I sit beneaththe starfruit tree in the Tortuga Booluda hostel in León, Nicaragua with some trepidation. A fruit has just plumeted a foot and a half away. I think soon I will cut off the smashed part and enjoy the crunchy, tasty rest of it. Tropical birds and pigeons call in the morning air, and I think of the events of yesterday as the sun rises. The air is still cool, and I have to go get a light blanket. However, as soon as the sun peeks out, I know the heat will join it. The turtles living in the nearby bucket are crawling around. The one flailing its arms to get out will find the helpful rock momentarily. It always does.
We decided to go to the beach yesterday, after remembering all the museums and things would be closed on Sunday. Though we have met many wonderful people and done exciting walking-around-town things, I would consider yesterday our first adventure. The sunscreen turned out to be very expensive, and once we left the store, we turned down a side street on accident. I didn't think we'd be walking through the local neighborhoods this trip because we didn't really have any reason, and heedless wandering is not necessarily what respectful travelers do. But we found ourselves there by accident. The buildings were painted vibrant colors, someone was having a tasty-smelling cookout, a couple rode by on a bike quite romantically, a healthy but skinny looking dog sniffed for scraps. Eventually we realized we were on the wrong road, and asked a man who made eye contact for directions, who smiled and called us friend as he pointed our way back. We walked by a hostel, and asked if we could use their baño. They said no, and we figured they were tired of people trying to take advantage of hospitality. There was one by the bus station, and Chris and the guys chatted about tattoos while I found relief. His Mayan one got a lot of street cred.
We chatted with a couple while the bus, an old school bus from US, arrived. The woman's nickname in Spain was Conch, like the shell. There, it is a beautiful name. Here, it carries sexual inuendos. It reminded me of the name of our hostel. Here, it translates to the Lazy Turtle. Everywhere else in Central America, it translates to the Asshole Turtle. So, uh, learning cultures and languages is really useful.
The bus came, and I was getting hungry. People selling food and drinks walked up and down the aisle with great timing. We bought a couple cheese empanadas, which we learned the people selling them tend to make many many many and sell them over a few days. They were delicious, and a little graham-crackery. We bought one for the man sitting next to us, who asked and who seemed quite friendly. Soon, though, we learned our folley. He made lewed comments about the woman who was standing right there, and treatened to stab anyone who talked crap about his country. We thought he was on some sort of pain killers because his foot was wrapped up, but the ride was disconcerting. We were glad when he got off the bus before our stop.
Everything was ok again when we carefully walked across the black, volcanic sand, and leaped into the warm and wonderful Pacific. The waves curled with majesty, and they did not care one bit. The ocean was going to be the ocean, and smash whoever got in its way. Respect. Or else.
Another starfruit fell.
We played and played and one extra big wave went through me like a netti pot. We decided it was french fry time, and went to find a treat. We wandered into a hacienda, where a couple of green parakeets hung around by the bags of chips. The people who owned the place greeted us with warmth that the ocean lacked (except in temperature) and we sat, and sipped soda, and watched some chickens wandering around. One of the owners came up to us with a magic trick math game. We wrote five numbers in a row, he guessed what the final sum would be, we wrote five more numbers, he wrote five numbers, we did five, and he did a final five. We added them up, and found that he had guessed the correct answer. We laughed and were amazed. I was especially glad to have added the numbers correctly because they sometimes float around too much. I've added a row of the same numbers several times before and gotten several different answers, with a calculator. So, careful with numbers. The family had never left their ocean-side home, and were quite happily living thwir lives. They were unaware of the big controversy of the proposed canal, which would cut across all of Nicaragua, and completely destroy the freshwater lake that I am wildly excited to visit within the next few months.
We went back out to watch the waves. On the way, a local made fun of me for taking a picture through the wall because there was a pile of droppings right there, and joked that I was taking a picture of shit. I felt a bit touristy, and we laughed about it, and I ended up with a pretty picture of some jungley town.
We watched kids roll down the sand, then bury each other. They were set on getting wonderfully dirty, and suceeded with pure joy. Then, before we felt ready, we wandered to catch the bus because it was Sunday and we wanted to get back to town in case the busses stopped early.
I was looking out the windew and said that I would absolutely love to stay in the town we paused in. Then we realized we were in León. Right on. On our way back to the hostel, we picked up a few lychee at the market, and ate them on the way. We saw a group of about fifty girls choreographing a dance for a celebration, and bought some delicious not-quite-ice-creams.
We decided on burrito concoctions for dinner and stopped at a tiny shop selling fruits and veggies. The owner's name was Alejandro Cabrera. He had some of the most beautiful paintings I had ever seen. Apparently he had been chosen by a university in the US to come teach local Nicaraguan ways of painting that have been passed down through generations. His personal original art was for sale, and his dream is to be able to make prints of his art to sell, in order to share his view of his country. He captured beauty that I also saw, but in such an intricate way. He captured the meaning of the moon, and all her magic.
