We leave the fort and start walking along the fortifications that line the cliffs on the North shore. There are houses below there. The first thing we see is a colorful basketball court.
Used mostly by chickens at this time of the day.
In fact, it's an entirely different world down there. Can't think of another word than slums.
But again a schizophrenic version of slums. Abutted to the historic walls, with fabulous ocean views, half the houses have no roofs and no windows, but the cars are fine and cute dresses are drying in the warm wind. Everything is derelict, but the streets are clean. There are no kids running in the mud. In fact there are no kids at all.
The omnipresent satellite dishes are heavily rusted.
The signs hesitate between hand-written Feliz Navidad or Che (that one for Eric's collection) and advertisement banners for American beers (no doubt, a way to make a bit of money).
Can't remember his name, but this guy sure looks happy to see me...
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