the airport. Motorcycles whip by through unbelievably narrow spaces
tapping their horns over & over to warn of their approach. Every 20
yards or so small groups of soaking wet people carrying heavy coolers
on straps over their shoulders and grasp giant clear plastic garbage
bags filled with Globos (really popular snack food here) in one hand
and rattling plastic water bottles in the other yell & sell their
goods to stopped cars on the highway. On one side of the road the
favellas sparkle up the side of the mountains and on the other the
side the water is filled with cranes, loading docks and oil rigs. I'm
glad to be headed home.
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