Misty mountain ride

Far up in the Andes on the way to Bogota, the clouds hang on the mountain tops in a veil, the crown of the mountains just visible. You wake up in a haze, often difficult to discern time or place. Looking down into the white you can make out a tree here and there in a clear patch. Mist coats the window of the bus, streams of water forming as the bus gains velocity. There was an accident a few hours back that delayed the trip about an hour. The conductor is intent on making up for lost time, flying through the curves. A senora, the sister of the gentleman in the seat across from me, told the driver take care of her brother and nephew. She cried when the left the terminal in Santa Marta. From what I can tell, most people are Catholic here. And it's quite comforting to see people making a bendecion (the cross blessing a priest gives at communion) at the start or completion of a journey, at the passing of a graveyard or church. It's reassuring.