes 45 minutes. I was travelling with my new friend Stacey who was leaving for Medellin the same evening I was off to Bogota... when we got there the next bus either of us could get on wasn't for another 2 hours... so we spent an enjoyable few hours listening to Reggaetone and drawing maps of Australia so Stacey could populate them with notes about places for me to visit. I got on my bus to Bogota around Midnight, the bus arriving the pre designated 1/2 hour late. The journey from Armenia to Bogota takes six hours. That is, the journey takes six hours when it isn't rainy season and the police don't shut the roads. We had diven for roughly 30 minutes when the police stopped the bus and told us we couldn't continue our journey until the next day- mmm... lovely night on a stationary bus. However, when I saw the road the next day I was relieved by the decision; flanked by steep cliffs on both sides the officials had been worried the torrential rain would cause landslides. As an added bonus the only film onboard was the Godfather in Espanol (el Padrino), which we watched the first 15 minutes of 3 times before someone thankfully snapped the disk in two because it wouldn't stop repeating.
We travelled for almost 4 hours before we were stopped again- the police had set up traffic lights on a flooded section of road and it had caused a major tailback. Not normally an issue unless the sleep deprived bus driver had just been cavalierly overtaken by an idiot whilst on a dangerous section of road. Road rage is something of a different beast in Columbia, and once we had caught up with the truck in question the driver slew the coach across the road and casually climed out of the cab with his machete. Apparently this was a signal as every bloke aboard, including the nice old bloke next to me who had been telling me about his grandchildren, also took out a machete (not joking... EVERY man on that bus was travelling with a knife of some sort) and joined the driver on the road. The guy in the truck got out of his cab and had a good swing at one of the passengers before processing how outnumbered he was, scarpering back to the truck and reversing up the road and round the corner.
The remainder of the journey was rather uneventful after that. Although I did get to try authentic Columbian cuisine when we stopped to refuel (fried plantane with an arepia (cheesey potato cake) and beef sausage) plus lots of coffee. Actually I didn't pay for any of that as the Columbians (friendliest country I've been to, despite the machetes) insisted on buying everything for me, and kept apologising for the inconvenience and telling me that Columbia was actually very efficent, and the best country in the world. I actually loved Columbia, and it was this experience of the lovliness of the general populace that really made it such a special country.
I arrived into flooded Bogota a mere 24 hours after setting out, but none the worse for wear, and having quite enjoyed the experience of spending some time with Columbian people.