you walk down the low-hanging bridge , gingerly at first , avoiding the pellets , and slowly take in the view you see the river flowing beneath your feet through the gaps in the wooden planks - fast , sure and perennial ; you see the terraced hills on the opposite bank with houses and people and goats peppering them with random , moving colors , and far away , in the middle of a v formed by the sloping faces of four mountains , you see a thin , white waterfall , the waters of which empty into the river right near the bridge forming a large , alluvial fan in the sand .