We have postponed our departure till Monday but it turns out the Englishman volunteering to work on the farm is leaving today, Thursday.
Starting Saturday Greg will be living at a new hotel on the coast and working to open a fine dining restaurant at that hotel. He is excited to be going and Layne has enjoyed very much cooking with him here at Guaimaro campsite. I will miss his wicked sense of humor and his knowledge of Colombia. But in any case we gave him a send off.
Our recent lunch at Hostal Nomad had intrigued him and he wanted to try the unusual mussels in a blue cheese sauce that we had at this French restaurant.
Oh and the classic beef bourguignon:
Layne and I were ready to go back and even the new arrivals at the campground were ready to join us. Indeed there are four vehicles here now and another overlander expected soon.
The German couple are not terribly sociable and I can’t even tell you their names but they declined the offer to join us do our party in the end totaled nine which prompted me to suggest to the Organizer maybe we should call ahead to warn them. Layne later told me I had a good idea. Well done me! Not only that, but by calling ahead Layne managed to stop a hint einderibgbof they might have crème brûlée for dessert…and quite by chance they did!
By one thirty yesterday afternoon, Wednesday, Layne had called in everyone’s order to the restaurant so service by the time we got there was instantaneous.
There just remained the small matter of rounding up a fleet of tuk tuks to get us there. The Bajaj three wheelers built in India are a common taxi seen all over the world. They are rugged, loud and overworked so your ride may be bumpy underpowered or screaming fast when they fly downhill in neutral to save gas. 40mph in a tuk tuk feels like flying.
We got four of them and off we set to the bemusement of passers-by watching our convoy rolling down the hills. Hostal Nomad is in an eccentric location down in the valley away from town and in a dirt road a kilometer from the pavement.
Rusty was not dining but he was not getting left behind even though he struggles to get used to the bounciness and noise of the three wheelers.
The ride cost 20,000 pesos ($5US) per vehicle and the drivers promised to be back when we were done.
I was keeping an eye on Rusty coping pretty well with the three Hostal dogs and Alex the New Zealander came over to check out the scene. The dogs settled down in a matter of minutes and we went in to lunch.
Mark the inventor from Massachusetts. He is familiar with this place as he knows everyone around Barichara.
Layne the organizer was making sure we got rides home as there isn’t much traffic down here deep in the valley on a dirt road.
Rusty found his spot of course and made not a sound as usual. The other dogs disappeared off into the shade somewhere and were not seen again.
Alex the New Zealander volunteering on the farm, Liz in a van from British Colombia, Miriam and Patrick (beard and cap) in a Sprinter from Switzerland, Remy, Liz’s husband and then Mark sitting next to Layne dealing with her crème brûlée:
The owner was not on the premises yesterday, Flo the Frenchman but he served us on Tuesday.
Layne and I had the mussels in blue cheese sauce that inspired our second visit. We also had the beef:
And the apple crisp that Liz and Greg tried and enjoyed on Wednesday.
On Wednesday we had a charcuterie platter:
And shared a quiche and salad with some white wine which seemed quite decadent. That all with two crème brûlées and coffee came to $38 US including tip.
Yes it was decadent and having my boy next to me made it even better.
Flo’s staff took good care of us and the prices can be translated into US dollars by dividing by 4,000. As in Mexico the symbol we identify as the dollar sign means Colombian pesos here (COP on official rates of exchange). Squach is Nono alcoholic squash(!) that is fruit juice mixed with mineral water:
Rusty and I walked the driveway back to the campground and took off for a short walk to settle lunch. Then he napped and I went back to “Love in the Time of Cholera.”
Peace and quiet descended on the campground as we digested our lunch.
