It's a nasty stretch of road at the best of times; narrow, winding, a steep drop on one side, sheer rock on the other and as busy as any other rural stretch of the Panamerican highway. One day, some years ago, a man lost his wife (and family, depending on reports) there to a nasty accident. Thereafter, he stood a lonely vigil at this spot, either under the tree or on the other side by the rocks.
He and his story seemed to be quite well known, I heard about him from several sources and took to keeping an eye out for him whenever I took a trip to Santiago. I often wondered that he was never picked up and treated or, perhaps more likely, locked away.
Once, I stopped and gave him some food, after I'd been told that many do. He looked at me blankly, his face grimy and hair lank.
I was away for several years and then, on my return, he wasn't there. Someone told me he'd died.
Some part of me grieved with him, now that part grieves for him. Wherever he is, I hope he's found peace.
Very moving story to go with your image.