At the foot of the volcano, as night begins to fall, I crunch down a wooded lane strewn with twigs and leaves. Bearing a wedge of cheese and a bottle of wine, I push through a gate. I was invited to come by for a drink, and in the absence of further instruction ("See you tomorrow in the little wooden house!"), I’ve simply turned up.

I find my hosts standing around a glossy brown stallion. Volcán, Panama is that kind of town… perfect for European expats Laurence and Olivier Prouvost, whose young daughter adores horses. (No shortage of them here.)

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