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Traveling with friends will always be considered one of the greatest pleasures of life. All the experiences that arise in that travel are relived every time you see each other, inciting a conversation that brings back old memories, feeling every second of them in the flesh. "Remember the time when we..." is the phrase that overtures a series of acts that have transcended in oneself, including what may have been the final act. It was March 2018. A friend of mine was getting married in Costa Rica. She had invited all of her friends from Mexico. Some of us knew each other, and made a little group of 8 people, looking to have an amazing experience in Costa Rica. We started planning activities for every day of our side-trip after the wedding, and, naturally, we needed transportation, so we included a road trip to our plan. Suddenly, I was driving through the unknown highways of Costa Rica with 7 other friends, following a GPS and our hunches to get to the different parts of the country. Several times we found ourselves gazing at flocks of rainbow-colored birds soaring above us; or packs of monkeys swinging through the trees in the jungle that covered the highway; the sun fading in the west behind the cottoned clouds over the sea, blue as far as the eye could tell. Sadly, every journey must end, and on the final day we hopped in the van, selected our destination and took off. The ambient on the van was relaxed. Night fell upon us after 3 hours on the road, which had been full of laughter and stories about our trip. Then we came across a sign that read "Braulio Carrillo National Park". I did not know how far was San José, but, according to the GPS, we were on the right track. Unexpectedly, through the windshield, visibility started to fade. Light coming from the vehicles and the light posts crept back into nature, from where a white fog came and filled the emptiness that light had left. My focus on the road housed a concern that grew bigger every second, which started to spread to everyone on the van. Silence fell upon us. My seat was a 45 degree angle, my friends looked outside the windows, but all our intentions to look outside of the van in any direction were in vain. There were 3 lanes: 1 to go, 1 to return, and the one in the middle altered simultaneously after some distance, which made the road a true enigma. Driving at 20 km per hour, we did nothing but dive deeper into the problem, hoping that it wouldn't last so long. After 30 minutes, fog started to disappear, so we started to feel relieved. But it was too soon. Fog came back again, and this time we started to go uphill, where we could expect nothing but more fog. Rampant cars and trucks passed right next to us, fearing that one of them may skid and crash directly into us. At some point, we started going downhill. Then, out of nowhere, we saw a huge mountain in front of us, which through it a light-filled tunnel was dug. People always talk about "the light at the end of the tunnel", but, to us, the tunnel was light. Foolish of us not to think that white darkness was still at the other end. As we emerged from the tunnel, we dove again into a never-ending fog that sunk us in a hopeless sea of despair. There was nothing for us to do but to keep driving. Time passed on, and fog was still there, shrouding every glance that we could take. But it seems that that same fog had mercy on us, as it left a tiny little space where a sign could be read: "Welcome to San José". We could see some cars on the distance, the white lines on the street became visible once more. Fog was emptying, giving its way back to light, which, humiliated, and, thus, reluctantly, started to fill the landscape again, even so that we saw another tunnel. This time, at its end, there was also light.