No, not about Jesus. About Tolu. Well, to be fair...I listened. El Gato wanted to head over here, as it's supposedly the favourite Colombian holiday town, and the clubs are full of gringo-loving crazy local girls. So we listened to him, instead of a Frenchman who's lived in Colombia 7 years. Big mistake.
The day had started brightly enough, myself and Gato in stitches at Speckled as he informed us his mouth was numb; he'd brushed his teeth in the dark before bed, mistaking his toothpaste for a similar-sized tube of antiseptic cream.
Tolu is a crap one-horse town that time would have forgotten. If it could have been arsed. The irony was, we stayed in the nicest little hostel so far. Spacious, firm beds, overhead fans, and a roof terrace with a large TV. Shame it was in the middle of a dump like Tolu.
To cap it all, we bumped into a couple we'd met a few times previously on the Gringo Trail. Nice enough, but Speckled told me the female half of the duo was bringing him down after a chat on the beach. I'd hardly seen her smile myself, but Jim told me she'd said she didn't actually enjoy travelling while she was in the process of it, but then looked back with rose-tinted glasses once she returned home. Watch a travel program at home with a cup of tea and save us the headache?
They don't get many visitors here, it's a faded resort with little charm. The beaches are, indeed, crap...and the locals nonchalant at best. We walked home after a few beers, and passed a man sitting on a plastic chair in the street outside his house. "Buenas noches" I said, and smiled. he just glared at me as we walked on. Delightful.