Icasa Hills was one of the few frequent camp sites in town. The view was breathtaking, to be honest, and I could tell why people wanted to camp here. It was serene and quiet, far from the hustling and buzzing of cars and far from the chaos swirling in the city.
The sun had just gone down, and the tribe taking care of Icas Hills performed their dance to us, the men wearing their traditional underpants and barefooted. The women, on the other hand, gracefully danced with long batons. Both ends had fire. They were mesmerizing to watch, really. I had not realized my mouth hung open as they finished.
We all gave them a round of applause, others were whistling, obviously hyped up.
An old woman waved her hand, gesturing for us to sit on the ground, just like how the rest of their tribes were se
