El Dorado

Hello. My home is high in the mountains, where cool, misty clouds drift past our village like soft, white blankets. My name is not as important as my title. I am the new chief of my people, the Muisca, and today is the most important day of my life. It is a day when I will be covered head to toe in sparkling gold and give thanks to our gods in a sacred lake. People from far, far away heard stories about me and gave me a special nickname. This is the story of El Dorado. Our village is nestled among tall green peaks, and the air always smells fresh, like rain and damp earth. Every morning, the sun peeks over the mountains, painting the sky with colors like orange and pink. Today, the sun seems extra bright, as if it knows something special is about to happen. Everyone in my village is excited. They have been preparing for this day for weeks, weaving colorful cloths and making beautiful gold treasures. My heart is beating like a drum, thump-thump-thump, because soon I will lead them in a ceremony that has been passed down for generations. It is a great honor, and I want to make my ancestors proud.

The ceremony began on this very special morning. The sun warmed the mountains, and all my people gathered by the shore of Lake Guatavita. The lake is perfectly round, like a giant mirror for the bright blue sky. First, the village priests came to me. They gently covered my whole body with a special sticky sap from a tree. It felt a little gooey. Then, they brought out fine, glittering gold dust. Using long hollow reeds, they blew the shimmering gold dust all over me until I shone like the sun itself. I had become 'The Gilded One.' I felt like a living statue made of pure sunlight. Next, I carefully climbed onto a raft that was waiting at the edge of the water. It was no ordinary raft; it was loaded with treasures for the gods. There were gleaming gold figures shaped like animals and people, and sparkling green emeralds that looked like drops of the jungle. As four of my strongest men pushed the raft away from the shore, my people began to sing. Their voices floated across the water, a beautiful, powerful sound that echoed off the mountains. In the quiet middle of the lake, I said my prayers. I gave our most beautiful gifts to the gods who lived in the water, dropping the precious gold and emeralds one by one. Plink. Plonk. Splash. They disappeared into the deep, cool water. It was our way of saying thank you for the rain that helps our corn grow, for the sun that keeps us warm, and for our wonderful mountain home.

Years and years later, travelers from across the big ocean heard whispers of my golden ceremony. But as stories often do when they travel far, mine got a little mixed up. The travelers didn't hear about a golden man; they heard about a golden city, a whole place where the buildings were made of gold and the streets were paved with it. They called this imaginary, wonderful place 'El Dorado.' For hundreds of years, these explorers searched for it. They journeyed through thick jungles, climbed tall mountains, and crossed wide rivers, always dreaming of finding a city that shone like the sun. They never found it, of course. How could they? The real El Dorado wasn't a place at all, but a person—me. It was a beautiful ceremony to give thanks to our gods. The real treasure was not a city of gold, but the tradition and faith of my people. Even though my story was misunderstood, it has inspired people to dream big and go on amazing adventures. My story fills books and movies with wonder. The tale of El Dorado reminds us all that sometimes, the most wonderful treasures aren't things you can hold in your hand, but the incredible stories we imagine and share with the world.