La Culata National Park

Mist is drifting through the mountains.  The air is damp and cold. I shiver in the drizzle, wondering where I left my umbrella.  The cows that are grazing just inside the fence barely looke up as we pass.  "Look Annie", Edwin hands me a piece of the leaf as he points the plant out to me.  "This is frailejon.  You can chew on it.  People used to chew on them when they were traveling to keep from feeling thirsty".  The leaf is soft and fuzzy against my tongue, the flavor nags at the end of my mind; I'm sure it reminds me of something, but I have no idea what.

Frailejon

The boys forge ahead, but I stop, marveling at a raindrop suspended from a berry.  The rain has stopped, but the plants are still bejewelled with raindrops.

I catch up to the guys.  A giant rock is looming in the distance.  Edwin begins to jokingly tell me a legend about the rock.  I know he's making most of it up, but I'm not sure how much.  We're suddenly distracted by  berries and the legend is forgotten as we hunt for the ripest ones.

Nitay makes it to the top of the rock first.  I stay below and take photos before circling around behind to climb it.

I'm looking at the rather smooth, steep surface, assessing how to climb it, when I'm startled by a bull that was grazing in the bushes coming towards me.  He doesn't look too happy.  I scramble up the face of the rock, but I've picked the wrong section- it's too hard to keep climbing here.  My feet begin slipping.  "You have to climb up the other side!" Camilo tells me.  I can't though.  the bull is close and I'm scared to get down.  Just as I'm about to lose my grip and fall, the bull loses interest and wanders away.  Thankfully, I jump down and climb the other side.  The view from the top is shrouded in mist.

As we walk back to the car, the mist begins to clear.  The mountains just peek out behind the pines.  It looks surreal to me, like a painting, or a scene from a fantasy movie. I'm reluctant to leave.  It's mysteriously beautiful here, but it's getting late and the trout empanadas we passed earlier are calling our names. . .