This morning I was standing in the supermarket when a single bead of sweat ran down my arm. This is a strange country. It smells of coffee, and vanilla, and poverty. Here, you can buy a cuppa for a dollar and receive coin change in denominations of 500. One dollar can buy a poor mans smile for a week. They smoke Cuban cigars and dip their nuts in chocolate - the shops are filled with shoes and handbags and cheap electronics while the kids run barefoot and ask anyone who cares for a dollar. If you listen closely, you will feel the call of the wild lands that surround it; a Toucans cry, or a sloth moving slowly through the leaves and the trees. Listen near, and you will hear the call of open arms, warm
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