Strange structures seem to dance, witch-like, as we drive into Aguas Dulces. They turn out to be paja (straw), the local equivalent of quincho. However, here they also use paja in walls as well as roofs.
Starting my walk around town, I notice what must have once been a map but appears to have evolved into an existential statement:
A house that survived, inexplicably, the storm that destroyed so many others. I remembered this one being in much worse shape, and indeed: compare with the picture in the previous post. Somebody’s been busy!
Lovely afternoon light. There’s a cat in the picture, and several more nearby.
Next morning, an amazing breakfast in an amazing setting. The onshore wind blows back the top of the waves. The face of the farthest break is at least two meters high.
Funky beach, funky houses.
¡Hasta luego, Aguas Dulces!