“What is the most boring thing you have ever done?” went through my head when I left the cabins and just started walking down the road, deeper into the Intag Valley. I had no reason to. I just wanted to walk in the morning sun, aimlessly.
The road is as curvy as the river running by its side, and my thoughts pick up the pace, meandering through my mind. Without direction. And even though nothing seems to ever happen, this inconspicuous road invokes that certain curiosity of what is behind the next curve. You can hardly see further than 100m. There are hardly any sidewalks. All kind of greens hang into the street, and when a patch of sidewalk appears, one is bound to ask oneself is there is more, beneath the abundance of nature. I rather have nature. There aren’t many vehicles, anyway.
The river is next to you. All the time. And when its tranquilizing gushing disappears, you instantly feel the heat. Sweat swells out of your pores, until you walk around the next curve to be received by the cooling breeze accompanying the steady flow. The morning sun has quickly turned into a scorch, and the street does not provide any cover. You can’t walk like this forever.
It’s rough countryside. Where the winds are still, the distinguishable smell of pesticides lingers. Advertisement for them next to every noticeable field of crops. Beans, corn, yuca, carved into the mountainside, steep. If you sowed there, you don’t want your effort to be eaten by the latest plague.
I reach the end of what apparently is all Nangulví. I didn’t know it was that long. There’s an interesting curve ahead, but I can feel the sun breathing in my neck, so I turn around. And everything is different. A change of perspective. The same road, yet so unseen. I notice other flowers, other people, a huge cow that decides to walk by my side for a little.
An old woman reaching over a neglected bob wire fence to get some sugar cane leaves. For her guinea pigs, she says. A delicacy. She's small, maybe 1.40cm. The years marked vividly in her face, accompanied by that inevitable big smile you'll see in on those who, according to modern standards, haven't got much to smile about and yet genuinely indulge in it every chance they get. I decide to partake in the Mundraub (look it up), and easily get to the big, juicy stems. Her eyes glow, the smile grows.
"Ya mismo se quiebra," it's almost breaking, she says, and even with years of experience in Spanish it's hard for me to fully grasp the words behind her dialect spoken through a mouth that's missing teeth. But it doesn't break. She pulls out a machete, a small one. Signs me to cut. The machete is sharp, I barely touch the cane and it splits. She starts talking, something about a pain in her shoulder that won't go away. She takes of her jacket, shows me an improvised bandage with leaves inside. Nothing helps, she says. Her voice is now lamenting, I know that one very well, too. I ask her if I can help her with anything else, but she finally found a listener, and he shall listen, not speak. I do, for another minute. Then smile warmly, bow, and the thanks me, smiles again, and I walk the last stretch to the cabins.
What is boring anyway? Boredom is the spring of creativity. And nothing is ever boring, as long as you’re willing to look a closer. This road in the Intag Valley is a wellspring of lively excitement, hidden for the lazy, exuberant for the keen observer. Open your eyes and you will see, open your soul and you will feel, open your mouth and you will taste. It is all there. On a boring road.
I can't recommend enough the leisure walking around aimlessly. Wherever you are. Especially when on vacation in a special place, like the Intag Valley is to me. Every time I stay at the same place, but always find something new. I probably always will.
Please feel free to engage in any original way, including dropping links to your posts on similar topics. I'm happy to read (and curate) any quality content that is not created by LLM/AI.
