December 12, 2010
Colonia
Not allot has happen since arriving in Colonia because I've been working must on the Journal, so you could say I've been sitting mush on my backside. Yesterday however I ventured out about noon for a walk which led along the riverside to the old town. The river here, eh, by the way looks like the Irish Sea as it's water to the horizon and no sign of the opposite bank. The day had become windy and a mist came in making the old town look like a quaint seaside village.
On arriving in Colonia on Sunday evening, I first rode down to the ferry terminal as I thought that may be the only place with an info centre open. The big airy modern departure-arrival hall was the usual scene of queuing passengers, seating area where others sat and amongst it all was a tourist information desk in the centre, but unmanned. There were brochure-leaflets things for hotels and many people were taking them. I just wanted a street map and or location of hostel(s) but those weren't to be found here, so I'll cycle to the centre and see, I'll ask, or if I'm lucky I'll spot a hostel, I can always camp as I see while riding away from the terminal a sign for camping.
Cycling along a gentle uphill avenue which later I knew to be Av Flores, the main drag, I spot a glass shop-front info centre but the seats behind the desks inside are vacant. What to do? I try the door anyway, it opened and in I step. I see through a door into another office where a lady appears and comes out. So mush for thinking the terminal would have an operating info centre and the one in the city centre closed. I came away five minutes later with a street map with four hostels marked thereon.
Let me see, the nearest hostel called, El viajero, is by the corner of Flores and Washington street, just a few blocks along, but on getting there, I just couldn't find it. It just wasn't there. I then proceed to the next marked on the map, two blocks along Washington turning left into Manuel Lobos street where Hostel Espanol is at No 377, but again not on the block marked on the street map, but one block farther on. Incidentally, I walked past El viajero the next day in the next street along from Washington. Quite simply, it was wrongly marked.
Perhaps it was lucky I didn't find it as when I peeked in, it didn't look great while Hostel Espanol has turned out to be the perfect place to relax. The staff are friendly and keep the place spotless and I've made other traveler friends for the duration of my stay. There is Robert, originally from New York where he was a top chief and very well paid, but seven years ago walked away from that life and has been traveling every since. He owns a small pack weighting 9kg as he says that's all he needs, just the essentials. He still has a friend back in New York which owns this own business but he says he don't work for himself, he works for the bank, as although he lives in a mansion, his wife drives a Merc and daughter a Porsche, he lives in an open prison. He has no freedom to see and experience the world.
Together,we've been concocting delicious dinners in the hostel kitchen each evening. He makes me the mashed potatoes chief while he does wonderful things with the meat. Yesterday evening we were three when Steffan from Switzerland joined us. We were all looking forward to going to a free concert in the old town starting at nine but when we got there at 8.45 all was quiet and there was a notice on a door, Cancelado por el mal tiempo, or cancel due to bad weather, which was ridiculous as the rain had stopped at five and it had turned out a fine evening.
Returning to my walk earlier in the day, I strolled along the beach towards the old stone walls and parapet remains of a fortress, no doubt skirmishes with invading armies took place here in days gone by. I take a photo of a cannon pointing out on the river. The day grew increasingly wild and blowy. Soon it began to spit rain and there was a loud crack of thunder. I walk on by the waterfront to the end of the peninsular to an old ship's anchor. I could walk no farther in this direction, I turn a corner by the gable end of an old stone house and into a cobble stone street and begin my return walk. Many of the old houses on this street were restaurants with tables outside and parasols which normally provide shade from the sun, today however they'd prove just as good as shelter from the rain. There was another crack of thunder and it spat even more. It was now a question would I make it back to the hostel before the serious rain starts as I'd my camera slung over my shoulder and I don't need to get that wet. But luck was on my side as I was just in through the door when the main deluge came down.
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 0 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 0 |