A bumpy highway winds through the eastern countryside in Colombia, spiraling up lush green hills and cutting across smooth yellow fields. Somewhere along this road from BogotÃ¡ to the Venezuelan border, sits a small village called BerlÃn. Most of BerlÃn’s thousand residents survive on growing and selling green onions. Given enough wind, the pungent aroma floods all corners of the village. Hours from any city of considerable size, BerlÃn maintains tradition through distance. For some folks, their entire existence lies in the blip along Highway 66.