Rastafari

Back home, there is few things that really annoy me. People pushing me in a crowded place and not apologizing. Being late and people who are late. Even if I must admit being late at all my meetings. It’s in my genes, I can’t fight it, it’s my Latin blood! I hate cold espresso, bicycling under the rain and also tomato sauce stain on a white blouse. Let’s not talk about guys in the street asking if I want to grab a drink with them. No. I don’t want to know you. I’m busy and you are scary. Leave. Me. Alone. Please.
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People of the mangrove

The weird look the gentleman gave me when I asked for a helmet with the scooter I just ranted him gave me a clue about how relaxed and chill people were on the island. No, you don’t need a helmet to drive here. No, you don’t need a driver license. But yes, you need strong arms and a dose of courage to ride on the bumpy roads. Said so, the path areso damaged and the scooter seemed so old that I never speeded more than  20 km/h in the end.
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