Having escaped the bloodsucking rotten soulless stereotype-fullfilling evil savages in Cali (what is one to do when the very force hired and endowed to protect people is out helping con-men scam terrified travelers out of their precious and dwindling funds?) I found myself in Popoyán with my friend Spencer.
Popoyán is a pretty little town in the southwest quadrant of Colombia where all the white Spanish-style buildings look much the same, which makes orienteering difficult.
We took a room in a hostel with nice dark wood floors, spacious quarters ancient furniture, and (of course) no toilet seats.
The landlady lacked enthusiasm, however.
In the evening, waiting for some friends to show up in a taxi, some Germans who were also staying at the hostel came up nd we all started talking.
An extremely drunk indigo ambled up and mumbled nonsense sounds as though trying to reproduce our English. he babbled and giggled and swayed while we ignored him.
Suddenly someone noticed a growing puddle of dark liquid at his feet, soaking his left shoe as he stood there.
What the hell? What kind of gross...wine? oil? urine? Oh Jesus--blood!
We crowded toward the door, initially hoping to escape without getting infected or attacked, but the German girl insisted we help the guy. She fetched a first-aid kit (replete with gloves) and we cleaned and bandaged a nasty knife wound across the middle two fingers of his left hand. He groaned and yammered in pain when I sprayed disinfectant on the cut, but kept asking for more--he knew what it was for.
He refused a visit to the doctor (drugs and money issues) so we bandaged the poor bloke as best we could.
As the tape was wrapping around his fingers, the taxi showed up with our friends.
They said, once we finished and got in, that most locals (including them) would not have helped the guy and he was lucky to have stumbled upon us. They said it was strange that we were so willing to help.
It´s a weird discrepancy between people here minding strictly their own business yet within an elevated level of community.
A couple days later I saw a bus full of strangers come together to confirm for the police that a boy was old enough to be on the bus without sitting on his mother´s lap.
Latin Logic is a funny thing.