In a shallow valley on the fringe of the Andes, a quiet village woke up to the next day of its undisturbed life. The valley is not deep and the surrounding mountains are not high, but as days commences inexplicable behaviors unfolds.

The little village stretches for no more than 400 meters in length, at the lowest meeting point of the steep mountainsides. No more than 400 meters long and no more than 50 meters across. The valley floor has room for more houses, but the friendly inhabitants of this well hidden village do not need more space. Living large is not their style and everyone seem to have the perfect amount of space for themselves. People lives in harmony with each other and the few types of animals around. Dogs and chickens make up most of the wildlife in the village, but occasionally there are both horses and cattle strolling undisturbed on the graveled, slightly ascending and perfectly straight road that runs through it. As the villagers wake up with the sun they enjoy their small cup of coffee and a very friendly greeting from everyone around. "Good morning" is spoken with calm voices and as the silence in the village is more than gentle to the ear, there is no need to raise a voice. The sound of the small rushing river, the flickering of leaves on the trees swaying almost unnoticeably in the soft breeze and the chuckle of the hens are all pleasantly audible benefits of the nature and this is the soundscape of the village. The singing of the birds, the everlasting stimulating and demanding sound of them and the secrecy connected to the whereabouts of the birds are definitely putting the mind to the test. The birds are there - but only heard and they are nowhere to be seen anywhere.

Even though the village has hardly woke up yet, the animals are alert an on their feet. Donkeys, cows, horses, roosters, dogs, cats and even the simplest of them all: turkeys are all up and about and ready for a new day containing absolutely nothing. Imagining being an animal in such a small village is hard, as the content of the day always will be the same: doing nothing. When waking up, swept in the blanket of empty spaces and traditional past times, the only thing you can do, is try to avoid the trap set for the unfortunate tourist. What they really want to do, is to get some action, and the one place to do that here, is in the mountains - at the top, breathing the air of the remains of the early spirits of the worlds. Or so it is told.

Sleeping soundly in a bed covered covered in blankets, a cozy atmosphere is almost already set for anyone. The old man crawls under the blanket searching for warming comfort and as the hours go by, the cozy atmosphere appears - but as every bad timed experience, the coziness slowly turns into a chase of warmth and comfort. It is all subjective, but still - the concept of it will quickly trigger a reaction in the reptilian brain of ours. We need to stay warm and we need to feel comfortable.

"Shit - is the sun already up?", the old man said. Squinting out the window from his half closed eyes makes it hard to see. The window presents a pattern making it impossible to interpret the differences in color and difference in contrast. A pattern which at times, easily could have been made from cheaters and swindlers, but respecting the area and whatever secrets it keeps - being one of the first sights that he sees, swindlers and cheaters are far away from his minds. The dream is climbing a peak in the Andes but choosing one proves to be task and most attempts are just not good enough - an attempt is just for the books.

"Noon, and breakfast is too late to get", the old man thought. A noon that turns a scrambled egg into an overpriced tortilla and the mandatory bread into a grand breakfast rich on cholesterol and low on protein. Wanting and needing to climb the same day, the arrangements were all taken care off. But noon does not make a trip to the mountains worse or better. A hike for a foreigner is about getting experiences they don’t get at home. Having a cholesterol rich breakfast with too many deep fried dishes, having fat dripping of the napkin and being too much cautious about the meal itself, he soon discovered that the food was definitely the dish to go for the next day.

The location of the village is unimportant and the location of the mountain equally unimportant. It could have been any village and any mountain in the world, because the story is neither about the location nor the country. The story is about the old man. The old man is me and he is the future personification of me. Experiencing through the thoughts of the future me, gives mental perspective. Not that I really want it, but sometimes you just don’t have a choice.

Squinting up against the mountain, the task for today lies ahead with impressive steepness, nakedness and green carpeted floor over dirt and rocks. The beginning of the path is just a decision away but as time passes by, the entrance seems further and further away. I need to start walking. Legs - you need to move. Solitude will meet us on the way to the top, but that is not necessarily a negative encounter. Solitude gives peace and energy, but only if it is chosen. Only if it has deliberately been sought and worked for. Coincidental solitude has too many stories associated with it. A worse way of solitude that enters when individuals planned differently for their time. It can be crashing down in a plane in the desert, surviving badly injured or being caught in an avalanche, buried under the white powdered snow. This is extreme solitude and the state of helplessness that surround these tragic situations must be mentally draining. Life passes by while you have no way of interfering and hope is the only weapon to fight with. Too many stories have been told with the unhealthy and ultimate outcome. Could this be possible in the mountains - today? What if I trip? What if I fall over the edge of a ledge or break a leg? There will be no one to help and solitude probably follows as the day turns into night, forcing the last rays of light to other parts of the world. The night does not make good for solitude, unless it is chosen that way. I will not pass away while being helpless. I will be able to let go when I feel it is the right time. When life has treated me with everything it can and when I feel that no more plans can be made for my time.

