Like any mountain-town resident knows, there is something about
living in the clouds that changes the culture and Yarumal seems like a
different world from the Caribbean Coast. The colour of the people no longer
reflects the ancestry of African slaves. Instead, the angular-featured citizens
have a rather fair complexion, no doubt resulting from a mix of Basque traits.
There are light-eyed blondies here that have turned my head more than once.
The rolling hills outside town are lush and are covered with grazing
cattle, small dishevelled houses and manicured flower gardens that waft a
pleasant perfume often mixed with the smell of burning wood. The pace is slow and
mostly the Campisenos load their donkeys, work their land or in the case of
yesterday, wave at the gringo idiots pushing their loaded bikes up the hill.
They are a friendly bunch, but have a major beef with the
Colombian government – I am looking into it, but can’t seem to get a straight
answer with my non-existent Spanish. Sunday was the day of protest across the
country and we were delayed for a couple of hours atop a hill along with a few
buses and a dozen or so motorbikes because the protests were getting heated
and it wasn’t safe to cross. All seemed fine when we were finally let through.
The area – isolated and high - was once a Mecca for guerillas
and is still rumoured to have cocaine-processing laboratories near-by. Now it
is famous for the largest population of early onset Alzheimer’s and those
affected by the mutated gene are part of a major international study.
The town itself is quirky and chugs along - the citizens filling
the central square and carrying on day-to-day business along the steep streets
that hug the hillside. 
