Ah, old colonial towns. Whitewashed buildings, nearly blinding in the sun, topped
with red-orange tiles, doors and windows painted in vibrant colors. A town square, complete with bubbling fountain, a
magnificent church, and plenty of stands peddling foods, hats, ponchos, and
produce of every shape and variety. Cobblestone streets make their way from
house to house, leading onward dogs and cars alike. Residents recline about in
shady patches.
This quaint scene has repeated itself time and again in our
Colombian travels. The midday sun, soon to be quenched by afternoon rains,
drives people into the shade and under the brims of hats. It makes you feel the
need to slow down, to adjust to the siesta-loving pace of the locals. Here, time works at the speed of molasses, slow and sticky, irresistible. It is the time of slow-cooked
meals and freshly made juice.
Nestled in among mountains and greenery, these are towns and
cities built in clusters, settled into their individual nooks and crannies.
They stack together, tumbling and climbing around hills and valleys. And,
though each of the towns are so similar, each time we crest a hill the blues
and greens that wrap themselves around these colonial towns, entangled with
gauzy white clouds, catch me off guard. I am reminded that, although it may be
difficult coming from a Western perspective, it is important to stop,
appreciate places where time runs a bit slower, and just sip it all in.
