With more than a touch of regret we set off early in the morning from Taganga; we're heading southwards and therefore now undoubtedly on the final stage of our journey. We had spoken to a very helpful information place close to Jean's house and got the time and cost of the buses from nearby Santa Marta to Bucaramanga, the nearest big city to Girón. In the taxi, the conversation with the driver was fluent, the fare less than anticipated and all was well with the world.

However, when we got to the bus station there was good and bad news. It was good that our tickets would cost less than a half the quoted price. Less good was the fact that the bus wouldn't leave for another three hours and would also take an hour longer than the 9 hours we had been told. Ho hum, plenty of time to buy coffee and fried snacks, which Colombians are extremely good at producing, before we finally went.

There are all sorts of fried balls of stuff available and because nobody ever labels anything what you get can be a bit of a lottery. We can now identify bonuelas, which are perfectly spherical balls of doughnut type stuff. We have been unable to work out the proper name for the roughly made balls that contain potato, rice, cheese, egg, meat or any combination of the above. When we ask what is in them everyone looks completely baffled by the question although there are clearly huge variations between those from different stalls (and between different items from the same seller) although they all look the same. One local speciality snack that we have avoided here are the fried giant ants; sold in small tubs and big bags and very popular (we hear). 

So our arrival in Girón was later than anticipated and we got to the hotel at about 11pm. We had travelled through several streets to get to the main square and it was clear that this is not a party city. There were few signs of life so we called it a night. The next morning we had breakfast in the shady courtyard in the centre of our hotel.

The waiter was offering us a particular dish which had a name that we did not recognise at all. He described it as having egg and milk, potato, tomato, onion and herbs, which we took to be a kind of spicy scrambled egg which we have had before. To our surprise we were served a big bowl of potato soup with eggs cracked and poached in it, served with maize breads. Tasty, but not our usual choice for breakfast.





This is another town where the uniformity of the historic centre can leave you totally lost! Every street consists of low white buildings with dark brown doors, windows and shutters. Especially when places are closed there is little or nothing to distinguish one from another.
 






It amused us to find that there is an annual competition to judge the best facade, the winners proudly displaying their plaques. However, we would find it very difficult to choose from so many near-identical offerings. Perhaps they decorate their places for the week of the judging or something...