Then he directed us down the street to get some totillas being sold on the corner by a couple of smiling women. Our meal was absolutley amazing. Its memory is making me salivate right now. I cannot put into words how tasty the locally grown food is, and how flavorful the perfect-textured tortillas made by the women who sold them were. All I can do is wish that experience upon anyone who might be hesitant to come here. At the same time, I am
We decided to go to the beach yesterday, after remembering all the museums and things would be closed on Sunday. Though we have met many wonderful people and done exciting walking-around-town things, I would consider yesterday our first adventure. The sunscreen turned out to be very expensive, and once we left the store, we turned down a side street on accident. I didn't think we'd be walking through the local neighborhoods this trip because we didn't really have any reason, and heedless wandering is not necessarily what respectful travelers do. But we found ourselves there by accident. The buildings were painted vibrant colors, someone was having a tasty-smelling cookout, a couple rode by on a bike quite romantically, a healthy but skinny looking dog sniffed for scraps. Eventually we realized we were on the wrong road, and asked a man who made eye contact for directions, who smiled and called us friend as he pointed our way back. We walked by a hostel, and asked if we could use their baño. They said no, and we figured they were tired of people trying to take advantage of hospitality. There was one by the bus station, and Chris and the guys chatted about tattoos while I found relief. His Mayan one got a lot of street cred.
We chatted with a couple while the bus, an old school bus from US, arrived. The woman's nickname in Spain was Conch, like the shell. There, it is a beautiful name. Here, it carries sexual inuendos. It reminded me of the name of our hostel. Here, it translates to the Lazy Turtle. Everywhere else in Central America, it translates to the Asshole Turtle. So, uh, learning cultures and languages is really useful.
The bus came, and I was getting hungry. People selling food and drinks walked up and down the aisle with great timing. We bought a couple cheese empanadas, which we learned the people selling them tend to make many many many and sell them over a few days. They were delicious, and a little graham-crackery. We bought one for the man sitting next to us, who asked and who seemed quite friendly. Soon, though, we learned our folley. He made lewed comments about the woman who was standing right there, and treatened to stab anyone who talked crap about his country. We thought he was on some sort of pain killers because his foot was wrapped up, but the ride was disconcerting. We were glad when he got off the bus before our stop.
Everything was ok again when we carefully walked across the black, volcanic sand, and leaped into the warm and wonderful Pacific. The waves curled with majesty, and they did not care one bit. The ocean was going to be the ocean, and smash whoever got in its way. Respect. Or else.
Another starfruit fell.
We played and played and one extra big wave went through me like a netti pot. We decided it was french fry time, and went to find a treat. We wandered into a hacienda, where a couple of green parakeets hung around by the bags of chips. The people who owned the place greeted us with warmth that the ocean lacked (except in temperature) and we sat, and sipped soda, and watched some chickens wandering around. One of the owners came up to us with a magic trick math game. We wrote five numbers in a row, he guessed what the final sum would be, we wrote five more numbers, he wrote five numbers, we did five, and he did a final five. We added them up, and found that he had guessed the correct answer. We laughed and were amazed. I was especially glad to have added the numbers correctly because they sometimes float around too much. I've added a row of the same numbers several times before and gotten several different answers, with a calculator. So, careful with numbers. The family had never left their ocean-side home, and were quite happily living thwir lives. They were unaware of the big controversy of the proposed canal, which would cut across all of Nicaragua, and completely destroy the freshwater lake that I am wildly excited to visit within the next few months.
We went back out to watch the waves. On the way, a local made fun of me for taking a picture through the wall because there was a pile of droppings right there, and joked that I was taking a picture of shit. I felt a bit touristy, and we laughed about it, and I ended up with a pretty picture of some jungley town.
We watched kids roll down the sand, then bury each other. They were set on getting wonderfully dirty, and suceeded with pure joy. Then, before we felt ready, we wandered to catch the bus because it was Sunday and we wanted to get back to town in case the busses stopped early.
I was looking out the windew and said that I would absolutely love to stay in the town we paused in. Then we realized we were in León. Right on. On our way back to the hostel, we picked up a few lychee at the market, and ate them on the way. We saw a group of about fifty girls choreographing a dance for a celebration, and bought some delicious not-quite-ice-creams.
We decided on burrito concoctions for dinner and stopped at a tiny shop selling fruits and veggies. The owner's name was Alejandro Cabrera. He had some of the most beautiful paintings I had ever seen. Apparently he had been chosen by a university in the US to come teach local Nicaraguan ways of painting that have been passed down through generations. His personal original art was for sale, and his dream is to be able to make prints of his art to sell, in order to share his view of his country. He captured beauty that I also saw, but in such an intricate way. He captured the meaning of the moon, and all her magic.
Then he directed us down the street to get some totillas being sold on the corner by a couple of smiling women. Our meal was absolutley amazing. Its memory is making me salivate right now. I cannot put into words how tasty the locally grown food is, and how flavorful the perfect-textured tortillas made by the women who sold them were. All I can do is wish that experience upon anyone who might be hesitant to come here. At the same time, I am