Smell it, See it, Touch it, Taste it

I have always been drawn to small towns. It was one of the many three-day weekends in Colombia and we were off to the department of Boyacá. I had been living in Bogotá D.C. for a few months and was thrilled to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. I didn't know where exactly I was going; I got invited to the countryside and ‘countryside’ is all I needed to hear and I said ‘Yes’. No hesitation.
As one would expect while heading into a rural area, the vast landscape was predominantly green (sparsely dotted with tiny houses) on both sides of the meandering road to our destination. We drove for a few hours and I was lost in the sea of green that surrounded me, then suddenly it hit me! ‘What’s that smell?’ I asked.
‘Green onions, Kerri’, my landlady replied.
As we drove on, the scent grew stronger and the onion plants started to appear. For as far as my eyes could see there were green onions. We finally made our first stop in a place called Aquitania. All around were people dressed in thick, woollen ponchos (‘ruanas’ in Colombia). That region gets rather cold and on that day it was particularly chilly.
We were hungry and started heading toward a restaurant when, for the second time that day, I was pleasantly surprised, this time by an impressive monument smack in the middle of the town: a giant, concrete bundle of green onions. On top of it was a male ruana-wearing farmer with a bundle of onions in hand, to one side a female famer holding a basket (perhaps with onions hidden in it too), and on the other side a little boy holding a trout (also popular in Aquitania; maybe not as much as onions though). I later found out that the monument was created in honor of the onion farmers in the region. Colombians: always showing solidarity with their farmers.
We continued toward the restaurant when a gentleman invited us to listen to a presentation about farming in Aquitania. Though we were hungry we decided to check it out. He put his ruana over my shoulders and then managed to fit his hat on my afro. He spoke glowingly about farming in Aquitania and was then joined by another gentleman. I didn't quite understand the newcomer; I imagined my Spanish just wasn't up to par. I found out later that he was the town drunkard, and no one understood him, not even the other Colombians!
We finally made our way to the restaurant with growling tummies and decided to start with soup. The chef’s recommendation was a delicious cream of -you guessed it- green onions!