The beginning of the path has been located and while walking towards it, the inexplicable phenomenon of animal friendliness appears in the galloping manifestation of a dog. There seems to be no hostility even if its right side of the face witness of previous challenges. The scarred right eye is a statement of strength, will and determination. It is a testimonial of previous battles. Wonder who made the scars. It seems friendly, but animal body language is too foreign a language for me too master as animals never played a part in my life. Not being able to play, nurture or enjoy the company of a dog, I have no comprehension of their behavior in a given situation. Not that I don’t want to know and understand them. No - the desire is there, but is is genetically determined that the animal kingdom will live with no intervention by me. I will not interfere or enjoy. Animals got to live in harmony with others and I will always sit in the background, silently watching while contagious joy spreads through a room or under a tree in the park. I will never understand what the animal friendship contains and the joyful licking of the face by a eager dog will never appear in my sphere of events. And dogs know this. They can smell my distance from them like it was the finest steak of their preference. They abuse the distance humorously and it seems that they constantly gather round to mock me every time I am around. He could laugh and make fun of me, but does it really know I am allergic and that I will never touch them? I ignore them as much as physically possible - is that information that they pick up?

Running ahead of me, slapping its tail vividly as it, almost without strain, leaps from green to green and brown to brown spot. Waiting for a few minutes to let me catch up with him is a behavior of excellence and I admire him instantly. It is a dog with knowledge and patience. He will not drag med far up this mountain. The dogs never to, though, they only run after the easy rewards - a short an effective run up a mountain, releases a fine reward. Maybe a snack. He is fit, though, and he seems well fed. Muscular and not a rib showing on his body. Wonder what he is eating, because the appearance is definitely different from all the other dogs in the area. Skinny, beaten up and lazy is the normal appearance of the dogs around, but this one seems very vital.

Climbing the steep mountainside, the pace set by the dog is a bit too strenuous. I am actually in bad shape - it must be all the Rum and the slight cold that I have. Strangely, menthol is never to be find when you want it. I want strong menthol cold remedies but they are nowhere around. Menthol cigarettes are a joke and can’t be used for any cold. They don’t even give you fresh breath but they are everywhere. Cigarettes are not good for a cold anyway. Better stay off them. The dog seem fit and in quite a shape as he is literally running up the hill. He don’t drink or smoke, I guess, but something must give him the energy, though. Being a Colombian village dog, you never know what he puts his nose into and I have no intentions on finding out. He, or she for that matter, needs to call it a day soon. The owner must call for him in a short while and I will struggle for the peak myself. But as the company of the dog already is a reality, I might as well try to resolve his name. How do one speak to a dog?

For every sentence I direct at him, he does not seem interested. There are no reply for my questions - not even a bark or a gnarl. I guess he is not interested at all to get to know me. Maybe he is one of this hard workers, that just work and work without any expectations for a reward. Unable to find a proper name for that kind of personality, I decide on settling on the name that is descriptive of his behavior. I will name him for what he does in this very moment - he is guiding. I will call him "Guía", a Guide. The name feels good and it is easy to the tongue. Even though he does not respond to my calls, I still have one name for him and use it consistently in every sentence directed at the dog, so he might pick it up. I bet he is a smart dog, otherwise he wouldn’t be doing this. Who in their right mind would volunteer for a 90 minutes hard walk up a mountain without certainty of getting anything in return. He didn’t even ask if he could get paid. Guía is the dog and for the next few minutes that will be the name he will be called. Guía seems to be my guide making sure that I will follow the path to the top and Guía is so far doing a good job.

