In twelve hours, the armed guard at the front of the bus turned to look at us twice. On departure he gave us a grim look, Uzi at rest across his thighs. Morning became afternoon. The second time, he turned to motion us off the bus to relieve ourselves in the bushes. He didn’t bother to turn his back then. The distant blue-green mountains became dusky blue foothills then rocks around us in the black night. Swirls of fog chased us. The dark was split open when we arrived at the hostel. Protesters shouted, klieg lights strobed and an effigy burned.