Mad rush

So, I´m here in Bucaramanga.

And I´m a bit surprised, too, because my exit from Medellin was a bit loco, to say the least.

Every morning in Medellin, Javier and I would discuss who would take the keys to his apartment depending on our schedules for the day. If all of his obgligations for the day would be over before before mine, then he would take the keys, and vice-versa if I would be the one to finish my day first.

Yesterday, my only obligations were the final two salsa lessons that I had signed up for. The first was from 9:30 - 11:30 in the morning, and the second was from 5:00 - 7:00 in the evening.

So, since Javier had to work until only 4:00 in the afternoon, he took the keys.

The day started off extremely smooth. I attended my morning class, and then I headed over to the local mall for some lunch.

After lunch I decided to catch a movie to pass the time.

This time, though, I was sure to ask the attendant if the dialogue would be fed to me in English in some form or another. And of all the movies being shown, "Agent Salt," with Angelina Jolie, was the only one that was offered in English, with Spanish subtitles.

Sounds great. I´ll have that.

The movie was absolutely ludicrous--with a plot containing more holes than 50-Cent has gunshot wounds--but it was sufficiently entertaning. After the movie, I made a quick stop at the cleaners to pick up a shirt that I had dropped, and I headed back to the dance studio for my evening class.

(I can´t believe I just said, "...and I headed back to the dance studio.")

After my class, the real fun began.

My plan all along was to head back to the apartment after class, collect all of my junk, and make my way over to the bus station.

¨Part One¨ was to head back to the apartment, so when I got out of class just after 7:00 I headed straight for the Metro station. I still had plenty of time, though, because my bus didnt leave until 9:00, and Javier´s apartment was just one stop away.

Well, let me rephrase that.

Javier´s apartment WOULD have been just one stop away had I boarded the train that was going in the proper direction.

It wasn´t until just after the first stop that I realized I was headed the wrong way, which means it was two stops before I switched trains to go back in the proper direction, and I was now three stops from my desired destination.

I´ll be fine. It´s a quarter after seven. Still plenty of time.

Now, I haven´t done enough research to understand the logic behind this next part, but apparently at certain times in the evening, the Metro train only stops at the Ayura station--the station I needed--going in one direction.

And it wasn´t my direction.

So, I stood there helplessly as the train whizzed by my stop, and I was forced to switch trains once again and head back in the other direction.

I arrived at the proper station at about 7:30 and, after nearly a twenty minute walk, I arrived at Javier´s apartment just before eight.

Ring, ring.

No answer.

RING, RING.

Still, no answer.

Fuck.

Javier wasn´t home, I didn´t have the keys, and my bus left in just over an hour from a terminal that was a twenty minute metro ride away.

I jogged over to a pay phone, and it wasn´t until the third pay phone that I found one that would make calls to a cellular phone.

¨Hello?¨

¨Yeah, Javier, this is Brandon.¨

¨Hey, Brandon, what´s up?¨

¨Oh, you know, nothing much. Where are you?¨

¨I already went out for the night. Where are you?¨

¨Oh, just standing here outside the apartment, you know?¨

¨Well, I already went out for the night. I´ll call the landlord to let you in.¨

¨That would be great, Javier.¨

¨No, problem. Oh, and I checked for you today. The bus leaves at nine.¨

¨Much obliged, Javier. Gotta run.¨

So, I got into the apartment just after 8:00 PM. I rushed to gather up my things--which thankfully I had already semi-packed in the AM--and I hightailed it out the door.

The landlord´s (hot) daughter told me if I took a taxi back to the metro terminal, I´d be fine. She said that the ride to the bus station shouldn´t take more than twenty minutes, and that it was just a five minute walk from there.

I grabbed a taxi back to the metro station, purchased a ticket, and hurried down to the ramp to wait for the next train.

And I waited...

And waited...

And waited.

No train.

I was probably only waiting for a total of five minutes. But it was already just before 8:30. If I boarded a train in the next minute, that would place me at my desired metro terminal at approximately 8:50. Then, from there, according to the landlord´s (hot) daughter, it was a five minute walk to the bus station.

Assuming it all went down flawlessly, that would leave me with five minutes once I arrived at the bus station to find the proper window, buy a ticket, and find the proper gate of departure.

The numbers just weren´t adding up in my head.

I knew that even if the metro ride did in fact take twenty minutes, there was no chance in hell that the walk from the terminal to the bus station would take me five minutes.

Five minutes was the quote for someone who knew where they were going.

I knew that I would have to ask for directions at least three times before I understood exactly where the bus station was. Then, once I arrived at the station, I knew that I´d probably have to ask for directions at least three more times to find the proper ticket window, and I´d probably need another three sets of directions to find the right gate.

Stay with me, now:

The bus was scheduled to leave at 9:00 PM. It was now 8:30 PM. A twenty minute metro ride would put me at my desired stop at 8:50 PM. From there--according to you know who--I would have ten minutes to complete a five minute walk, find the proper ticket window, purchase the proper ticket, find the proper gate, and solicit at least nine sets of directions.

No chance in hell.

At the last moment, as I heard the train roaring down the tracks, I made the decision to forfeit the metro ticket I had just purchased, book it back out the street, and take a taxi directly to the bus terminal. (I figured that this decision would cut out at least five minutes of walking and three sets of directions.)

I got into a taxi at 8:35, and the driver told me that we would be there in approximately fifteen minutes.

He made it in fourteen.

That left me eleven minutes to solicit six sets of directions, purchase a ticket, and find the proper gate.

I did it all in two sets of directions, and boarded the bus with three minutes to spare.

(At some point during this whole mad rush, I realized that I had left my freshly laundered button-down shirt at the salsa place. I decided, though, that although it´s one of my favorite shirts, going back for it just wasn´t worth losing a whole day of travel. So I sent the school an e-mail this morning asking them to donate it to a charity of their choice, or to use it as kindling.)