At the cross section of the main road and the gravel one that leads up the mountain back to Finca Akasha, there’s a little tienda, which is where I now sat, munching on an extremely low quality chocolate bar and waiting for a car to pass by so I could hitch a ride to Charala. Presently, a car did pass by and pull to the side of the road. It’s owner got out, bought a snack, and proceeded to multitask, taking turns biting his empanada and puffing away on a cigarette. I asked him if he was going to Charala and if I could go with him. The willing man nodded, gave me a fist bump of friendship, and, 25 minutes later, dropped me off right outside the town limits.
I enjoyed some deep breathes and a couple stretches before activating strava and jogging straight straight ahead. Every now and then, I glanced at a map someone had drawn me showing the way to a waterfall outside town. After navigating several bridges, a beautiful, bright green cow pasture, and an encounter with a local farmer, I found the river and climbed upstream to discover several black pools connected by cascading natural water slides. In a matter of seconds, my shoes were off and I was dangling my feet in the water, thoroughly enjoying the beauty of the moment. But contentedness, peace of mind, and pure relaxation had an unfortunate side effect, and I soon became preoccupied with a troubling sensation deep within my abdomen.
Trying not to panic, I dug in my backpack for a certain paper, and scanned my surroundings as if trying to discern impending ambush. I hurried up the terraced pasture rising above the river bank to a striking, solitary tree spreading proudly at the peak of the hill. There were cow patties all around me, and, as I added to what nature had already created, I hoped with all my might that it didn’t storm because the monolith I was presiding under would surely serve as an excellent lighting rod.
Though I had no intention of corroborating Ben Franklin’s experiments on conductivity, I did however happen upon the conclusions of another great man: David Thorough. Purple mountains rose in the distance, cows mooed in the valley below, the grass glowed emerald, the river rushed busily like it had somewhere to be, and I took in as much as I could. I felt under this lonely tree, in this Colombian cow field how one might feel witnessing the Grand Canyon or Angel Falls or one of those more famous spectacles. I journaled this thanksgiving when I got home: I’m grateful to live on such a beautiful planet and to be blessed with the privledge of visiting such a beautiful country.