The highest I’ve gone in my life is the Heliografo Hill in Arroyo Blanco. My friend, the historian Adrian Garcia Lebroc, said we were about 300 meters above sea level. To tell the truth it seemed thousand to me. It was clear that I have no soul of mountaineer, or physical abilities. I reached the top very exhausted, breathless, and with a terrible pain on the soles of feet and repentance was biting my flesh, but stoic as any other. I could not show I was a weak.
Climbing hills seems to be for naive. Rarely in the end there is something more than what you already knew and les in this one, which during the course offered only vegetation, too much poisonous bushes and thorny plants, to be exact. Those who know say that the beauty is just that, the effort suffered in the attempt. And it’s complicated indeed, you can die in that audacity for nothing, or almost nothing because the view and clean air reward everything later: an hour breaking undergrowth only using a sort of cane and looking well where to step because you can slip in the wet ground just like with soap water.
Up there everything is cuter. The town seems quiet, the mist barely allows seeing Jatibonico sugar mill towers and the breeze is so nice that if not for the rugged environment, the most logical thing would be to mount a hammock and fall asleep watching the scenery. I wonder how Spaniards could see the mirror sending signs from Marroqui, I think they got dazzled from time to time, or got them wrong, or could not have time to interpret. “… Mambi troops heading toward your position in Jutía Dulce town. _ … “
Later the descent, despite saints´ help, is as or more difficult than going up. You have to step firmly, because a misstep could be, if not fatal, at least painful. Higinio gave me his hand with the risk of tripping himself, and in half the time we delayed climbing the 300 meters, we were in the plain.
Back on the path where I before, due to anxiety, had not noticed its beauty, I found a tocororo for the first time in my life. Up to an age I could not say because of shame, I thought the bird was as big as a condor, judging by the pictures on the walls of the school. But it’s a shy little bird, which declined to pose for my camera and left me like a fool imitating its singing. In a clearing in the forest we found an abandoned hut, a banana plantation with bunches still tender and a tree full of avocados, with the fruits at hand, but also tender. If we had delayed another 10 days to go there, we would have had a feast.
Higinio
We arrived at the Community House earlier than expected, but only the guard was there, who agreed to let us look at its treasures. We were looking engrossed a sheet of carbon when Neriberto (the director of the house) and Higinio (President of the Popular Council) appeared. They shared with us the history of the place and the objects it keeps. An ancient table of the nineteenth century where it is supposed Maximo Gomez and even Winston Churchill sat; a set of pitcher and glasses that belonged to priest Villadeval and Vilaseca, and a very peculiar jug, with two nozzles, like others, but with forms that resemble male and female genitalia, like no others.
We climbed the hill with Higinio. We passed by his home for him to change his clothes and get a machete. We also picked Ramon, another knowledgeable of the area. He was stood under a century-old ceiba tree, and immediately recognized the strangers. Through the path, Higinio told us he has been delegate for 26 years and that this is his last term, but if voters want he will continue. He ensures that he has no office because he is not a bureaucrat; he serves the people in the room of his house or in the town park. We joked with the analogy of the mayor. At the end it is the same being delegate or mayor, his job is to solve the problems of others. We sought the best place for climbing, but nobody said it would be so difficult.
Silvano
Silvano was halfway between the top and the bottom of the hill. He is almost 70, but his skin is tanned by the sun and he is not afraid of poisonous bushes. He was collecting dried corn for animals when we interrupted him. He does not know what agroecology is, he just harvests the corn to eat, but he does it with the wisdom of the best agronomist.
Silvano uses a simple, but effective method. As his lands are in the foothills, he develops the terrace farming and accumulates topsoil in small trenches for the rain not to sweep away the earth. He optimizes space and along with corn, he grows peppers, yam and yucca. We promised him we will come back in November to confirm that are white as milk and are softened just when feeling heat.
We also heard old stories we believed extinct on him, from when the peasants sat to make stories of ghosts and spirits. He says for those territories in late afternoons you can hear noises like a dying goat, and lights appear. No one told him that, he has heard it himself. But despite he has searched a lot, he could not find anything.
Poza Azul (Blue pool)
There must be something in its bottom. It is unusual so much blue in a pool. It’s just a backwater of the stream with waters so clear that you can even count the stones and yet, it’s blue. But, there are catfishes too.
A rustic recreational facility was once built around it; there were some rudimentary dwellings where people could spend their holidays taking a bath in the pool. But the day of the opening a lightning struck from heaven as punishment and reduced everything to ashes. After that, no one tried to build anything there ever again. The guys who are responsible for repairing the pumping station nestled in the pool say that what God did for Him, man can not change it.
Now all Arroyo Blanco town drinks the cold and transparent water from that spring and care it more than the apple of the eyes.
A camping site arises about 400 meters ahead, which almost celebrates 30 years and looks new as the first day; maybe because God or Nature sometimes haggle, but are also generous in other occasions.
Arroyo Blanco Town
During the rainy season, Arroyo Blanco is green. From the Heliografo hill it just looks like a white hamlet overwhelmed by greenery where only stands out the Flora and Fauna Company, which has its offices and even the stables of the Breaking-in School painted in bright yellow. It has a main street, a park, a ceiba tree planted in the early twentieth century and three very ancient colonial houses.
People ride horses, bikes, and cars. Young people also used clothes with the flag of Great Britain and the oldest straw hats. The girls use rubber boots for not to get their feet covered with mud. A hard currency store shares space with n o complex with a park where an unsaddled colt grazes. Higinio says he is taking steps to bring an outlet of ARTEX, because they also like the pieces of Arte en Casa collection. The biggest parties of the people involved rodeo, because cattle rising past of the area can not be erased even with all the time in the world.
I did not see many cell phones, perhaps because there, even the best Nokia has not coverage, and now that I think about it, I did not see many public phones either. I wish this would be due to my absentmindedness.
It is said that country side is ugly at night, it lacks lights and scary sounds abound. I did not ask that to Higinio or Silvano, although they are not the best source, they love too much their piece of land.
Arroyo Blanco invites you to stay forever, to take refuge in its stillness, and tell again and again the stories of its past. Its name comes from the limestone in the bottom of the creek, but colors explode in spring… and there is so much green and blue…
Author
Abel Gonzalez Alayon
