The Best Way to Cure a Hangover

I knew, stated, and confirmed that I would come back to Xela one day. As much as it was predictable that such thing would happen in the span of July, my last month in Guatemala, I had no idea it would be only after three weeks of living in San Juan.

Las Fuentes Georginas

Dreams do come true, I tell you! After only commenting on a picture of beautiful Las Fuentes Georginas (quote-in-quote “WHERE IS THIS PLACE?!”), Marina, my friend who decided to share this NGO internship in Guatemala experience with me, had her way to convince us to spend a day in this gorgeous natural spa. It just so happened to be the weekend of my recently acquired friends’ birthday, and guess what? He lives and throws parties in Xela exactly. We packed our backpacks lightly, put away some money for champagne and Quetzalteca (local white rum that has an image of traditionally dressed Guatemalan woman as a logo), made sure our swimsuits are ready and took the infamous chicken bus to Xela (Quetzaltenango).

Quetzalteca

The problem was, the drivers here just want to pack anyone and everyone inside their vehicles, so instead of explaining to us we’re boarding a bus to Guatemala not Xela, they just rushed us in and assured everything’s going to be alright.

Except it wasn’t.

Instead of just sitting uncomfortably for 3 hours, we ended up hanging out on the side of a “highway” not of out of our own choice and changing buses 3 times before we got where we were supposed to be. Then I realized I don’t know the city as well as I though I did, and we walked forever before reaching our very first and very important stop: Xela Pan. Now, literally it just translates to Xela’s bread, but goodness! This bakery offers quality pastries (real éclairs!) for half a dollar. I’m sort of glad I had to move to San Juan – otherwise I might have ended up twice as heavy as I usually am.
Two of us split three of those delicious, creamy mood-lifters, and partied the rest of the afternoon and night away. In the rhythm of salsa, of course!

The very foggy spa

The next day started with a perfect (but scary, since it was incredibly foggy) 20min drive to the Hot Springs, followed by very hangover-friendly relaxation. The weather might not have been the most desired, but feeling the cold rain on our faces while soaking the rest of our bodies in comforting hot water felt incredibly freeing. It very well might have been the first time ever since we started interning that no one thought about work, at least for an hour or two.  With all the skin hydration and wrinkly fingers, we ate tortillas like one should in Guatemala and drove back, a little less tense about the road and actually… anything else, really.

Too bad that on our way back, all the relaxation faded away as soon as we heard “Buses to San Pedro don’t run on Sundays”. Perfect. Three bus-switches later, we just went for a tuk-tuk (aka rickshaw) lift and fell onto our respective beds. Sleeping after that weekend was even more delicious than the Xela Pan éclairs. Especially because I most surely dreamt of them.

Tip-Toeing To The Tire Turtle

It all started two weeks ago. Actually, the ‘mother project’ has been executed several months before, but the hatching of our turtle could be traced back to the first trip to a dump.

Santa Clara dump

Yes, a dump. We (the Rising Minds team) were to construct a playground for very young Guatemalan kids, and we were to do it in a sustainable, cheap, and empowering way. Inspired by endeavors like the “enTIREly fun playgrounds”, we set off into the tangled roads up the mountains and did a little pinchazo (a sort of tire/car parts shop) orientation. In the towns of Santa Clara, San Juan, and surroundings there were quite a few of those ‘shops’ and with equally clueless expressions, their owners promised to let us take their… trash. All we needed were used useless tires that didn’t have any metal stringy parts sticking out of them. Lesson #1: tires have metal in them. Not always, but when they do, they’re not the safest playground building material. And no worries, we figured that way before anyone got hurt.
So with the good word, we counted 22 promised tires and went back home, very satisfied, and very excited to confirm our sandbox/turtle design.

