Dyonisia led us as three other tribesmen followed behind carrying knapsacks. We walked the winding trail through the beautiful landscape and perfectly laid-out forest. A few miles in, we stopped, and the men spread a large cloth on the green grass under the large leafy trees and took out fruit, berries, and water. They told us about the land and the culture of the people. I could only look in amazement at the different animals walking along, grazing, playing in the open fields. Some of these animals could kill a human at will, but here they were, as gentle as could be. A sudden shadow moved over the forest, just for a moment, causing all of us to look up. I couldn’t believe my eyes—it was about thirty eagles flying in formation like geese traveling south for the winter. Their large wings blocked the sun momentarily.
When we finished eating, we packed up and started walking again. We don’t get completely far whenever I point out something that catches my eyes.
“Is that a cemetery?” I asked. The hill was dotted with designed tombstones. They were not just square granite blocks of names and numbers—and this was not a cold land of dreariness, but a land of warmth and peace. It was not filled with brown, fallen leaves or colorful bouquets of flowers individually placed in front of old, dull tombstones. Instead, these were shiny, lively grave markers.
“You’re looking at the land of resting, tired souls,” one of the men told me.