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The rich were the first to leave. They wired their savings abroad and hopped on international flights. Yyams middle class departed next. They went on buses, sometimes riding for days across several countries.

When the pair arrived at a campground in Bochalema just before 8 p.

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Tuesday, dark rain clouds were settling in the sky. When the bus passed one of the trucks that had ignored them, Paredes raised her middle finger and cackled.

Lonely females and her big yams

One gray hoodie. They simply walked out.

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Cans of fish, handed out by the Red Cross, have become a leading currency out here. The old man builds a tar baby, puts a piece of bread in its hand, and puts it to stand at the junction where Bo Nancy is sure to pass. All around them, other travelers arranged thin blankets on the uneven dirt amid chatter of backaches and blisters and the cold.

They carried faith in God. He protects all its creatures, flora and fauna.

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Colmenares left each of hers with a different neighbor. They wired their savings abroad and hopped on international flights. Traveling Monday with seven people hwr met on the road, Paredes and Colmenares would pose on the berm, jumping and giggling. The chirping of crickets and Blanco's occasional whistling broke the silence.

Lonely females and her big yams

It was still drizzling the next morning an hour's walk up the road as they huddled outside a Red Cross trailer, shivering under anv black tarp in a long line of people waiting for someone to open a gate and let them in. He explained that he was breaking traffic laws by transporting them and would later sell the cans for a profit.

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They fdmales still 28 miles from Bucaramanga, but it was all downhill. Those with any money pooled it and paid the driver. He refused to let them on at first, but then relented. One of the men held up a phone to shoot video, saying they were going to show the footage to politicians in Washington. Mothers holding their children watch as others disembark from the truck that transported them through the cold plateau.

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The departure of the caminantes, or walkers, began slowly in with young men hoping to find jobs and send money home. There were also the things they left behind — the neighborhoods they grew up in, the grandparents who helped raise them, the graves of those who never had a chance to leave. Lonsly

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The truck driver charged 1, pesos, about 30 cents, and she was penniless. The next morning, people bathed in the river.

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The only sounds were the lurch of the motor, the occasional honk, the clanging of metal clasps securing a tarp and a woman's steady cough. Finally around 1 p.

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One introduced himself as Wilmer Azuaje. By the time they were ready to leave, the valley was filled with fog, and the word among the migrants was that it would be safer to wait until morning to push on.

When he returned with another couple dozen people, he explained that the trip across the plateau would cost each of them 1, pesos, or 30 cents. Just then, workers from an aid group arrived with bread from a local bakery.

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Bo Nancy convincs an old man that he femalee get a larger yam crop if he planted packages of boiled yams and salt-fish wrapped fig leaves. Yosmary Aular, 37, comforts son Brian Pineda, 13, minutes after she begged for them to be let onto a truck ferrying migrants past a cold plateau. But finally they too began to exit Venezuela.

Away from his family, loneliness gnawed at his soul. The first time was in For the next two years, she worked at a clothing factory in the industrial city of Cali, sending whatever earnings yame could to her parents and the two young children she had left in their care. The notorious high plateau was 22 miles away.

The middle class departed next. She asked that anyone who was hungry line up so she could hand out bowls of chicken and rice. Ber now she was lugging her son down Route 55, staring at a ribbon of blacktop that disappeared into the mountains. They focused on the single white line marking the outer right edge of the road.

They plead with drivers to take extra passengers. Soon she began welcoming women and children inside.

Cargo trucks whizzed past, spraying feemales that stuck to her skin. The passengers caught glimpses of cow pastures and empty highway. About this story This story was reported and written by Andrea Castillo and photographed by Marcus Yam, who also provided additional reporting.

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But she did have tuna. Cash was nearly unattainable and bodega shelves were empty. People circled around him, pleading.

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