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.

A potentially historic El Niño climate event is emerging as one of the defining stories for Colombia through the remainder of 2026, with authorities warning that extreme heat, drought, water shortages and energy pressures could push vulnerable regions toward crisis conditions.

Climate agencies, environmental authorities and agricultural groups are increasingly sounding alarms over what some scientists describe as a possible “super” El Niño – an exceptionally intense warming of Pacific Ocean waters capable of disrupting global weather systems and triggering severe consequences across Latin America.

In Colombia, the warnings are becoming stark.

Authorities fear a prolonged period of extreme temperatures, dwindling reservoirs, forest fires, crop failures and surging food prices that could stretch into early 2027 when typically the “summer season” starts. Officials have already begun urging Colombians to conserve water and electricity as forecasts indicate the phenomenon may intensify during the second half of the year.

The environmental authority of Cundinamarca, known as the CAR, warned that the probability of El Niño has reached 82%, threatening domestic water supplies, industrial production and hydroelectric generation across central Colombia.

“The measures of prevention and adaptation must be taken immediately,” CAR director Alfred Ignacio Ballesteros said, warning that the event could coincide with the Andean region’s traditional dry season in January and February, placing additional pressure on already strained water systems.

For Bogotá, however, authorities insist the capital is better prepared than during the water crisis of 2023 and 2024. The city’s Aqueduct and Sewer Company said no water rationing measures are currently expected despite the arrival of El Niño. Diego Montero, manager of the utility’s master water system, said reservoir levels remain stable, with the Chingaza system — including the Chuza and San Rafael reservoirs — holding nearly 20 million cubic meters above the established guidance curve. Officials also said the Tibitoc treatment plant is undergoing capacity upgrades aimed at increasing production and reducing pressure on the Chingaza system, which supplies most of Bogotá’s drinking water.

Fears beyond Inconvenience

Meteorologists predict temperatures in Colombia’s Caribbean region could surpass 40 degrees Celsius, while prolonged drought conditions may devastate agriculture and livestock production. Industry groups have warned that prices for staple foods including milk, rice, vegetables and beef could rise sharply toward the end of the year, adding renewed pressure to inflation at a moment when many households are already struggling with high living costs. A ‘super’ El Niño could push inflation above 7 percent, warns the National Association of Financial Institutions – ANIF.

Officials are also concerned about the vulnerability of Colombia’s energy grid, which depends heavily on hydroelectric power. Reduced rainfall and lower reservoir levels could increase the risk of electricity rationing or blackouts similar to those experienced during past El Niño events.

The country’s fragile páramo ecosystems and wetlands — critical natural water regulators located in the Andes — may also face heightened threats from forest fires and prolonged heatwaves. Environmentalists warn that drought could destroy sensitive habitats and endanger wildlife already under pressure from deforestation and climate change.

The emerging crisis is part of a broader global climate pattern that scientists say is being intensified by human-driven warming.

El Niño occurs every few years when ocean waters in the eastern and central Pacific become abnormally warm, altering rainfall patterns, shifting jet streams and increasing global temperatures. However, so-called “super” El Niño events are far rarer and more dangerous, with sea surface temperatures rising more than 2 degrees Celsius above historical averages.

Some climate researchers now fear the world could be heading toward one of the strongest El Niño events in modern history.

Paul Roundy, a professor of atmospheric sciences at the University of Albany, recently warned there was “real potential” for the strongest El Niño event in 140 years. Forecasts from the European Centre for Medium-Range Weather Forecasts suggest Pacific Ocean temperatures could rise three degrees Celsius above average.

Such projections have revived comparisons to the catastrophic El Niño of 1877-1878, which contributed to massive crop failures and famine across parts of India, China, Brazil and Africa. Historians estimate more than 50 million people died globally during that climate disaster.

While modern infrastructure and global trade networks make a repeat of 19th-century famine unlikely, experts say today’s interconnected crises — inflation, inequality, geopolitical conflict and fragile food systems — create new vulnerabilities.

“Hunger is fundamentally political and economic,” warns Benjamin Selwyn from the University of Sussex. “Wars disrupt trade routes, inequality restricts access to food and profit-driven agricultural systems prioritize industrial production over resilience. Climate shocks such as El Niño amplify those existing weaknesses,” writes Selwyn in The Conversation.

