They were two minutes, nothing special, routine sequence and in that corner of the world passed the reality of make-up before our eyes. There is something hypnotic sway of people, the bustle with which Africa desnorta, aimlessly, without further horizons than a president less corrupt than the previous, a rainy season more lenient

Only the sound of the rain and river flow break the silence of a people without vehicles. I missed the only street of El Castillo, trying to absorb that atmosphere of fishermen asylees in the confines of the jungle. People seemed happy.

Little Diomede Island has a habit of punishing the visiting, is usually a bad mood, with twisted gesture on ice, polar winds puffing claiming his desire to be alone, lost to follow one of the corners of the world.