Things in Guatemala run slightly differently than they do in, let’s say, US. That’s the sole reason why the next day we ended up with only 15 out of those 22 promised tires on top of a Rising Minds’ friends’ van. That did not seem like enough, so decisions had to be made: with very adventurous hearts the three of us (plus the dedicated young son of the driver) slid down the slope and into the Sana Clara dump. We knew there were recently-thrown-away tires there, and all our hopes seemed to lay in there too. A rather questionably hygienic hour later, we had 6 tires more, very dirty hands, and sweaty foreheads. Us rolling the tires up the hill was excruciatingly similar to Sisyphus’ work, and believe me, that comparison was not motivating. But it didn’t matter. Mission accomplished!

It took two more weeks of waiting for the rains to go away and for my co-worker’s engineer dad to come, but we were more than ready and extremely excited to get the actual job done. Upon our arrival in the village of Panyebar, where we were constructing, 11 mothers were waiting for instructions with their kids wrapped in blankets around their backs, and hoes in their hands.

Empowerment: Mothers of Panyebar working on a playground for their kids

It was all work in progress that we needed to figure out as we went: trials and errors, realizations about tire structure (they’re very flexible and not that easy to put a screw in, as the rubber closes on you before you put a bolt through), and capacity/reality checks. Those are just details, though. We got on the job without a blink and finished the same day despite some lags revolving around the lack of washers that would prevent bolts and screws from pulling through the tires.

For stability, we stacked 4 tires on top of each other as the main turtle body part, constructed two-tired legs/shell parts around it, and put two tires half way into the ground to make up for the neck and tail, which brought about a wave of laughs amongst the mothers, as our sometimes-poor Spanish skills made us confuse ‘tail’ with ‘butt’. Cheerful.

The head was a whole new project altogether, and with a limited battery power tools, we had to fight for the eyes to be done out of separate tires rather than painted on. It might have been challenging for two college girls dealing with slim tuk-tuk tires, but the effect was well… well worth it:

Our soon-to-come-to-life Turtle

We came back the next day to paint the playground and make sure the turtle comes to life. Even though the sun there was striking hot the entire day, we still managed to convince the kids to put the play off for one more day to allow it to dry, but I must say, I was curious and excited myself to see them climb the turtle and give it a good endurance test. We’re back there Wednesday, so nothing missed. For now we’ve just decided to stay in the office and stare at our screens, this time decorated with the bright green TURTLE pictures.

THE TURTLE: Recycled Tire Playground

More photos of the process HERE.

Round and round the San Juan Eye

The San Juan fair Ferris Wheel

At the very moment I live in San Juan la Laguna, a small purely Guatemalan town on the shore of Lake Atitlan. It’s 10min and 10 Quetzales (local currency) away from another small Guatemalan town – San Pedro – which is filled with global citizens, vagabonds, temporary explorers, Spanish students, and other sorts of blondes on the go. The dynamics, frankly, are quite amusing – going from one corner (Mashroom? Something special?) to another (fried plaintain, huipiles – traditional clothing, and the sound of a woman’s hands clapping tortillas) might be a surprisingly long trip, as almost no one makes it to San Juan from San Pedro.

Well I did, and what a treat it is! I’m not going to praise the wonders of homestays abroad just yet, but my lovely summer-2012-family made sure I squeeze some local fair amusement into my already busy schedule.

As we were leaving the house, Arly, my recent little host-sister, grabbed my arm knowing very well that once we enter the crowds, there will be nothing else. I stumped awkwardly, rising above everyone else (5’9’’ never felt that tall), falling over my own ankle-long skirt. But there we were, in the center of action, arm in arm with every single citizen of San Juan and surrounding pueblos, passing stalls of hot pizza and getting dangerously close to the rueda. Rueda is a Ferris Wheel. Just like the London Eye, only that the San Juan Eye is not so large and fancy, but made of put together PVC pipes and flickering Christmas-like lights. It’s large enough to require a certain amount of life-risking leanings for someone to try out this (un)stable entertainment, though.

