|
Cahuita, with its gravel and mud tracks, is similar to other coastal villages. Most live in numbered barrios along the highway. Blond and fair skinned like an archangel in a loose jumper, her tummy swells gently, a sweet salt dew on her upper lip. If I were a woman here, I’d want babies too. One of the pensive sisters who manage the café says they have come from Padua, home of St. Anthony. Their grandfathers play cards at a table in the empty bar. In the coastal jungle, macaws and howler monkeys evince nature’s epic disdain for human law and order. My carriage indistinguishable from that of other tourists.
Donald Wellman | Mudlark No. 34 |