You come upon one of those small towns of the wrongly-termed interior, where everyone knows each other and who go to places on foot or by bicycle. You’re used to the usual fury the big city engenders, and you land in a place where you breathe sobriety. You think: “In this town nothing happens.” But things start to feel unusual as you mingle with people who smile and walk unhurriedly, while you run taking in the landscape with your lens. Less than 24 hours to see everything, and that song rolling in your ears: “Longina” by Manuel Corona (1880-1950,) a son of this place. Longina seductress … Corona, of Caibarien.