“Which one are you going for?” asked my host mom with a slightly crazed look, catching onto Arly’s hand. There were two Eyes, the small one completely shadowed (both literally and metaphorically) by the Big Eye. I said Big. I wasn’t sure why. I only figured that since I’ll live here for a total of 6 weeks, I should sooner or later face this attraction.

With Arly and her older (not at all amused) brother Allan, we bought tickets ($0.75 each – all you need to risk your life and any recent meals) and stepped onto the trembling steps of the bizarre construction. It started moving and swinging us slowly, barely reaching the top of the circle. I thought “Well, that was fun, nice view of the surrounding areas, too shaky to let go of the securing bar and take out my camera, but still worth the 5Q.” I smiled at my little host sister, feeling like the real protector (it was her first time on the Big wheel too), and completely froze as we started speeding up without a warning. It made my stomachs shift around. I couldn’t count how many times we made the top, neither how many more screams I’ve heard. I kept looking to the side, half watching out for the little girl, half avoiding looking front (and much worse – down!) and full avoiding thinking of the fragility of the Big Eye. Then it slowed down. Along with my heartbeat, my breath, and mortal thoughts.

I smiled, made a barely correct comment in Spanish to Arly, and she only replied “Y ahora atras!”. What? As in… back? How… back? Back? No, back. No!
But it happened. We gained speed and started all over again, only in reverse. I thanked God and my Host Mom in my mind for putting dinner off for later. My fingers clinging onto the seat, my skirt flying up (how, oh how, could have I predicted that?), I leaned back and looked for the tad of enjoyment I must have been getting out of it, but found only shaky limbs. How is this happening to me, me who last year desperately (hence successfully) wanted to find a bungee jumping spot in the middle of Warsaw, in Poland?

I still smiled away, keeping the Big Sister authority untouched – we were finally done. Without a second look back, we left and headed straight to one of the street pizza stalls, where I had to remind everyone around that vegetarians do not eat ham by giving out tiny slices to the family members. Sharing is caring, huh? As long as I don’t have to share any more seats on a random Ferris Wheel in an unknown country.

Show me your chicken

Lake Atitlan

There is no travelling through Latin America without any “slightly shocking” bus rides. It’s not even exclusive to the Americas – those little local buses run around the whole developing world. Once you board a converted-yellow-US-school-bus you’ll know what I mean when I say these are special. To my own surprise I boarded the first ‘local’ bus in Guatemala only a few days ago. What a ride!

Oh, it’s quite important to mention they’re called chicken buses, at least here in Central America. Of course, there’s a very good reason for that. I wish I had a picture that expresses more than a 1,000 words, but I missed my best-ever opportunity. Seating in the third row on the left, I peaked over my book (you can’t really read on such bumpy roads) and saw a… chicken peaking over a hole in its card box. I swear we even made eye contact.

I dropped it fast and turned to search for my camera, but those lovely chicken buses have so little leg space, that my backpack was impossible to pull up from under my knees without doing some serious yoga on the spot. And I’m not able to do that. So it took me a good five minutes, and trying to be secretive and technologically-culturally sensitive, I directed the lens at the box and… the chicken was gone! It hid inside, getting more bored than curious over (I guess) a usual view. My once in a lifetime opportunity was gone forever i.e. until the next such ride.
“Show me your chicken” I kept thinking while peaking over every minute and a half, before I realized my English phrasing might get really awkward sometimes, whether only in my thoughts or documented on my blog. Either way, the charm didn’t work.

I was absolutely disappointed in myself and the missed opportunity, but the rather foggy window provided me with enough entertainment instead. Soon enough I saw the beautiful spread of Lake Atitlan in front of me, and just as I was about to gasp and smile to myself we turned around yet another corner and a few wildly posed excavators were feeding on a nearby hill. So much for the hopeful, breathtaking views.

It did turn a little nicer and more positive when I noticed two grown men playing with a ball on a gas station by the road. It wasn’t even a soccer ball or anything of the more-professional sort, no. It was a simple, small, rubber ball like the first one you ever got as a 4-year-old child. They seemed happy. Adorable, truly.

