It’s morning in Lisbon. I’ve just finished spooning grounds into the basket of a moka pot and am standing at the oven, click-click-clicking a lighter in a frantic race of flame against gas. Nearby, Sean is leaning out the window, hanging our clothes on the line.
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What’s the first thing you think of when I say Colombia? Cocaine? Pablo Escobar? Narcos? FARC? Terrorism? That’s fair. But what if I told you everything you thought you knew about the country is wrong?