If we had been in a correct frame of mind, we would have realized the "Welcome to Tumbes" sign was not for the town where we needed to go, but rather for the state or province of Tumbes. ODB correctly calculated our ignorance and announced that we had arrived, and "que lastima, look how unfortunate it is that the bus station is closed!" At this point, I knew we had to get out of the taxi immediately. Post-haste, without delay, STAT! This was Costa Rica all over again. I couldn't believe it was happening to me not once, but now twice. ODB kindly offered/demanded to take us to Mancora, for a generous price of course. A price that was probably what he would make in two months of driving his taxi, and two minutes if the occupants were gringos in ignorant bliss. We were gringos, but not ones in bliss. I knew what was up. Of course his price was not to our liking, but it didn't matter-HE was not to our liking. I repeatedly yelled from the backseat (I refused to even sit near him) NO! Let us out!! Finally, I assume he realized that the crazed white girl in his taxi was nearly apoplectic and finally complied with our vociferous demands. We disembarked in a hurry and a huff.
I marched over to the nearest person and very nicely asked if we were in Tumbes. The man looked at me with a mixture of pity and incredulity in his eyes and that is when I knew I had been had once again. He informed that Tumbes was still thirty minutes away. At this point, it was getting late, and the good citizens of Zuramilla were not exactly welcoming or cheery. We attracted a crowd, but they certainly were not the kind that had cookies and tea ready. There are only a few times in my travels when I have felt that I needed a quick exit and this was one of them. Just a slight issue here though, we didn't know where we were, we didn't know how to get where we were going, and whenever we finally did arrive, we would still had another two hours to get to Mancora. Note to budding travelers: Staying the night in a shady border town should never be on the list of options, only the list of last resorts.
Right at this moment, as we are standing on the sidewalk having this semi-panicked discussion, with our baby rhino bags piled around us, a senora in the shop window offers her advice. Now, I greatly appreciate when people more knowledgeable than I step in and offer suggestions, but hers sent chills down my already cold spine. She told us in no uncertain terms that we needed to leave, that it wasn't safe. Senora was only confirming what we were already feeling, but her insistence added another layer of angst to our little situation. It was at this point that what I consider to be an intervention of God occurred. No one will ever convince me that what happened next wasn't courtesy of angels in disguise.
Let me reconstruct the scene for you first. We are standing on a street corner in a dusty little Peruvian village a few minutes from the border. The locals, with the exception of the kind senora, are somewhat hostile. We have huge backpacks. We are gringos. We have no idea what to do. We are hours from Mancora, our final destination and it is already approaching dusk. We do not even have a place to stay whenever we do arrive. There is no public transportation, not even a single taxi in sight. We are surrounded by curious onlookers. I am beginning to come to grips with the fact that out of all of my journeys, this is probably the biggest pickle I have yet to land myself in when two security officers seemingly materialize out of thin air. I really cannot say where they came from. I just looked up and they were there. One of them kindly asked where we needed to go. The instant he spoke, I felt calm and relief washed over me. I felt that we were somehow going to make it out of this desperate little situation. We told them and they instructed us to come with them. As we had absolutely no other alternatives or better ideas at this point, we picked up our stuff and fell in step with them. No questions asked. Their very presence caused the small crowd we had attracted to scatter, and for the first time in hours, I felt calm. We walked across the town square, each of them flanking us, and arrived on the other side to a sight to behold. One lone taxi sitting there, pointed out of town, ready to go! The officers indicated that we should get in and gratefully, we did. With blessings of "Dios te bendiga" (God bless you), I thanked them and we wearily loaded our bags and plopped into the back seat. Of course, this miracle taxi was not without one final adventure to complete it. One thing I have learned about any form of transport outside of the US-the operators like to maximize space! So, in accordance with this, we shared a car built for five with a mother, her three children, the driver, the three of us, and all of our luggage. Tight quarters? Yes! Did we care? No! At last we were on our way to Mancora!
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