The last black steam train departed Apulo on a Sunday in 1978, pulling away from a crowded platform of waving hands and tearful spectators. With its departure, the town lost more than a railway connection to Bogotá. It lost the pulse that had once tied this sweltering outpost in the Tequendama valley to Colombia’s capital. Though only 90 kilometers separate the two communities, the retreat of the “Iron Rooster” left Apulo suspended in time, a town stranded between memory and reinvention.

Today, the journey from Bogotá unfolds along the winding Mosquera–Girardot highway, where the Andes gradually loosen their grip and the air grows heavier with heat. In barely two hours, the cool drizzle of the high plateau gives way to the dry furnace of the Magdalena basin. Apulo, now home to some 16,000 residents, appears suddenly among dusty hillsides and tangled vegetation, its streets shimmering beneath a relentless tropical sun.

During the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the railway transformed Apulo into one of central Colombia’s favored warm-weather retreats. The steam locomotive carried Bogotá’s elites — men in fedoras and women in flowing linen dresses — away from the cold capital toward rivers, waterfalls, and languid afternoons beneath mango trees. The train itself moved slowly, hissing and rattling through the mountains with stubborn determination, yet for generations it represented modernity, escape, and connection.

Just beyond a rugged ridge lies Anapoima, Apulo’s better-known sister town, long celebrated for what a television documentary once proclaimed the “second best climate in the world.” But locals insist Apulo is hotter still. Here the heat is not gentle but elemental — dry, oppressive, and all-consuming. It settles onto rooftops and skin alike, dictating the rhythm of daily life. People move slowly in the afternoons, gathering beneath awnings and trees, while stray dogs sprawl motionless in pockets of shade.

The town’s main street feels cinematic, like a forgotten set from a spaghetti Western abandoned beneath the tropical sun. A broad dirt avenue cuts through the center, lined with weatherworn storefronts whose peeling paint curls away from cracked walls. Rusted iron balconies sag above roadside restaurants serving thick cuts of pork rind wrapped in newspaper to travelers stopping in SUVs on their way farther south. Between tufts of wild grass, fragments of the old railway tracks still emerge from the earth — ghostly reminders of an era when steam engines once thundered through town.

At the heart of Apulo stands its Republican-era town hall, painted in fading yellow and white. The building once served as one of Colombia’s grandest hotels, welcoming honeymooners, politicians, and wealthy families escaping Bogotá’s cold rains. Even now, its broad façade preserves traces of vanished elegance. But the prosperity that sustained the town slowly evaporated. A nearby cement factory relocated its operations decades ago, taking jobs and stability with it, while tourism gradually shifted behind the walls of private condominiums built into the surrounding hillsides.

A short drive separates two strikingly different versions of Apulo. On one side are gated communities hidden behind walls as tall as trees, guarded day and night by private security. Inside, modern bungalows surround tiled swimming pools and tennis courts shaded by palms. On Friday afternoons, executives from Bogotá arrive in polished SUVs, trading office shoes for sandals and linen shirts. Children ride in golf carts while parents retreat beneath air-conditioning humming against the heat.

Down by the river – Río Apulo – another Apulo unfolds. Some homes stand behind concrete walls, others beneath corrugated tin roofs balanced precariously on wooden beams. Dust from passing cars filters through open windows and settles across furniture. Young girls wander the streets in oversized high heels borrowed from their mothers, while boys cradle baby chicks in their hands and watch traffic pass from shaded doorways. Families gather outdoors in folding chairs, squinting against the white glare of the afternoon sun.

Each weekend, these parallel worlds intersect. Women from the riverside neighborhoods pass through the condominium gates in uniforms to prepare ajiaco, sweep patios, and skim leaves from swimming pools. On Sunday evenings, as the visitors depart for Bogotá and the mountain road climbs back toward cooler air, workers wave goodbye and wait for the next caravan of weekend arrivals.

