Somewhere Near Manizales, Colombia
The other day, I went gold panning. Not in some far-flung, exotic location, but right in the river where I spent a good chunk of my childhood. It was just out of pure curiosity, really, a spur-of-the-moment adventure with my older brother.
There I was, standing knee-deep in familiar waters, sifting through sediment like some modern-day prospector with a desk job. And you know what? It was absolutely glorious.
Panning for gold
As I stood there, the cool water numbing my legs, the sound of the river rushing past, I couldn't help but think about how much work this was. The experience of doing it by hand is a lot of work, but it’s beautiful outside and the work is not unpleasant. With machines, it's just... screeching metal and high volume production. Which could only remind me of the hard work of making wine.
By hand, you're able to choose the best kind of sand that holds the most gold. With grapes, it's the same. By hand, you get to choose. With a machine, you get the grapes, the stems, the leaves and the dirt...
My brother had recently picked up this hobby, a family pastime passed down like our genetic predisposition for adventure. It's worth noting that it's always been just a hobby, not a business. None of my ancestors saw much gold, just the pure joy of the hunt. As I continued to pan, my mind drifted to the vineyards I've visited over the years.
Wine, as a product, is a bold statement against our fast-food, instant-gratification culture, at least the wines we choose for our club. I can't speak for other clubs. In a world where we've reduced everything to its most efficient, widely-palatable, soulless form, wine stands defiantly, demanding more from us.
I have now spent a few years finding wines for our club members in different parts of the world. I've seen firsthand the meticulous attention paid to every aspect of winemaking.
It's grueling, often thankless work. But that labor, sweat, and dedication all ends up in your glass.
I read the other day about what someone called "Type 2 fun". Both wine and gold panning fall into this category — the kind of fun that doesn't always feel like fun when you're doing it, but brings a sense of satisfaction and wellbeing in the completion of the act. It's the opposite of binging Netflix or scrolling mindlessly through social media.
It's the kind of experience that demands something from you, that forces you to be present, to engage all your senses.
When you're panning for gold, you're not just looking for shiny bits in the mud. You're listening to the rush of the river, feeling the weight of the sand, smelling the damp earth.
Time slows down. The world narrows to the pan in your hands and the possibility of discovery.
It's the same with wine. You don't just knock it back like it's a shot at a college party. You look at it, swirl it, smell it, let it linger on your palate.
A good wine tells you a story – about the sun-baked hills where the grapes grew, about the winemaker's vision, about the year it was bottled. It's a time machine in a glass.
And neither activity is really about the end result. Sure, finding a gold nugget would be nice. So would discovering your favorite vintage.
But that's not the point. The joy is in the doing, in the stories you'll tell later, in the way these experiences connect you to something larger than yourself.
When I drink a glass of Tacana, I'm not just tasting wine. I'm transported back to Gualfin, to the rocky soil and the tough, stubborn vines that somehow produce something transcendent.
It's a liquid connection to a place, a time, a memory.
In our rush to optimize every aspect of our lives, we've lost something essential. We've traded richness for efficiency, depth for breadth.
We gulp down protein shakes instead of savoring meals. We make snap judgments on dating apps instead of really seeing the person in front of us.
We've reduced exercise to mindless repetitions in sterile gyms, cut off from the world outside.
But there's pushback brewing, a quiet rebellion against this flattening of experience. It's in the revival of artisanal crafts, in the slow food movement, in people choosing to spend their weekends sifting through river mud for specks of gold.
And it's there in every carefully crafted bottle of wine. Each one is a reminder to slow down, to pay attention, and engage fully with the world around us.
It's a call to resist the urge to reduce everything to its simplest, fastest form.
It was a full morning of work in the river, to bring back a jar of dark soil. Later, we carefully cleaned it and got some gold flakes. Now I hold that little tube, as a good memory that takes me there, and reminds me of quality time with my older brother.
A good day’s work
In the end, whether we're swirling a glass of wine or sifting through river sediment, we're doing more than just drinking or searching. We're participating in a fuller, richer way of living.
And that, my friends, is the real treasure we're all seeking.
Cheers,
Diego
