We woke in what I could now appreciate was a beautifully designed restaurant, Bururake (pony house). The interior was full of fun little decorations, toys, paintings and an art store. Out the back there was a terrace, and a stairway leading down into the garden, complete with mandarin and avocado trees, vegetable plants, a hammock and a large outdoor kitchen. More on that later, but our breakfast eggs were nice.
Lily, a friend of hers and I walked our hosts’ dog up another dirt road, looking up to find birds and looking down to avoid tripping. We failed at both. We ended up at Pozo Azul, a series of lakes and waterfalls fed by a mountain spring, surrounded by huge old trees. Birds chirped above, but by far the most stunning inhabitants of Pozo Azul (aside, of course, from Lily) were the butterflies. White, yellow, blue, green, fluttering around. Two that we saw were stunning – a white “88”, so named for its distinctive patterned wings, and the star of the show, the glasswing butterfly, with its transparent wings.
Although I’d seen hummingbirds and hawks flying, it was only on the hike back that we finally saw two birds up close, one black with a yellow tail and the other was a small orange thing. Cute. But probably not worth going all the way to Minca to see.
We got back to Bururake, and went straight down into the garden for strawberry daiquiris, beers, a freshly-cut salad with ginger and fresh fruit dressing, plantains in garlic sauce and one of the best steaks of my life.
I’m not exaggerating. What Lily had kept secret from me is that the chef is a highly-trained expert in meat, complete with fancy schooling in a place that specialises in it. He grilled us two beautiful, succulent, juicy, tasty and locally-sourced steaks, so nice that I didn’t even add the chimi churi on the side. Yum.
Lily and I slept wrapped up in each other’s arms in a hammock, which snapped under us 2 hours later. We landed with a bump, then left with her friend, for a walk into town. Once there, I convinced the girls that what we really needed to do was go play pool. This is not something that’s done in Colombia – girls do not play pool here. I don’t mean like in the UK or USA, where they play far less frequently. I mean it just doesn’t happen. You may be skeptical, but the hall we played in had an open urinal, right there in one corner of the room. This was not a place for girls.
(The urinal is in the back corner of the room, you can just about see it)
Back at the restaurant again, we drank, ate chorizo, and had little prune, chocolate and arequipe (it’s very sweet, like condensed milk but more toffee-ish) desserts. Not ordering another steak was one of the hardest thing I did on the trip. Bed by 11.