As dusk settles over Apulo, the town softens. Residents drift toward the central square to catch the evening breeze, gathering beneath old-fashioned lampposts as beer bottles clink across plastic tables. Couples lean together in the fading heat while motorcycles rumble slowly past. In the darkness, the potholes, graffiti, and crumbling façades recede from view, allowing the imagination to reconstruct the town as it once was — a glamorous retreat animated by music, polished automobiles, and the arrival of the evening train.

The luxury condominiums now serve the role once occupied by the grand hotel, yet visitors still come searching for the same landscape: the dry heat, the riverside calm, the clouds of mint-green butterflies that drift through the valley at sunset. In Apulo, movement never truly stops. Cars continue arriving from Bogotá every weekend. Only the train remains absent — its station swallowed by vines, its rails rusting quietly beneath the grass, like a memory slowly disappearing into the tropical earth.

Boyacá is a department best understood at walking pace. Here, the Colombian Andes rise into cold, luminous páramos, colonial towns cling to mountainsides, and trails once traced by the Muisca people now lead modern hikers through landscapes where history and geography feel inseparable. For those who hike not only to conquer summits but to understand place, Boyacá offers one of Colombia’s richest outdoor experiences.

Landmarks on the Trail

Many hikes in Boyacá double as cultural journeys. The Iguaque Sanctuary of Flora and Fauna, near Villa de Leyva, is among the most emblematic. Its winding ascent leads to the Laguna de Iguaque, a glacial lake revered by the Muisca as the birthplace of humanity. The trail passes cloud forest and páramo, with frailejones standing like silent sentinels, before opening onto a stark, spiritual landscape at nearly 3,800 meters.

Further east, the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy (Güicán) dominates the horizon with snowcapped peaks that feel almost Patagonian in scale. Hiking here is more demanding and tightly regulated to protect fragile ecosystems, but routes toward Ritacuba Blanco, Pan de Azúcar, and the Laguna Grande de la Sierra reward experienced trekkers with glaciers, alpine lakes and some of the most dramatic scenery in Colombia.

For gentler walks, the trails around Monguí, one of Colombia’s most beautiful heritage towns, weave together cobblestone paths, pine forests and views of the high plains. Nearby, the Puente Real de Calicanto, built in the 18th century, connects hikers directly to the colonial past.

Boyacá is defined by altitude. Much of the department sits above 2,500 meters, and hiking here is an exercise in patience and acclimatization. The páramo ecosystems – vast, windswept highlands unique to the northern Andes – are both austere and alive, capturing mist and feeding rivers that sustain millions downstream.

Beyond El Cocuy, lesser-known summits and ridgelines around Soatá, Tenza Valley, and Pisba Páramo offer solitude and long-distance views across folds of green and gold. Pisba, in particular, combines natural beauty with historical weight: these were the cold, punishing routes crossed by Simón Bolívar’s troops during the independence campaign of 1819.

Walking Through History

Boyacá is Colombia’s historic heartland. Trails often pass near sites central to the nation’s founding story, from the Puente de Boyacá, where independence was sealed, to rural paths that once carried armies, traders and pilgrims. Hiking here feels layered with memory: pre-Hispanic sacred sites, colonial estates, and republican battlefields coexist within a single day’s walk.

In Villa de Leyva, hikes extend naturally from stone plazas, monasteries and fossil fields, where ancient marine remains remind visitors that these mountains were once under the sea.

Gastronomy After the Climb

Hiking in Boyacá builds an appetite, and the region’s cuisine is designed to restore. The undisputed classic is cocido boyacense, a hearty stew of tubers, grains and meats – perfect after a cold day on the trail. Arepas boyacenses, thick and slightly sweet with curd cheese, are trail food in themselves, often eaten warm with coffee or hot chocolate.

Highland dairy culture shines in fresh cheeses and cuajada con melao, while trout from cold rivers and lakes – especially near Laguna de Tota – offers a lighter reward after long walks. The local market in Aquitania brims with potatoes, garlic, onions and corn, underscoring how closely food – and plenty of cold beer – is tied to altitude and soil.

Boyacá is not about speed or spectacle alone. It is about immersion – into thin air, deep history and a landscape that demands respect. Hiking here is as much a cultural act as a physical one, a way to understand how mountains have shaped ancient rituals and modern-day life.