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percentage of motorcycles per inhabitant that we had ever seen. Crossroads that look like Moto 3 starting grids with 125s customised in appearance and exhaust that roar waiting for the green light. It goes without saying that each motorcycle carried one to three people with no age or size limits, with dubious safety criteria for us Westerners dressed like astronauts on our Africa Twin. Their main curiosity concerned the engine size and the speed that our vehicle could reach, but above all how the hell we managed to get our two-wheeler all the way to Colombia. To move towards Popayan, we went against all the locals ' directions and choose to take the legendary dirt road 20 that climbs up to 3200 metres through the jungle of the Purace National Park. An official territory of the indigenous people of the same name, the park is entirely covered by the lush nature of the jungle. In reality, due to conflicts regarding the management of this territory between the state and local authorities, all that remains of the park ' s organisation are a few signs indicating the presence of the mythical mountain tapir. We would not meet one, mostly because of the low clouds and the light rain that prevented us from see very little beyond our visors. To steal a few glimpses, we would fly our drone and, excluding the road, we were wrapped in vegetation with the few cars and motorcycles that passed and seemed to be in a hurry to arrive somewhere else.
The effect of returning to civilisation was amplified by the beauty of the ancient colonial city of Popayan dominated by the plaster facades of its houses. The‘ ciudad blanca’ was one of the points of reference on the journey from Cartagena to Quito and then became the home of the owners of the sugar cane haciendas who built the houses and beautiful churches in the 17th
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