Isla de Ometepe, Nicaragua We got a fresh start on December 1 out of San Juan del Sur, juiced up at Margarita’s restaurant and hopped on the chicken bus, like in the movies, right as it pulled out of town. We slumped into a sticky plastic seat and low and behold, our Japanese surfing friend was sitting across the aisle. ¨Hey! How have you been?¨ He asked. ¨Well….¨ We told him what happened during the twenty-four hours since we had last seen him. ¨Oh. I´m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Did they let you keep your memory card?¨ Somehow it´s so easy to cross between serious and comical and his comment was just enough to push us over into laughter. The memory was still too fresh in my mind and I flashed back to the terrifying moment the men advanced on us, covered their faces with their t-shirts, and flashed the foot-long butcher knives. ¨No, surprisingly they didn´t give us that option.¨ In Rivas we got off the bus in the middle of what I see as chaos, but is actually the open market. ¨¿Donde esta la iglesia?¨ The answer came in the form of “4 north, 2 east” which meant we responded by going in the direction where he pointed, and turning in the direction where he pointed. Once in front of the church we marveled at...Read More
Author: Guest Post
We have been lucky in many ways so far in Central America, the first being that my Costa Rican friend, Jorge, picked us up from the airport. I guess because I was raised in a small town, I noticed quickly how houses had fences around the properties securing them from the street and people passing outside. I couldn´t help but wish it didn´t have to be this way, though it led me to enjoy the feeling of discovery once inside my friends house even more. Other worlds existed behind the simple appearance from the street. The first morning, Jorge´s mother, Maria, took us to a park to see flora and fauna of Costa Rica. To get there we walked on the skinny shoulder of a main road where cars were driving from San Jose in to Heredia. “The Costa Ricans have pledged to take care of the wildlife here,” Maria said while cars zoomed by on the hot black road. It seemed to me that she was not afraid of anything. She continued the talk while dump trucks down shifted and pulled up the hill. We approached a bridge and the luxury of a sidewalk. Maria stopped us for a moment on the bridge and we looked below at a shack. All I could see was a rippled tin roof and other pieces of metal puzzled together,...Read More
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