feed to stay on top of the news. The place, the parish, was crowded, because there was the civil registry and the vicarage, it had permission to carry out these types of procedures, that is why it was a very important place, Dulce María Vázquez, director of the Municipal Archive of the city of Irapuato, told Milenio, a Spanish newspaper, in an interview on Monday.
A drought in the city of Guanajuato diminished water levels enough to expose the church, according to A report from The New York Post
“Oral history tells us that it was very difficult for them to leave the place, not just because of the buildings, but because of the sense of belonging to the place,” Vazquez told Milenio. “A few resisted until they saw it was already a reality that the water would arrive and cover the entire town.”
In hopes of garnering support and keeping the little girl’s memory alive, the family plans to buy candles and a cake to celebrate Dulce’s 7th birthday Sunday.
“I will not lose faith, and I hope to hear something from my granddaughter saying that she is okay, that she is going to arrive with us, the grandmother said.
Police are now offering ,000 as reward for any information leading the girl s whereabouts.
On the eve of the girl s birthday, on April 25, investigators announced their collaboration with the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children to develop an computerized image of what Dulce would look like today.
In hopes of garnering support and keeping the little girl’s memory alive, the family plans to buy candles and a cake to celebrate Dulce’s 7th birthday Sunday.
“I will not lose faith, and I hope to hear something from my granddaughter saying that she is okay, that she is going to arrive with us, the grandmother said.
Police are now offering ,000 as reward for any information leading the girl s whereabouts.
Ahead of the girl s birthday, investigators announced their collaboration with the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children to develop an computerized image of what Dulce would look like today.
Balconies in a house in front of the Capitolio. Havana (La Habana), Cuba
“Whew! Did you see that?” We’re driving to Havana and Debbie, my wife, is speaking. I’m sitting in the front seat of our taxi with Luis, the driver, who has just been explaining to me how Raul Castro’s daughter Mariela is in favour of “homofobia.” I endeavour to correct him: “Don’t you mean she’s against homophobia?” but he, bent on re-educating an unenlightened foreigner, insists “no, in favour of.” Luis, who has the conversational tic of poking me whenever he wants to make a point, is pro-Fidel (“he wants to help the poor”), but “homofobia” is a long word and, for a generation raised on Marxist polysyllables, easy enough to confuse with its antonym. “In favour of homophobia.” Fist in my thigh, and his eyes meet mine, as he scrutinizes my face for moral outrage. The highway is empty in the four-hour drive from Trinidad, we can’t have seen more than ten vehicles. But now