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God and man are incongruent. During Holy Week, Popayán is the holiest city. Who can commit adultery while a few blocks away virgins and saints pass in front of thousands of devout locals and tourists in a procession? There is an answer to the question: José Fabio, who has been partying since last Friday, one night of partying without knowing it became seven nights. Time flies when you're just having fun. Popayan, April. It's Thursday is holy. On the way to the hotel, I barely managed to ask the driver where to look for the "girls". The guy thought that everything was fine with my face, because he recommended me -as I later found out- not a brothel, but a jumper: El Oasis. There was apparently a serious conceptual difference between him and me about what a "girl" should be. Another driver who was approaching got the message and without hesitation he took me to La Piedra Sur, a sector of the highway to Pasto that is like a neighborhood, there are several brothels. We see them in the first corner: Arizona, Kassandra's and El Solar, all three in a row. The first lives up to his name, desolate as a sad North American desert. About 15 meters away, Cassandra's door was open, but a fence prevented me from passing, with no service. They've all gone and they're leaving us to take care of them, said a boy who leaned out of the window. I did not insist. El Solar may be my last hope, but as I get closer to the place, I see that it offers a panorama of open doors and closed gates. The next door is one floor below the street, and there, according to several notes, there is a house inhabited by prostitutes who have not come out these days. I went down the steep stairs and at that moment I saw all the sadness in the house. The exterior is a damp red, glassless windows with bars, doors made of rusty, chipped metal. I rang the bell and after a tense wait, Valentina opened the door for me. It's black. She couldn't take her eyes from her mouth, with a wide upper lip. The conversation was a bit difficult, little is understood by her, in the end I managed to get some information, it is incomplete and a bit vague. She tells me that she didn't go to Cali, but on Wednesdays if she works, she and two others who didn't travel. If a client shows up, I attend to him. The mouse is worth $50,000. Thursday and Friday are holy days, and people have great respect for these days. Now, it was time to find out if there were any brothels in Popayán, outside of the southern area of La Piedra. Conversations with the young taxi driver Rafael are difficult again. Because he takes his ten-year-old son as his companion. According to him, there are two busiest places: Los Helechos and Punto 30. They are on the other side of the city, in the north, and only buses can go there, because municipal laws prohibit taxis from doing so. If the police caught us, the fines would be hefty, but the $40,000 risk for the race was worth it. The afternoon was sunny and warm. A prolonged overnight downpour could not be predicted at that time. After 20 minutes, we arrive at Los Helechos. It is a house with a long white facade. They say it's the best brothel in town, but that doesn't sound like much to me. Next to the premises, a woman sweeps. Her name is Marta Navarro. She's dyed blonde and blue-eyed, and her face is a little worn with age. There were better times, I'm sure of that. She greets us with from, I'm the manager of this place, she says. She has changed her name, now I call it sardinita, she has a jacuzzi and a VIP area. Today there is no service, they worked yesterday Wednesday. All of them will be back on Saturday. In all its years of existence, about 15 years, the place has never been open on holidays or on Good Friday. We went to Point 30. It is on the way to Neiva. The road conditions are more reminiscent of a bombed-out city. He meets two children under the age of six who were playing with the sand and some plastic shovels; she took out a 500-peso coin and gave it to one of the children. A giant blue wall is an insurmountable obstacle. Only a small barred window faces the street. On the left is a house, on the right a garden, or rather an attempt at a garden. It is decorated with some shrubs and herbs. I rang the doorbell, the person who answered my call was a young man wearing a national soccer team jersey. There are no girls, only two, but they will not work today or tomorrow. Don't insist because they don't work. I insisted. I asked to speak to them and wanted to hear a resounding "no." He ignored me and quickly came back to tell me that they definitely didn't have time for me. The sky is strangely red. it will rain. I returned to the sunken house next to El Solar. There is no light to illuminate the entrance, which makes the stairs even more dangerous. The landscape is a mixture of despair and horror. Valentina spoke, but she was not the friendly woman of the afternoon. She refuses to speak, I persist and caught the attention of a girl (Sandra) and a client (José Fabio) who were sleeping in the afternoon. Sandra tells me to continue to the room, the first on the right side of the abandoned house. Two bunk beds, four bare mattresses, almost no paint on the walls, high humidity, and the only light was a 100-watt bulb. I want to talk to Sandra, but José Fabio keeps interrupting me. He's been there since last Friday, drinking, taking drugs, cheating. I became interested in Sandra, but José Fabio kept talking and trying to establish the terms of our appointment. Sandra (28, prostitute; two children) has left. She wants to talk, she needs money, but José Fabio's impulsiveness and the destruction of six days of partying prevent her from doing so. We agreed that the best thing