Finding Stillness in Jardín: Rachel's Story from California

I came to Colombia looking for something I had lost. That sounds dramatic — and maybe it is — but after three years of teaching yoga in Los Angeles studios, building an online following, filming content, answering DMs, and turning wellness into a brand, I had drifted far from the thing that drew me to this practice in the first place: stillness.

My therapist suggested I travel somewhere without an agenda. No content calendar. No Instagram strategy. No "Top 10 Wellness Retreats" listicle research. Just go somewhere, be present, and see what happens. A friend who had traveled through Antioquia mentioned a small mountain town called Jardín — she described it as the kind of place that makes you forget you have a phone. That sounded exactly right.

The mountain air hits different

The moment I stepped off the bus in Jardín, I felt my shoulders drop about three inches. I did not know I had been carrying them that high. The air was cool and clean — not the dry chill of the California coast or the filtered air of a studio, but something alive and textured with moisture, earth, and the faint sweetness of flowering plants. I stood in the small terminal and just breathed for a minute, letting my nervous system recalibrate.

The ride up to Isla de Pascua hostel was short, and when I arrived, I understood immediately why my friend had been so insistent. The property is surrounded by green — not manicured, curated green, but wild, abundant, growing-in-every-direction green. Mountains rise on all sides, and the sounds are bird calls, wind through leaves, and the occasional distant voice from the valley below.

I checked in, set my bag down, and walked out to the garden. I sat cross-legged on the grass, closed my eyes, and for the first time in months, my mind went quiet without effort. No mantra needed. No guided meditation app. Just the mountain and me and the sound of the world being itself.

Morning practice with the mountains

I am an early riser by habit — years of 6 AM classes will do that to you — and the mornings at Isla de Pascua were revelatory. I woke before dawn on my first full day and walked out into the cool air. Mist hung in the valley like gauze, and the mountains were soft silhouettes against a sky that was slowly turning from indigo to gold. I rolled out my mat on the terrace and began my practice.

There is something about practicing yoga at altitude, surrounded by mountains, that changes the experience fundamentally. The air is thinner, so your breath becomes more intentional. The ground beneath you feels more present — you are on a mountainside, connected to something ancient and immense. And the silence is not empty but full — full of bird song, insects, the whisper of wind, the distant sound of water.

I moved through my usual vinyasa flow, but everything felt different. My sun salutations faced actual mountains turning gold with actual sunrise. My warrior poses had a backdrop of cloud forest stretching to the horizon. During savasana, I lay on my back and watched the clouds change shape above me, and I cried — not from sadness but from the simple, overwhelming experience of being present somewhere beautiful without trying to capture or monetize the moment.

The coffee ceremony

I have written about coffee on my wellness blog. I have reviewed adaptogenic mushroom coffees and ceremonial cacao and matcha sourced from single estates in Uji. But I had never experienced coffee the way I experienced it in Jardín.

On my second day, I joined a coffee farm tour at one of the fincas outside town. The farmer — a third-generation cafetero — walked us through every stage of the process, from the cherry on the tree to the cup in our hands. He spoke about the soil, the altitude, the shade trees, the relationship between the coffee plant and the cloud forest ecosystem. It was not a sales pitch. It was a love story.

When we finally tasted the coffee — freshly roasted, ground by hand, brewed simply in a cloth filter — it was unlike anything I had ever drunk. The flavor was clean and complex, with notes of citrus and chocolate and something floral that I could not name. I drank it slowly, standing on the hillside with the valley stretching out below, and I felt a kind of connection to place that no supplement or superfood has ever given me.

Back at the hostel, I started each morning with a cup of locally grown coffee on the terrace. No oat milk. No sweetener. Just coffee, mountain air, and the slow process of waking up without urgency. It became a ritual more nourishing than any wellness protocol I have ever designed.

Walking as meditation

Jardín is a place that rewards slow walking. The town is small enough to cover on foot in an hour, but I spent entire afternoons wandering the streets around the plaza, noticing things. The texture of cobblestones under my sandals. The sound of a rocking chair on a wooden balcony. The smell of fresh bread from a bakery whose door was open to the street. The feel of warm afternoon sun on my face, followed by the cool shadow of a colonial arcade.

I walked without destination, which is something I almost never do at home. In Los Angeles, every walk has a purpose — to the studio, to the juice bar, to a meeting. Here, I walked simply to walk, to feel my body moving through space, to practice the kind of mindful movement that I teach but rarely give myself permission to experience.

The Basilica became a touchstone for my walks. I would circle back to the plaza at different times of day, sit on one of the painted chairs, and simply observe. The church is genuinely moving — there is a quality of devotion in its hand-carved stone that transcends any specific religion. Someone built this with profound intention, and that intention is still palpable.

What the mountains teach

On my last morning, I sat on the hostel terrace one final time with my journal. I had barely written during my three days in Jardín — another first — but I wanted to capture something before I left. I wrote one sentence: "The mountains do not try to be mountains."

That is what Jardín taught me. The wellness industry — my industry — is full of effort. Trying to be calmer, healthier, more aligned, more centered. But Jardín just is. The mountains do not try to be magnificent. The coffee does not try to be nourishing. The morning light does not try to be beautiful. They simply exist in their fullness, and you either show up to receive it or you do not.

I came to Jardín for three nights. I left with something I had been seeking for three years — the experience of wellness that has nothing to do with wellness as a brand and everything to do with being a human body in a beautiful place, breathing clean air, drinking good coffee, and watching the sun set behind mountains that have been standing there for millions of years.

I have not posted about it on Instagram. Some things are too real for a grid.

Rachel Kim is a yoga teacher and wellness writer based in Los Angeles, California. She stayed at Isla de Pascua hostel in June 2025.