Tales of a trip, a mince one might say, to places kind of far away, Costa Rica to Peru, discovering stuff and having runny poo...
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The drummer and mayores. These guys kept everything moving. As the young disoriented diabolitos faltered, of tried to lie down, or shied away from the bull, they would whip them with springy stickls, and send them back into the fray...
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Clau and Sra Geraldina, who put me up while I was in Bucaramanga.
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