Then I felt the guy’s next to me head falling heavily onto my shoulder. He was fast asleep, thank heavens he wasn’t snoring, and I tried really subtly to move away in the little space I had to coordinate within, but I wasn’t as successful as I wished. I quickly remember that one time I fell asleep on an unknown Indian man’s shoulder traveling back in high school after an all-nighter at a train station. Funnily, I had a group of friends with me who instead of waking me up thought it would be hilarious to see my face once I wake up and realize what’s happening. This Guatemalan guy to my right had no friends there to either wake him up or laugh at him soon after – he was forgiven and, frankly, ignored.

Falling from one hill onto another, I let myself enjoy the beauty of this overtly-cheap and questionably-safe, unpredicted rollercoaster ride. Highly recommended (but not for your nerves).

¡No eres gringa!

Parque el Calvario, Xela, Guatemala

Assimilation is not that difficult. Proficiency in Spanish helps indescribably, but more than that it’s the people around. I’ve been constantly impressed by their willingness to teach, learn, exchange, and have fun with us foreigners. It doesn’t matter whether you’re in the city of Xela for a week or three months – they will treat you like a great friend after a mere introduction and make sure your impressions of Guatemala stay positive as you leave. They sneakily plant in you a craving to come back, too. I’ve barely arrived, but am already falling for Guatemala and Xela itself, and am seriously wondering… “when will I come back here?”
Now, from someone who wants to visit a new country each time she leaves her home – wherever it might be at the time – it’s a huge compliment. A huge mystery, too. The vibe here seems clinging and drawing you in, the community appears so small and so available, but at the same time so diverse and dynamic. No wonder people genuinely want to be a part of it.

I arrived on Wednesday, and within a few hours I was enjoying the stories from other students sharing their much-longer-term impressions of the city with me over a cup of hot chocolate. During a salsa class I met a guy who had a Polish friend, and of course I insisted he introduces us, so my Saturday night was set. On a Friday, a few of my fellow students were sharing home-made pizza, so I joined eagerly only to make a lot of friends from all over Guatemala studying in Xela, who showed me both the local cantinas (small, local sort of “bars’), and hidden art galleries and museums. One of my self-proclaimed guides went as far as to say I’m not even a gringa.
“Your Spanish is good, and you’re not from the States!”
As weird as that statement was, and as much as I disagreed with it, his words still made me feel a little proud of myself. I will never be taken for a local, but if someone who gets to know me can at least see past my tourist self, I’ll take it.

As soon as I’m satisfied with my situation and network development, I have to leave. That experience, however, definitely makes me much less anxious about being in San Pedro for 6 weeks. I know that I will find other ‘vagabonds’, and soon enough my dear Brazilian friend will join me in the effort of gaining job experience and having a successfully relaxing and fun summer.

After seeing the loveliness of the Guatemalan life (especially on a Sunday, where all businesses besides those selling ice-cream and street snacks close, and whole families stay on playgrounds with their overtly energetic, smiley children) I can’t wait for more!
With a single kiss on a cheek for both a hello and a goodbye, I’m leaving Xela.

The mysteries of merging cultures

Once upon a time the Mayans lived in peace. They led their lives uninterrupted planting corn, weaving beautiful fabrics, and following their rituals without the slightest awareness of Christianity or the Spaniards. As we all know, it changed substantially, and right now, what you can see in Guatemala is an amusing mixture of the ancient with the modern.

Yesterday, as the only student at my Spanish school signed up for an afternoon activity (oh, I would), I went with my teacher to the village named Zunil, in the mountains of Guatemala. It’s small, busy, colorful, very agricultural, and for a reason I don’t know full of vulture birds. It struck me, as in between the sights of traditionally dressed women caring baskets full of produce on their heads, I faced big, black birds with ugly faces covered in what reminded me of gray Halloween masks. It wasn’t the main attraction, though. Zunil is famous for its image of San Simon.