Studies by the UN Food and Agriculture Organization and the World Meteorological Organization have already shown that rising temperatures are reducing crop yields and making agricultural labor increasingly dangerous in tropical regions. Heat stress also lowers livestock productivity and survival rates.

In Colombia, the government of leftist President Gustavo Petro has begun discussing contingency measures, though critics argue the country remains dangerously unprepared.

Carlos Carrillo, director of Colombia’s National Unit for Disaster Risk Management (UNGRD), has called for urgent efforts to conserve water and energy while identifying regions at high risk of forest fires. There is also growing concern that years of underinvestment in water storage, energy diversification and climate adaptation could leave Colombia exposed to prolonged disruptions.

If the global forecasts prove accurate, Colombians could soon face months of punishing heat, food inflation and growing anxiety over the resilience of the country’s infrastructure in an age of accelerating climate extremes.

Former Colombian President Álvaro Uribe Vélez confronted a group of protesters outside his residence in Rionegro, Antioquia, on Wednesday after activists began painting a mural referencing victims of Colombia’s “false positives” scandal.

Videos and images shared widely on social media showed Uribe surrounded by security personnel while holding a paint roller near the wall where the mural was being painted. Wearing a light field jacket and broad-brimmed hat, the former president appeared visibly upset as tensions rose between demonstrators, supporters and members of his security team.

The incident quickly became one of Colombia’s most discussed political flashpoints this week, exposing deep divisions surrounding the country’s internal armed conflict with ex-FARC, the transitional justice system, and the increasingly polarized 2026 presidential race. The official candidate of Uribe’s Centro Democrático party, Paloma Valencia, is considered Cepeda’s strongest rival in the event of a run-off election on June 21.

Uribe later said he had interrupted a political meeting in Medellín after receiving a call informing him that a large group had gathered near the entrance to his property while his wife was home alone.

“Cowardly Cepeda, stop sending people to my house where my lady was alone,” Uribe wrote on X Wednesday, referring his political foe and presidential frontrunner Iván Cepeda.

In a separate statement, Uribe accused the hard-leftist senator and Hernán Muriel, a congressman from the governing Historic Pact coalition, of promoting what he described as “acts of provocation and intimidation” against his family.

According to Uribe, the protesters arrived in three buses and gathered close to the entrance of the estate while artists painted the mural. He claimed one of his supporters was injured with a knife during the confrontation and said a member of his security detail was also hurt.

“I told them that I was going to erase the mural,” Uribe wrote. “Before provoking violence against my family and our home, they would have to kill me.”

Later footage showed Uribe personally covering the painted wall with a roller while supporters and security personnel stood guard nearby.

The mural referenced the latest figures released by Colombia’s Special Jurisdiction for Peace (JEP), the transitional tribunal created following the 2016 peace accord with FARC. The tribunal recently updated estimates tied to the “false positives” scandal, in which civilians were allegedly killed by members of the armed forces and falsely presented as combat casualties during more than four decades of Colombia’s internal conflict.

Muriel, who organized the demonstration, rejected accusations that the protest was intended to threaten Uribe or his family. He described the gathering “as a peaceful act” organized by victims’ organizations, social movements and human rights defenders seeking to highlight the revised JEP findings.

“We are carrying out an act of social mobilization and memory pedagogy,” Muriel said in remarks shared online. “We are here with social organizations, victims and human rights defenders following the new figure of 7,837 false positives announced by the JEP.”

According to Muriel, the mural was painted on public property near the residence and was intended to commemorate victims of the conflict.

The confrontation prompted swift reactions from political allies of the former president in Antioquia, one of Colombia’s most conservative regions and a longtime bastion of Uribe’s “democratic security” agenda.

Medellín Mayor Federico Gutiérrez criticized the protest and accused supporters of President Gustavo Petro of fostering political hostility toward opposition figures. “It’s the same method used during the last mayoral campaign in Medellín,” he wrote on social media, adding that political tensions in the country were continuing to escalate.

Antioquia Governor Andrés Julián Rendón also condemned the incident and called for respect toward Uribe and his family.

The episode underscores how historical revisionism spread on social media continues to discredit the legacy of the country’s two-term president (2002-2010), and leading opposition leaders. By Thursday morning, the images from Rionegro — showing Uribe beside the mural with a paint roller in hand — had spread across Colombian media and social networks, becoming the latest symbol of how the left justifies ideologically-fueled protests to vandalize public space and infrastructure.