Decades before anyone thought of publishing it, it was done by the artisans who did not even leave a memory of their name, the iron forgers who placed their doors and windows between the street and domestic life, the gardeners who planted trees and flower pots, the carvers who designed the fountains and stones, the jewelers who set precious stones in impossible objects, the glassmakers who made the large lamps and chandeliers, the weavers who made baskets or rugs, the urban planners who laid out the first streets, leaning on the slopes of the hills and as narrow as possible, to protect people from the cold of the moor and the fear of ghosts. Because this is the book of public space. Here there is no place for grand mansions or solemn interiors. This is the city of everyone, through which we walk, where sunsets and sunrises surprise us. And although the landscape appears somewhat groomed (after all, it is a space inhabited by man), what is found here is, above all, a representation of the beings who have made the earthly city as an ideal of stone, lime, and iron, as an antithesis of the city dreamed between the blue sky and the savanna. That is why this is the book of half-truths. With it, we who committed ourselves to its adventure seek to find the charm of Bogotá before its miseries and difficulties. We do not deny that they exist and, moreover, they are so evident that we do not find it necessary to recall them. But what is less obvious, what hides beneath the veil of prudence, is precisely what we highlight here.