was to get out of there. We took another taxi to pick up some of Sandra's friends who were spending the day downtown. She let José Fabio guide me. He goes on and on, giving meaningless explanations about the city, prostitution, Easter, the weather, himself. I try not to notice, but it's impossible. Somehow he made sure she didn't take her eyes off him. He had a bottle of rum in his hand. I'll tell you all you want, I'll take you everywhere, but at night you come home with me and tell my wife that I've been away for six days because I'm helping you with your article. Hector is not afraid of God, but he is afraid of his wife. interesting. We arrived in the city center at ten o'clock at night, shortly before the end of the Señor Veracruz parade, which continued despite the rain for more than half an hour. Many streets were closed, so we had to take several turns to reach our destination. Hector said to calm down, that he would take care of it. He approached one of the policemen who were acting as a human barrier in the parade, approaching with a syllabic rhythm that did not match the Spanish, and demanded that he let us pass. The agent seemed surprised by the request. Of course they ignored him, we walked. We were drenched and lost. The entire historic area of Popayán is the same, at least for a tourist, when we found Casa Real, Sandra tried to tell me her story. On a normal Thursday, she could serve up to four clients and collect $30,000 each, but today it was just him and José Fabio. He drank a lot and kept repeating that he would be happy if he could get help from a prostitute. We arrived at Casa Real, I waited outside for Sandra to go up to look for her friend. Sandra came down accompanied by Verónica. Devil tattoo on lower back, pink top, big boobs. They had already told her the reason for my visit, but she wanted her to tell her again. She told me that she was charging me $50,000. I am paisa and I am 20 years old. I take care of about six men a day. Now I'm with my boyfriend. If I get a job, I'll have to make up for it later. If a client wants to wake up with me, we can go to a place called Tres Lunas, but he charged him $100,000. I came to Popayán because some colleagues told me that Holy Week is very good here. I worked yesterday Wednesday. I'll be back at El Solar on Saturday as people will want to balance Thursday and Friday. Verónica went up to her room. Sandra asked to wait, she works with another friend. Five minutes later he shows up with Jessica, like in the Lou Reed song, plucking his eyebrows and shaving his legs along the way, and then he turns into her. Short curly hair, two chilindrina tails, flat stomach and some black hair like a bozo. My initial nervousness turned to fear and I could barely speak. I was introduced to her in the middle of the stairs (or was it her?) And the first thing she said was: "I'm a transvestite." As if she hadn't noticed me! She invited us up to the lobby for a quiet chat. José Fabio puts the bottle of rum on the table and Jessica, 18, starts talking. My "office" is just a block away on Idema. Others work locally, I am on the street. I came from Cartago a month ago and everything went well. It's just that men like weird things. Many people came up and when they saw that I was not a woman, they all wanted me. I have worked with engineers, police officers, lawyers, soldiers. Someone asked me to play the male lead, but I didn't like it. I've never done it with a woman either. The conversation was interesting. When José Fabio, Sandra and Jessica began to talk about the difference between transvestites, homosexuals and transgender, I was silent. The conversation turned to Popayan, where Jessica said the residents thought she was like Jerusalem, all white and religious, but more like Sodom and Gomorrah. It's after 1:00. I don't want to stay there anymore. I took out the money, paid and said goodbye. José Fabio stopped and told me not to go and ordered another shot of rum. I refuse. I tell him I have work at 8:00 a.m. m. the next morning. If I don't comply, I will be fired. At 19:30 I followed the funeral procession of Christ in the Temple of San Francisco. After the event I went to Casa Real to see if Jessica was there. They already knew me and let me in without any problem. While I wait, I talk to Cesar in the lobby. I asked him the price of the room. $25,000 per night with bathroom and cable TV. She (he?) came out wrapped in a white sheet with pink flowers and a towel over her head. I caught her in the process of putting on her makeup and dressing, but she had no problem sitting down and talking for a while. She is like a diva, a crazy goddess from another world and time. Cesar is gay. I asked him to tell me his story. When I left home, I went to live with my sister, but four months ago we had a fight; that's why I came here. I left Carthage, but I didn't come back as Jessica. I save and earn money. I'll have my breasts operated and a dragonfly tattooed on my back. Mamut will do it for me. Mamut entered the hall, but did not say hello. He is Paisa, his name is Eduardo, he does piercings and tattoos. He lived in Casa Real for more than a year. He seems to be the most level-headed of all the characters I've met this Easter. It's funny to say it, but apart from José Fabio, no one is payanés, who, luckily, never appeared again. I leave the hotel. I walked through the Idema, Jessica's "office." There wasn't much movement, just a young woman leaning against the door frame. I'm not sure if she was a prostitute or she just went out to see what was on the street. The same applies to the historic center of Popayán. I got lost again, this time with no one to guide me. I walked another block without realizing that she was at the door of my house.