1992 April 12 - Jungles of Colombia

The dense canopy of Colombia’s jungles forms a verdant tapestry that stretches beyond the reach of the sun. Yet beneath this emerald umbrella, the land tells a story of unrest, where the beauty of nature is marred by the scars of guerrilla warfare. The lush tranquility belies a tension that hums like the ever-present undercurrent of a river – silent, but potent.

In this incongruous setting, I had the profound honor of meeting Gabriel García Márquez, whose novels capture the soul of Latin America in a way that transcends the written word. His presence is as commanding as the tales he weaves, his eyes holding the depth of the very land that we stand upon. We discussed, with a respectful candor, the impact of the ongoing conflict on the local communities – lives caught in the crossfire of ideologies, dreams deferred amidst the clamor for power.

Márquez spoke of the villagers he has encountered, whose resilience is as much a part of the landscape as the towering Andes. Their stories of daily life, often laced with a magical realism not unlike Márquez's own narrative style, are testaments to the enduring human spirit. Yet, there is a sorrow in his tone as he reflects on the just as palpable impact of peacekeeping forces – a necessary intervention that sometimes breeds its own brand of disruption.

As the day drew to a close, the setting sun painted the sky with strokes of fire, a fleeting beauty that stood in stark contrast to the conversation's gravity. The night sounds of the jungle emerged, a symphony that both comforts and reminds of the unseen dangers lurking in the shadows.