Silvia

I have to hurry in the bus station of Cali to catch the minibus to Popyan but once sitting in the minibus it turns out that it only leaves when the bus is full. The bus boy tries his luck with everybody to get his bus full so we can leave. Finally we’re leaving. The number of military "roadblocks" is increasing and I wonder if the FARC has really been wiped out here.

Otherwise I wander why all these soldiers are needed for. And like everywhere in the country, with every stop the driver has to pay more money for “toll”. It seems that we are off the "Pan-American" main road and take a slightly different route to "Piendamo"; the road is getting worse and we stop more often to pick up new people. The first "Indians" board the bus and although I do not want to look too much, I am very curious how they are dressed - a brown bowler hat, an azure blue skirt and a black cape.

This man also has poison green socks, mountain boots under his knee high skirt and a scarf with red, yellow and brown colors. The driver puts his foot on the gas and we race through trafic. At my destination, Popyan, we arrive three hours later. Here many vans, carts and cars and parked and because I saw already from the bus another bus with my destination in front of the window so I hurry to go that way. I am the third person to board the bus and I put my big bag on the seat next to me waiting for the bus to depart. 

Here are more Guambiano Indians walking around with their typical bowler hat and blue skirts and I order some "ahmobanda" sandwiches and a piece of cake for breakfast/lunch at one of the many bakeries. The bus to "Silvia" is full when we leave three quarters of an hour later. Now we drive the three quarters of an hour through the mountains and we hop from side to side.

The village Silvia is just a few streets and a fairly large square with a cathedral. I step out and immediately see that this area is Native American – many Indians walk around the city square and it is not yet a market day yet. At an expensive hotel I ask what the prices of rooms are and if these are far above my budget I ask for a more economic hostel. While I am walking that way I see a tribe member crawling on a motorbike. The man drives 5 meters and then falls of – he’s as drunk as a skunk.

Now I notice that the bars around the square are all well filled with local guys drinking. I first have to find a hostel and follow the route that the hotel's wife earlier told me. At first I knock on the door without answering and at the second I walk down a spacious patio where some people are eating. Everywhere in the big building are small rooms hidden away behind wooden doors. She first shows me a small room with only a bed. Then I see another with TV and private shower and toilet. Which is of course more expensive but I ask if I as a "poor" tourist can not have the more expensive room for the cheap price. She quickly agrees and I check in with a smile. 

The market starts at dawn but yesterday I heard from the girl that the "Indians" of the surrounding villages do not show up until about nine or even ten. About eight o'clock I scribble my bed and pack my backpack a bit. I decide to go to the market early  because I'm a bit afraid to miss something. When arriving at the square, it appears that this is only used as a parking lot and that the market is a bit further away.

There are loads of jeeps, buses, trucks and many "chivas" with which the "Guambiano" Indians come to Silvia. I walk to the boring little street where there was little to do yesterday - now it is very busy and I immediately spot many bowler hats. "They" are already there. The stores are all managed by "ordinary" Colombians but I see many "Indians" do their shopping and just drink a cup of coffee - as if they were "ordinary" people which ofcourse they are. I walk past some stalls with iron, clothes and shoes and see the first Guambiano Indians sitting in a row with a blanket on the ground with some fruit and vegetables in front of them.

They also sell a lot of garlic and onions I see that they bundle together and put upright for sale. I'd really like it - grab my camera and shoot some pictures because the picture is fantastic - a row of Indians with azure blue skirts, black capes and brown and black bowler hats with colored fruit for them - but I know My travel guide that "they" do not appreciate the camera at all and even become aggressive when you pick them up. Maybe well, otherwise it will be a puppet show here. I do it very carefully and not to close. 

It also strikes me that I am the only Western (tourist) here and perhaps even the only tourist at this time. There is a big covered markethall inside and I decide to take a look there. Now I discover it’s a gym and under the basket are sitting a lot of people selling fruit – it’s a mix of people who offer this for sale. On a piece of concrete, I see a lot of clothing, shoes and other fabrics beyond the meat and vegetables.

The bowler hats are mainly sellers of fruits and vegetables (lots of potato varieties) and there are also many to find at the market food stalls that are built around this hall. Next to me an Indian family takes place and order some "empanadas" and coffees.I make some contact with some indigenous people here and it strikes me that they find it OK with some attention from a tall Westerner – althoug I heard different things about it.

Probably they mean they don’t like it when dozens of tourists show up with their big camera’s just to take pictures. Suddenly I see a little group of white tourists although they are gone in a minute. Now it’s time to walk relaxed over the market - look at some stuff at stalls, smile to children with their "strange" cane hats that can be folded and worn on their back. It is now a bit later and indeed more Indians are coming to this market to do their weekly shopping. As far as I know, Colombian tourists are here not at all, although I saw some of them yesterday. The number of soldiers is kinda scary though. I wonder what exactly they are doing here - what they are afraid of – a bomb attack or smuggling or?

For me it’s time to go – I’ve got an idea what it’s all about and I walk back to my hostel.