Marco, Hazel, and I left Trujillo in a clound of dust which is to say that we were following a bus on the rough gravel road that was constructed to bypass the bridge that was washed out. This way was better than the ferry from hell but not by much. We drove into the cloud for twenty kilometers before we knew for sure that we were following a bus. It could have been, a truck, a bus, the tasmanian devil, or a portal into the twilight zone for all we knew because we couldnt see more than 20 feet into the storm. We eventually broke into the clear and reached pavement at a crossroads where we parted company. They would proceed from here to Tacoa where they would begin the first leg of their journey into
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