I was told beforehand that it’s some sort of a statue of a powerful saint who can solve your problems after an appropriate prayer or “sacrifice” like a lit candle and 5 Quetzales (half a dollar).  Oh how surprised I was when I laid my eyes on a wooden, dressed-up doll.

Let me start from the beginning. The image is in one of the local houses, just a bare, gray, concrete room. Inside, there were a few indigenous women sitting on chairs by the left wall, busy with what I assume were some domestic tasks. Seeing me, one of them jumped to collect the entrance fee, and with a valuable piece of paper in her hand went back to whatever she was doing. I looked at the saint. He was on a pedestal, situated in a chair faced by a chorus of tall, lit candles and some flowers. His face was covered half by a cowboy hat, and half by modern-looking sunglasses. He was wearing a mouth covering black bandana too. I turned to my teacher trying to voicelessly ask… something, when I smelled a cigarette. It was stuck in San Simon’s face. Then I noticed there’s a liquor bottle on the floor, too. Well, I guess a man wearing a suit jacket, ironed black pants, and shiny shoes (not mentioning the shininess of whatever was visible of his face) needs to have some fun. What was even more interesting, was the towel in the colors of the American flag wrapped around his shoulders, black winter gloves covering his palms, and the silver chain with several rings on it hanging down his chest. Oh, I almost forgot about the donation basket in his lap.

Can’t picture it yet? Let me help you with that:

(photo credit goes to: http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ang_kenny/1/1268697726/tpod.html#pbrowser/ang_kenny/1/1268697726/filename=san-simon-effigy-in-zunil.jpg)

I was astonished. As someone who was raised catholic, I am used to praising shrines and statues, but this one was so different, it took me a while to wrap my head around it. He’s considered powerful. The young ask him for love. The brave for a successful journey to the US (I guess that’s why the towel-flag). The sick for health. The helpless for inspiration and confidence. I must say it was an experience. An experience with a lot of religious perspective.

Droplets of chocolate

Guatemalan hot chocolate

I can’t just simply walk by a place that has something to do with chocolate.

There are many, many reasons why I keep coming back to Latin America, but I just realized that there always is a chocolateria or a chocolate museum in the big city. I never fail to have a look, and most of the time a taste too. This past Wednesday, I reached an epiphany through following my language school’s effort of gringo enculturation: a trip to a chocolateria.

Before my mouth starts watering at the thought of it, I’ll get you started on your chocolate education:
Basics, essentials, and everything that’s good for you:
– Chocolate makes you feel better – its natural antidepressant (tryptophan) helps your body create serotonin
– Chocolate is an aphrodisiac – chemicals found in cacao (like theobromine) act as mild sexual stimulants
– Chocolate is good for your heart – it contains high quality anti-oxidants that have anticanceric properties and can protect you from heart diseases
Fun facts:
– 875,000 chocolate chips would provide you with enough energy to walk… around the world!
– Having chocolate melt in your mouth increases your brain activity and heart rate more intensely than passionate kissing. And guess what – it lasts four times longer
– Chocolate causing acne is a popular belief, but… it’s a myth.
Cultural bits and pieces:
– For every chocolate bar consumed by the Chinese, the British eat 1,000. Yes, a 1,000!
– 1 in every 200 workers in Belgium is involved in the chocolate industry
– ~61% of cocoa beans used for world’s chocolate production come from Africa
(all of these facts were reproduced from Choco Museo’s exhibition boards in Granada, Nicaragua)

And while Guatemala produces barely 1% of chocolate out there, it really is worth trying. During our relatively short visit in the museum/shop, we watched a documentary about cocoa’s history, and ate three desserts each. Before we calmed down from the excitement brought by chocolate dipped fruit, a chocolate-infused yoghurt was served, then as a break each of us got a block of cocoa paste to play with (a.k.a. ‘design your own chocolate bar’), and to top it off, everyone drank a glass of delicious, genuine, organic hot chocolate. All of it for under $3.

