The enthusiastic voice on the phone gave us directions the way people in many parts of Latin America do: “Go past the flower market,” she instructed, as we slowly drove down a street lined with stalls full of buckets of roses, daisies and sunflowers. Once we turned right, then left, then left again at the freshly plastered concrete wall, we would find the unpaved road, she said. “The house at the end of that road, that’s us.”
We arrived at Viole…