When I arrived in Pasto five days ago, I thought I could maintain professional distance to write about the festive atmosphere of a carnival, but now, having returned to my hotel with a painted face and the rhythm of the street bands still in my head, I realize it's impossible not to be carried away by the energy of the moment and write with emotion and amazement.

The floats parading through Pasto's streets are the result of months of work in workshops, where artisans transform paper-mâché into art. This beautiful city has spent entire afternoons watching artists bring these creations to life, each with its own story. "The carnival is like a child," I've heard, "you watch it grow day by day, and when it goes out into the street, your heart swells with pride." Now that I see people's reactions to these works, I understand why they dedicate so much time to keeping this tradition alive.

^{Credit: Corpocarnaval} 

This carnival has something that makes it different from any other celebration. Yesterday I saw an executive and a street vendor playing with cosmetic paint, laughing together like old friends. UNESCO was not wrong in recognizing it as Cultural Heritage, as here people forget who is who and simply surrender to the play. The Galeras volcano watches as the city transforms, and in these days I've learned that the carnival goes beyond scheduled events. The dance groups that parade don't just dance; they keep alive a legacy that connects generations.

^{Credit: Corpocarnaval} 

The magic began with the Little Carnival, where children took to the streets with their costumes and smiles. Then came the choreographic collectives, the Castañeda Family with their rural traditions, and the Game of Blacks that reminds us of the importance of inclusion and equality. Each day has brought its own surprise, its own rhythm, its own way of bringing people together.

^{Credit: Corpocarnaval} 

Between añejo empanadas and sips of hervidos (traditional drinks), people share stories of past carnivals. A group of young people adopted me into their impromptu parade, teaching me dance steps and sharing their cosmetic paint. "Here, no one is a stranger," they told me while painting my face, a truth that can be felt on every corner of the city during these magical days.

^{Crédito: Corpocarnaval} 

Tomorrow Pasto will return to its routine, but something changes in those of us who lived the carnival from within. The experience teaches us that true wealth lies in these shared moments, in making the streets a space where we are all equal. Phones capture photos and videos, but true memories are engraved in the heart. I write this with paint on my hands, thinking of all the stories we'll tell until next January, when the Carnival of Blacks and Whites returns to show us that the best things in life happen when we celebrate together, when art, music, and joy erase boundaries and remind us that we are one family.

When I arrived in Pasto five days ago, I thought I could maintain professional distance to write about the festive atmosphere of a carnival, but now, having returned to my hotel with a painted face and the rhythm of the street bands still in my head, I realize it's impossible not to be carried away by the energy of the moment and write with emotion and amazement.

The floats parading through Pasto's streets are the result of months of work in workshops, where artisans transform paper-mâché into art. This beautiful city has spent entire afternoons watching artists bring these creations to life, each with its own story. "The carnival is like a child," I've heard, "you watch it grow day by day, and when it goes out into the street, your heart swells with pride." Now that I see people's reactions to these works, I understand why they dedicate so much time to keeping this tradition alive.

This carnival has something that makes it different from any other celebration. Yesterday I saw an executive and a street vendor playing with cosmetic paint, laughing together like old friends. UNESCO was not wrong in recognizing it as Cultural Heritage, as here people forget who is who and simply surrender to the play. The Galeras volcano watches as the city transforms, and in these days I've learned that the carnival goes beyond scheduled events. The dance groups that parade don't just dance; they keep alive a legacy that connects generations.

^{Credit: Corpocarnaval} 

The magic began with the Little Carnival, where children took to the streets with their costumes and smiles. Then came the choreographic collectives, the Castañeda Family with their rural traditions, and the Game of Blacks that reminds us of the importance of inclusion and equality. Each day has brought its own surprise, its own rhythm, its own way of bringing people together.

^{Credit: Corpocarnaval} 

Between añejo empanadas and sips of hervidos (traditional drinks), people share stories of past carnivals. A group of young people adopted me into their impromptu parade, teaching me dance steps and sharing their cosmetic paint. "Here, no one is a stranger," they told me while painting my face, a truth that can be felt on every corner of the city during these magical days.

^{Crédito: Corpocarnaval} 

Tomorrow Pasto will return to its routine, but something changes in those of us who lived the carnival from within. The experience teaches us that true wealth lies in these shared moments, in making the streets a space where we are all equal. Phones capture photos and videos, but true memories are engraved in the heart. I write this with paint on my hands, thinking of all the stories we'll tell until next January, when the Carnival of Blacks and Whites returns to show us that the best things in life happen when we celebrate together, when art, music, and joy erase boundaries and remind us that we are one family.