Abstract
I came into the world at a crossroads in Quindío, on the route from Alcalá to Quimbaya and Montenegro. I was born by chance at the roadside inn located there—a hub for travelers, muleteers, and mule trains in the region of Old Caldas, which later split to become Quindío. That crossroads is still there. It is called *Partidas de la Española*—a name that branded me with the subtle sepia or musty hues of a 15th-century Age of Discovery.

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