An old woman was silently saying her prayers holding tightly to her rosary, while the baby was crying loud in the arms of her mother. We’re winding up to Alegria, through sweeping panoramas of lush green rice farms, and mountainsides with modest shacks. The villages with old colonial churches lie serene and sluggish in the valleys. From the tainted window of the van, I watched in nostalgia a series of black and brown sand beaches, fishing villages and lush green mountains slipping away.
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