As the chocolateria owner Doña Pancha told us, 50g of chocolate a day in any form (maybe besides the added fat and sugar) can lead you through a healthy, strong, and delicious life. So treat yourself, you have all the excuses you’ll ever need.

A no-longer-blonde adventure

Guatemala City Central Park

Every now and then I have an urge to do something to my hair. Whether it’s going bald (almost for a cause) or an amateur asymmetrical cut, it never seems to surprise my friends. So I went ginger for a change, and with that, I went to Guatemala.

As a lonely, vulnerable woman, I pulled each and every single string I could to connect with friends, and friends of friends, and their friends, so my loneliness wouldn’t last longer than my flight.  And it worked! Upon my arrival to Guatemala City a smile (familiar only from facebook), greeted me from across the little gate. My enthusiasm confused several taxi drivers who almost got a client – or so they thought – and I rushed with two backpacks (one front, one back) to meet my temporary host.

The capital was only a short stop for me, however nice, because I ambitiously decided to do more studying just after finishing the semester at college. Spanish School, here I come! After all, that’s one of the things gringos believe Guatemala is famous for. So after two full days of relaxing, I got escorted to a bus stop at 5.30am and… left alone. Predicted, prepared for, and not so new to me. But it always strikes.

I had a lot of time to observe. And as much as I am used to vendors entering the bus at every stop and pitching their product in extremely fast Spanish, I never realized how invisible I could be. It’s always the foreigners who get the most (oftentimes unwanted) attention, but for these salesmen we’re good only to be overlooked. Soon enough, I realized that without me expressing active interest, they will assume I know no Spanish, have no idea about their ways, and am no potential customer. I might have been slightly hungry by then, but being ignored never felt as comfortable.

So I reached my destination, chit-chatted with a rather bored, customer-less taxi driver, decided I shall use no English from now on, and knocked heavily on the school’s door. Barely a formality.

Now, with my own room in a Guatemalan house, an actual local phone number, improved Spanish, and no-longer-blonde hair, I almost feel like a native. Maybe I can cross “sign up for couchsurfing!” off of my TO-DO list.

Volcanoes’ strong winds.

The deck was filled with deliciously swirling breeze, the boat rocked from one side to the other like a baby’s cradle, and the view of what was in front stunned each and every one of us. We were on our way to Isla de Ometepe, curious and beautiful destination with two spiky (and active!) volcanoes reaching up, and dense greenery strechng all the way to the island’s very shore. Since we managed to meet up with three friends from Brandeis (oh the powerful randomness and charm of social networks!), the dynamics of the newly formed group changed dramatically and all the new excitement and planning came into the picture. We all climbed on the second, not really passenger-friendly floor of the lancha and getting comfrotable amongst all the backpacks and unidentified metal pipes, we started to visualise ourselves climbing up one of those steep slopes. It wasn’t long before everything started rolling around, almost off the unguarded edges, and the peaceful atmosphere changed into ‘hold onto whatever you can!’ circus. It was an angry lake we had to pass through, but we had a lovely companionship along the way.

‘Ha! Didn’t exptect to see you guys again!’ I heard Matt say and saw that the next two tourists climbing up the ladder were the Québécois (?) couple that we had already met in Esteli, and twice in Leon. There’s nothing like making friends so we all joined our efforts and along with another two sisters from NYC, we all got ripped off by monopolized taxis in the darkness of the shore’s scary hour. 6pm to be precise. And the hostels we had in mind were all overbooked, so we had to stick with the drivers and let them take us SOMEWHERE where there’ll be 9 beds.  No worries though, the island is so small and business-oriented that they knew exactly who to contact and where to drop us off. Of course, before we even looked at the rooms, a mountain guide made us an offer and pointed to a nice dinner place. Ometepe all inclusive, I swear.

