A year ago today, I took a 45 minute stroll to the Santa Cruz Municipal Zoo. The decision was prompted by the fact that I was so hellbent on going with the flow, that I didn’t even consider that not a lot of tourism organizations are really big on going with the flow, particularly in Santa Cruz, where tourists were few and far between. The result was a missed opportunity to visit a historic Mayan ruins or a wildlife park, but I didn’t let that bother me. It was only Day 2 of 70 after all.

The zoo visit turned out to be quite eventful, mostly because I spent most of it trying to escape the group of 1^st grade field trippers that I got stuck with, because the senorita who worked at the entrance decided that was the appropriate thing to do when a foreigner with very little Spanish comes to her zoo. I, of course, was too timid to say no, so I just walked alongside the kids, watching them say ‘Hola’ to all the animals we walked by. It was one of those moments where I became convinced that I had to have Latin blood because I too say hello to all animals. I spent about half of my visit following these kids and their guide, and mostly used it as an opportunity to educate myself on the Spanish names of all the animals at the zoo. I left knowing more Spanish than when I arrived. I have yet to come across a situation wherein I’m expected to know how to say ‘monkey’ in Spanish, but hey, maybe some day I will (fyi, it’s mono).

After I was done saying goodbye to the iguanas, the llamas, the anteaters, the jaguars, the chameleons, the squirrels and ALL the turtles, I walked back to town, where I developed a little game called ‘find the real version of the snapchat filter’ (I’m still working on the name). I won this game twice that day, and then I decided to eat a local almuerzo completo (lunch). I found a local (relatively crowded) spot, where I got served more soup, more rice, more potato and more meat than I could fathom – all for about $2.

After lunch, I did some more wandering and then went back to my hostel, where the receptionist told me that the bus I needed to catch to get to my next destination was going to depart in about an hour and a half. The bus terminal was an hour away, and I was determined to move on to my next destination. Fortunately, I got on the right local bus and took a seat, my backpack and my day bag and my neck pillow on my lap. The most important lesson I learnt that day was that when you are in a foreign country on a local bus, you should tell the bus driver where you want to get off so he doesn’t drive past your destination with you still sitting on the bus.

I learnt this after we were about 10 minutes past the bus terminal, at which point I frantically grabbed all my things and jumped off the bus without giving it any thought. Lucky for me, I’m decent enough at navigating transit, and so I knew the logical next step would be to cross the road and take the same bus going in the opposite direction.

I reached the terminal with no time to spare, so when a man approached me a few seconds later asking if I was going to Sucre, I paid him the fare for a half-bed bus (these recline about 45 degrees) and settled in for the 10-hour trip.

It was only after the bus began its journey that I found the common sense to google the damn bus company. The first several articles were news entries – of a crash that this bus company experienced just a few months ago – and my heart sank.

I prayed for the first time in a long time that night, and eventually fell into a disturbed sleep on the very, very bumpy ride.