A quick hug and Tomas is very late to get his son to drop its football game. One last kiss Olga hair all tousled and still fast asleep. Bag before the big behind and we close the door on Bogota. Light rain. At the gate we salute the guard, jump in a taxi. fifteen minutes later we are at door number 5 of the station in Bogotá. A week has passed. We decide to a stop midway through the small town of San Gil. Soon we hole soaps a minibus, barely time to smoke a cigarette we're on our way. We go up the entire area north of Bogota in search of another s passengers. Once we take our full speed. After a few hours drive, we arrived at night in the small town. We find a hotel within our means, that night in our room overlooking ra parking. Around town, restaurants and chatter that tells us that there is a lovely village called Barichara to visit nearby, we perfect our program for the next day. 
The sun rises, start the car in our parking lot, it wakes us up but not for lon gtemps we re ndormons until about noon. A bad coffee and good pastries and we go to the small static are minibuses which loosens the surrounding pueblos . Just returned to the chamber that we are flagged down and headed towards the right bus. It is almost full and soon started. Half an hour of winding roads and mountainous and we arrive in a quaint little village, where an immediate urge to lazy and live over you. We we head to the nearest cafe, just to plan this grueling day of sightseeing ahead. Result, we will visit the village. As usual, we go through the churches, the watchtower of the city, the cemetery, the small local museum, the cemetery, some pictures. In a church we admire a holy wonder, to 
start he is black, so far nothing serious but it's what he holds in his hand that surprises us. Another feature of the region, ORMIG culonas. Almost all small spice ries had posters announcing they had to sell. We put a mome nt understand what it was. In English, una ORMIG is an ant and you could not see the report. In fact they are big ants, culonas mean with a big ass and they are roasted and sold by weight to be eaten as an appetizer peanuts. Were tested but not approved, the taste is a bit much and in fact we prefer peanuts. Here is the sad and hard day of a tourist. After the grueling afternoon we return to our hotel overlooking underground parking.
The next morning we visit the amazing city park and the trees of a parasite invades makes you thousands of filaments light green plants q ui hang from branches to the ground. We collect our belongings and jump into the first bus to Bucaramanga. From there we reserve a bus to Santa Marta. Check twenty-three hours. That leaves us
time to discover the city that has not much special. Back to the bus station, we slam a few pesos in a slot machine, which are omnipresent in all the British like the casinos. Then we patiently await the boarding time watching TV in the waiting room. The bus neither new nor old between the parking lot. We pay our tax station and pass the portal. Bags in the hold up and we go to sleep very quickly. Waking at dawn, we are approaching Santa Marta. Temperature shock when we exit the bus. We have won ten degrees from Bogotá. It is 6 hours in a dilapidated train station, cafe and call Susana caregiver of the house. She arrived ten minutes later. Big smile, skin color by the sun, dressed in white. No doubt we are in the Caribbean. Within minutes the taxi drops us off at the family home of Tomas. Susana we leave in the hands of goalkeeper Victor and tells us to call if you need anything. Victor, who seems very nice welcome us, shows us around the smallholding, shows us our room, we up hammocks on the veranda, we bring mangoes and eventually to accompany us to the beach which is nearby. This is not a dream beach, wedged between the buildings and constructions fo rages offshore oil, but enough to spend the afternoon s oleil. Paradise is scheduled for tomorrow in which we plan to visit the park of Tayrona.
The house is a bit far from the city, in the late afternoon we take a bus to the center. The bus takes a detour into a barrio, far from paradise. Bumpy road blocks and houses barely covered with paint, roofs jail. We walk in Santa Marta in the search for our sustenance, take the opportunity to discover the city and take great care not to miss the last bus home. Eleven o'clock we fall asleep just blocks from the Caribbean Sea, but tomorrow we tread the sands of paradise.
start he is black, so far nothing serious but it's what he holds in his hand that surprises us. Another feature of the region, ORMIG culonas. Almost all small spice ries had posters announcing they had to sell. We put a mome nt understand what it was. In English, una ORMIG is an ant and you could not see the report. In fact they are big ants, culonas mean with a big ass and they are roasted and sold by weight to be eaten as an appetizer peanuts. Were tested but not approved, the taste is a bit much and in fact we prefer peanuts. Here is the sad and hard day of a tourist. After the grueling afternoon we return to our hotel overlooking underground parking. The next morning we visit the amazing city park and the trees of a parasite invades makes you thousands of filaments light green plants q ui hang from branches to the ground. We collect our belongings and jump into the first bus to Bucaramanga. From there we reserve a bus to Santa Marta. Check twenty-three hours. That leaves us
time to discover the city that has not much special. Back to the bus station, we slam a few pesos in a slot machine, which are omnipresent in all the British like the casinos. Then we patiently await the boarding time watching TV in the waiting room. The bus neither new nor old between the parking lot. We pay our tax station and pass the portal. Bags in the hold up and we go to sleep very quickly. Waking at dawn, we are approaching Santa Marta. Temperature shock when we exit the bus. We have won ten degrees from Bogotá. It is 6 hours in a dilapidated train station, cafe and call Susana caregiver of the house. She arrived ten minutes later. Big smile, skin color by the sun, dressed in white. No doubt we are in the Caribbean. Within minutes the taxi drops us off at the family home of Tomas. Susana we leave in the hands of goalkeeper Victor and tells us to call if you need anything. Victor, who seems very nice welcome us, shows us around the smallholding, shows us our room, we up hammocks on the veranda, we bring mangoes and eventually to accompany us to the beach which is nearby. This is not a dream beach, wedged between the buildings and constructions fo rages offshore oil, but enough to spend the afternoon s oleil. Paradise is scheduled for tomorrow in which we plan to visit the park of Tayrona. 
The house is a bit far from the city, in the late afternoon we take a bus to the center. The bus takes a detour into a barrio, far from paradise. Bumpy road blocks and houses barely covered with paint, roofs jail. We walk in Santa Marta in the search for our sustenance, take the opportunity to discover the city and take great care not to miss the last bus home. Eleven o'clock we fall asleep just blocks from the Caribbean Sea, but tomorrow we tread the sands of paradise. 
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