Half way up the hill, he is still with me. What is his intentions and what keeps him going? He don’t know me and I know him not. Does he have a certain motive or some sort of unspoken drive within him that never will be expressed? He seems uninterested in me as a person but he is definitely interested in me as his follower. Guía controls me and there seems to be no chance not to step in his tiny footsteps. Trying to walk in a different direction, he holds ground and silently makes me aware of his authority. For some reason, even if he is not responsive to my commands, I have to obey his every absolute silent command. He doesn’t even form a sound and I obey. His eyes are his magic wand and I seem to move in whatever direction he want. Is this a magic dog or simply just a mean dog? Will this dog suddenly evaporate into thin air and turn into some sort of man eating monster? Is Guía abducting me? He definitely seems reluctant to induce in any form of eye contact as if that, for him, will make the relationship more personal. Devouring a friend is always harder when having to look him into the eyes and Guía might have this kind of previous experience. He just don’t want that to happen again. He has all the qualities of a swift killer: speed, strength, wit, element of surprise and setting. I could be in real trouble here - should I return or just hope he will disappear if I stop for a longer while?

Guía chases birds. Appetizers? His way of letting me know his strategy and power of attack? Will I feel it at all? His jaws looks like a regular bone crushing machine. I wouldn’t want to be inside that jaw of his. Marking his territory every 20 meters. He might signal his pack? Will they follow his markings to the feast of a gringo sucker? Gnarling aggressively as he buries the markings with dirt and grass. Every now and then rolling around in his own liquids as if performing a ritual of courage and spiritual calling. I could be in real trouble here but fear is the least emotion to display. Fear is what will drive him closer to me and encourage his attack.

Always keeping his face away from me, as if he is hiding his identity from me. Close relationships are absolutely not his strength or intention. But even if he consume me, he will not be able to consume my camera. Pictures makes up a decent proof. But without the eye contact, a photo says only two words: brown dog. A photo speaks not a thousand words. What words would that be? Which complete description of a scenery would pronounce the state of fear and wondering that current situation is made up by? A thousand words - I am not even that good of a photographer. As long as he is hiding his face, he will not get recognized in a photo. Or is he just embarrassed of his scar. Am I just mentally being my worst enemy, adding improbable factors together to produce an outcome so far fetched that even the most perfected serial killer would envy its intertwined subtleties?

For 90 minutes he is oddly quiet and his lack of engagement in this exploration of the mountains is more or less overwhelming. For an hour and a half he gives nothing from himself - no personal stories, no hint of who he is, not correcting my Spanish monologue I constantly maintain to try to make friends with him and there are no signs of him being less then the alpha male. My defense for this packed set of muscles and a jaw is pulling me towards the top, to the sights at the top, to a mountain ridge of tombs are very slim. He has done this before and I am afraid that my days are counted for. The tombs are my cold final destination and my maker would be my guide. The spiritual forces in this area are strong and my refutation to the unseen power are non existing. Seeing the ridge of tombs, 35 in total, gives me more than a handful to chose from. The sight is breathtaking as the fresh mountain breeze strikes my bare arms. A cemetery 400 meters up hill, on a mountain ridge with no easy access from anywhere. Tombs placed in a pattern that can only be described as pearls on a string and the short green grass almost makes every tomb look as a fresh invitation to visit - permanently. Guía attempts to get me down in every one of them but I am not planning on being supportive to his mortal desire. I will stay over ground admiring the view, the silence, the smell and the tranquil atmosphere. Feeding him with half of whatever food I have must be enough to terminate his thirst of my blood. Refusing to drink my water, he must be knowing that water deficit can bring on temporary insanity. He do not actually want to be present in the moment of truth - the moment where I become history and enters the frightening state of was. I am giving him whatever he does not ask for. I am offering my company and my friendship. I am sharing my day with him. He seems unaware of my efforts and my efforts also enters the frightening state of was. I was giving him whatever he did not ask for. I was offering my company and my friendship and soon, I was sharing my day with him.

Constantly looking over my shoulder to locate the beast, he is surprisingly calm. His personality does not really change but he is not showing the spiritual behavior that I anticipated. No metamorphosis or transformation into pure evil and I do not seem to be a sacrifice to come. Heading home, Guía runs ahead and after returning to the very same spot we met, no words were exchanged even as a friendly farewell. He made eye contact and silently strolled toward his gate. Sitting down, observing me as I strolled towards my gate, we made a secret pact. 5 hours of monologue and arduous promenade, we have a history together. We had become the not so frightening state of was.

We were connecting and I might have to reconsider the world that I don’t know. The world with animals. The world where gratitude is nothing to speak of and where a short moment of eye contact could mean: "Don’t worry. I did it because I wanted to. It was my pleasure - really". Even though we’ll never meet again, I wish I could return the favor. I’ll be your guide whenever - you can just say the words, Guía. Thank you!