Marino

We are now in San Agustin, a remote town in southern Colombia. Just getting here ws a feat. Eight hours by bus to go 75 miles! The poor gravel road was the main reason, but the bus also had mechanical problems, which slowed us down...like about two hours. Fortunately our driver was also a mechanic. Despite the ride, I’m thrilled we’re here. We went on a jeep tour yesterday and saw the narrows of the Rio Magdalena, two waterfalls, and two sets of archeological ruins set on on beautifully landscaped grassy swaths that the ancients themselves designed.

But one of the best "features" of the tour was our driver, Marino, a cheerful, informative guy who likes working with tourists, and sharing the area he loves. The three Italians on the tour, Barry and I asked him about the guerrillas, his salary ($11/day, and not a taboo subject here), his family life. While gazing at a waterfall, I asked him what he does each day after the tour. "Wash the jeep," he reported. "Everyday? Inside and out?"

"Well, it depends on how wet the road has been that day."

At one point Barry and I were in the jeep waiting for the Italians. Marino had already once sounded the call, his usual, "Bueno, chicos, vamonos," to no avail. He asked us how you get people to come back.

I launched into my speech on credibility, the talk I gave throughout the 90s to professional groups. I said, "You have to get out of the car, walk over to them, speak with authority, and say, 'Guys, time to go.'"

"Or," Barry said, "you can just do this." He reached around Marino, over to the steering wheel, and beeped the horn. All three Italians immediately jumped, turned around and started towards the jeep.

We burst into laughter. "It was him, not me!" protested Marino, a little embarrassed.