I walked 30 minutes through tall weeds and sounds of howler monkeys. I had no idea when this path would end or when I would see signs of human life. Then I heard it. A car. An engine. Tires on rock. I wondered if it was the King of Ceviche coming back to warn me that this was a bad place or to let me know the word for scallops. The trail cleared almost instantly and an old Suzuki bounced past me and into the clearing. I could also see a small community bulletin board covered in wilted papers and colorful looking beetles, a large iguana resting peacefully in its shadow.

I walked in the direction of the car, pretending I knew exactly where I was going. A middle-aged man with no shirt or shoes hopped out of the car speaking in Hebrew, followed by a thin, tan, curly q’ed blonde woman in fade...

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