You step out into warm, salty air, and a car radio spills music into the street. A plate lands on your table before you finish asking, and the stranger beside you explains which coast road to take. Mountains stand behind the beaches, and each town you pass keeps its own plaza, its own jokes and its own way of frying things.
The weather is tropical, with rainy months and a drier season, and sea breezes along the coast. Mornings suit the shore, afternoons suit shade. A Local Friend walks beside you instead of ahead, pointing out the turn-off and the table with a spare chair.
