Everything is quiet except for the birds and the water rushing somewhere off in the distance. It is still completely dark. I observe a farmer who has come out of his house to feed his mules. I climb to the road that hangs above the city. I watch the sunrise and the tiny town wake up as women begin to take clothes off the line.
Children feed chickens and dogs are roaming.
I walk back and encounter some Europeans in the Bolivar square. They think we are from Scandinavia or Holland. I talk to our guide back at the inn. He says I look like a friend from Australia. We're served an excellent hot bread of wheat, called an arepa, with blackberry jam, eggs and sugarcane juice, topped off with caf con leche.