After all we decided to stay together and try this guy’s skills. It was a date, and voluntarily I was to be the one pain in the ass who wakes everyone up by 5.40am. By the dawn, we lost two potential hikers to sickness and nightmares, but if you wake up that early, nothing can stop you from whatever you’ve commited to. We met out guide, Miguel, bought some calorie rich snacks for the trip and tightened up the laces in our hiking shoes. I was determined not to slow anyone down, so I ended up following Miguel’s steps just behind his back, resembling a trek nerd. Honestly, we didn’t see as many animals as we had hoped (besides sleeping monkeys just at the bottom, and a funky ant trail that was streching for as far as we could see), and the route wasn’t as wild as we were warned. Yes, the hike was an effort, with steep trails and strong winds; and yes it took a loaf of bread, 2 litres of water and quite a few stops to reach 1200m, but we all did it, still arriving before midday.

The problem with volcano Concepcion, is that it’s a… volcano. Its top is bare, treeless, and on the day we hiked, it had one of the strongest winds I have ever experienced. I couldn’t walk in a straight line without being forced more and more to the right until I dropped to my knees just in case I might roll down the edge. We lacked 400m to the crater, but no one seemed too excited about reaching the very top. Everyone did their best, sweat enough and saw the island from another perspective. I felt no need to struggle with my eyes half closed, tilting my body one way throughout the rest of the climb. Lazy or not, we all run down and decided to spend the rest of the day on the beach. Isn’t that always the best option anyway?

Fiona

Isla de Ometepe (Nicaragua), 7th Jan 2012

A little white house with a waterfront.

I didn´t think there are many beaches out there that are as tourist-friendly and enchanting as Las Peñitas on a weekday. To take a break from León, the rather small university town full of gringos, we hopped on a bus that took 4 times as much time but cost 20 times less than a taxi and ended up on an empty, rocky and beautiful waterfront. We haven´t had that much good luck recently, so escaping the hassle and getting lazy on the beach seemed like a good energizer. Our little B&B was a little paradise – everything needed to relax, tan, swim, eat fresh and get comfy after all that effort was in place. Upon the entrance you could see through the whole house into the cute porch with laid back chairs and waves splashing through the shiny sand, the walls had little shells here and there, and the place with amazing smoothies was a short walk along the shoreline away.

Thinking of staying only that one night, we both unpacked our luggage in a rush, straight onto the floor, just to reach for the almost-fotgoteen swim suites hidden at the bottom, under sweatshirts, long pats and hiking shoes. It took as long as turning the key, and we were both floating in salty water. Correction: I, as a woman, was floating just fine (or maybe even too much considering the force of the waves and currents), while Matt was supposedly struggling, using up way more muscle power than me. Honestly, I don´t mind such gender differences – being carried up and away by the water made me feel like a children TV show heroine that jumps up in the air in slow motion to transform her powers and land back gracefully, but fierceful. Beat that. Also, after all, if you´re too lazy to struggle through the beating waves back to the shore, you might just let them carry you with. You´ll end up with sand on your face, but it will definitely be a faster way. Whether it´s the body fat, boobs or butt, I still really don´t mind.

In such a remote place, where you can count all the tourist on one hand and feel like you own that patch of sand and water, the beauty of your surroundings enhances on its own. I couldn´t get tired of walking ankle-deep in the ocean, getting my hair all tangled up and swimming above thousands of pretty shells and smooth stones. Not only can you  see nothing but the shore for kilometers ahead, but also you get to admire all (and I mean ALL) the stars in the clear nightsky in the most cheesily romatic manner.

We stayed there another night, of course. We probably would have stayed longer if not for the fact that we wanted to spend New Years partying with other travellers in the city. And thank whatever powers out there that we left on Friday with this paradise-like image and feeling in our heads – apparently Las Peñitas turns into the most annoyingly toursity destination for locals on the weekends.

Fiona

León (Nicaragua), 1st Jan 2012