As we head west to the southern beach of Puntarenas, to take the ferry that should help us cross the sea in our way to Montezuma, and “Mal Pais” (well, that was the actual name, and actually, that’s where I broke my nail that aches like hell), we acknowledge big rain clouds climbing up in our horizon. Raziel, the driver, yells at us some kind of strange curse, like if he wanted to seal our fate in the tropical lighting storm ahead. It was a moment of silence. I look through the window, we’re drowning in the lane’s traffic; seems to me that the locals drive like in Mexico City (DF); either they do not have a clue, or they are faster than the furious.
Suddenly, Rubén (aka Sherman, and “Capitán Mala Copa“) stares at him and says: “I think we just had enough of you, Randalf… Storm Crow! Go back to the fiery hells that spawned you!”.
And I agreed.
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