Uncertainty and Rising Tensions: When the police come and kick us out…
The backpacker raises her eyebrows and gives an acknowledging nod to the senior citizen, expecting a flurry of questions pertaining to her travels but instead he says in a strong United States accent, “This is your stop.” He then announces her departure in Spanish to the driver, and to all the passengers in the bus in the process. The other Colombians now seem more relaxed that at least one of the potentially contagious Europeans will soon leave the confines of the steel-encased viral prison. The driver screeches the bus to a halt and gestures the backpacker to the exit, “Muchas gracias, muy amable,” she said while turning to the old man, who extends a blossoming smile emerging through a forest of frowns.
As the traveller steps off the bus, she is approached by a stocky middle-aged man who, seemingly unaware or unaffected by the impact of coronavirus, extends his hand towards her and says, “I’m from Laughing Buddha hostel. Do you have a reservation?” The traveller withdraws her hand and, sensing his unease regarding the act, apologises but reinforces the point that social distancing is necessary to prevent the spread of the virus, “Sorry, yes, I booked a reservation online,” she added. The man in his forties seems somewhat offended but shrugs it off and proceeds to the mini-van, directing the backpacker to the back as he no longer feels obliged to endear in small talk. The half-hour snaking dirt track up into the scenic hills surrounding the Rock of Guatapé is a welcome distraction for the backpacker, following the surreal bus journey she had just encountered. The protruding monolith seems like a downsized version of the limestone pillar of Hercules she calls home, and their juxtaposition spins her into a web of memories.
THE HOSTEL
The large wrought iron gates sealing the hostel from outsiders lurches open with a deafening screech, likely due to years of neglect, and the van labours up the inclined slope. On exiting the vehicle, the traveller is unsettled by the vastness of the complex and the sound of a steady breeze creating a wind tunnel effect as its caresses the many columns supporting a second floor. The driver bids farewell as the traveller stares at the empty pool and wonders if she has been left abandoned in an empty hostel. She encroaches towards the reception desk and notices the top of a balding head peering over the edge, rising and falling in tune with the wheezing breaths fashioned by the invisible body below, “Buenas tardes!” exclaims the backpacker.
The bald head convulses at the sharp sound of her voice and lifts to reveal a set of bloodshot eyes bulging out of a weary and strained face, “Hola…hola,” he hurls out along with a host of coughs that disperses into the air, the traveller takes a step back and enquires on the latest information divulged by the Colombian Government regarding the spread of the virus and what measures had been put in place today, “The police and some medical officials might arrive soon,” he says in an exasperated tone, seemingly sick of the constant queries and meddling from Colombian authorities, and tourists alike. “But don’t worry, everything will be fine.” The traveller feels unsure about his words and, despite choosing to stay abroad instead of scrambling home like others, she believes that drastic measures will soon be implemented that would mimic Europe’s and China’s policies.
THE POLICE
As the backpacker fills in her passport details at reception, a few other guests emerge from their rooms. Two tall solemn-looking Nordic Europeans cross her path and greet her on their way to a large platform secured with a net that served as a comfortable hammock with a panoramic view of the Rock of Guatapé, “We’ll have to hide you know?” says the taller guest to his friend within the earshot of the traveller. “That’s what they told us. When the police come, we need to go down the hill so that they do not register us and kick us out.”
The thought of hiding from possibly corrupt Colombian police makes her shift restlessly. Another worker, a woman in her fifties with a distressed demeanour, scurries across to the receptionist and shouts, “Ya vienen, ya vienen!” The previously lethargic-looking bald man jumps to attention like a drill sergeant and rounds up all the guests, “All of you run down the hill and wait for our instructions!”
31-03-2020 PANORAMAdailyGIBRALTAR
