Hiking in the Highlands

                                    

                                          
Guane is a tiny town frozen in time, as isolated from the rest of the world as one can get. It retains its colonial buildings and character, but its people resemble more the indigenous people than the Spaniards who conquered them. Entering it on foot, as I did, from its ancient road (now a footpath), I had the feeling of stepping back in time - stepping back into the world of the Guane people of a millennium ago. The stone monument in the town square had caused my mind to flash back to the words spoken to me by the hotel owner earlier that morning. 
                          
The monument plaque read: Al Cacique Guanentá y sus gentes que fecundaron estas tierras con su sangre (To Cacique Guanentá and his people who fertilized this land with their blood.)  When I read it, I recalled his words. "The Guane people inhabited the territory around this town, known then as Guanentá. They were a federation of autonomous tribes, each with its own cacique, similar to the Muisca people to the south. The Guane, however, were a distinct people with a distinct language and culture. Anthropologists now believe that they emigrated from Venezuela. They lived in relative peace and tranquillity, but when others challenged their territory the entire federation would go to war against the invaders. And for many centuries they succeeded in defending their borders. They were courageous people, but in 1540 they met an invader like no other they had seen before. Many were killed in battle and many more by diseases unknown to them, for which they had no immunity. Eventually, all the Guane people perished at the hands of the Spaniards, but not before the latter had procreated with their women. Today, the Guane race survives only in the blood of mestizos like me." The meaning of the dedication on the monument was crystal clear!
                          
The hike along the Camino Real started in Barichara, another quaint, colonial town that can't break away from its past. We arrived there by bus from Giron, where we overnighted. Its large square was a park with mature trees and benches to sit and enjoy its solitude and tranquillity: it was desolate. The most imposing structure facing the square was the Catedral de la Inmaculada Concepcion, named after the virgin Mary, who appeared on this spot many centuries ago, at least according to the town's legend.
                          
The church's façade had a single entranceway framed by a large roman arch. Above it was a niche with the statue of the virgin, and on either side sat three sets of triple columns stacked one on top of the other, reaching the same height as the statue. Two large bell towers flanked the church. The one on the left had a large modern clock, which gave the correct time, unlike many others we had seen on our journeys.
                          
Pino remarked, "I find it incredible that a small town like this can have such a big and well endowed church."
                          
I replied, "I am equally perplexed. It must be that the population of this town was much larger three centuries ago. A lot of gold went into that intricately-carved altarpiece: it must have cost a fortune even then!" 
                          
Before leaving the church, I asked Silvio if he knew Schubert's Ave Maria, to which he exclaimed, "Of course! It's one of my favourites!" Then I asked him if he would sing that for us. He didn't need any coaxing. There was no one else in the church besides us and he began to sing by opening up his arms, as was his custom. His powerful voice resonated magnificently in the cavernous space and we all stood in awe. This song has special significance for me, and by the time he was finished he had brought tears to my eyes. While he sang, other tourists had entered, or stood by the door, to hear him, and when he finished he received a grand applause. He had created, not just for me, but for all of us, a precious and unforgettable moment!
                          
"Silvio, that was beautiful!" I exclaimed, giving him a big hug. "For that," I continued, "I will buy you lunch today. So take advantage of it."
                          
He answered, "You cannot pay for something that I gave so freely and lovingly. Receiving payment for it would just cheapen the experience." Then he added, "But you can buy me lunch another time." He is a truly wonderful human being.