So after watching for a while to see what you were supposed to do I walked in to find a pareja and dance, and for the first couple seconds it just felt the way dancing normally feels for me, like an unpleasant obligation that never would have been invented if everyone in the world were me. But this time was different: I caused a panic. When the local girls saw me walking toward the big group of dancers they said "El gringo, el gringo" in high squeaky voices and scooted away en masse. I tried twice with the same result, so then I thought, Hey, now this is mighty fine, I've just gotten myself a gold-plated Get Out of Dancing Free card, I can't be expected dance if everyone's afraid of me, now can I?
The latest dispatch from Andrew, this one written while he was home for three weeks.
Photo above is of the former airstrip he talks about in the dispatch. Click on the following links to see the chicken heads. (Warning: not for the overly squeamish)
