"Welcome to Central America."

I think it’s safe to say that my trip to Nicaragua was exactly what I needed to pull me out of whatever TV-watching, sick-feeling, halfway-mark, month of April rut I’d found myself drowning in. I was telling my stepfather that I was sure going to Nicaragua would jolt me out of my funk and he said, "Well sure. I've always found that extreme poverty and political unrest make me feel much better." But in all seriousness, there’s nothing like a genuine adventure to open one’s eyes to the glory of the world, and though short, my time in Nicaragua turned out to be one of the most interesting adventures of my life.

When traveling or living in Costa Rica for up to or over ninety days, immigration laws require you to leave the country and stay in another country for seventy-two hours before going back to Costa Rica. Katie and Adam were approaching their ninety-day marks, so we made the executive decision to travel to Nicaragua for about four days. Nicaragua borders Costa Rica to the North, and we’d heard that it had some really beautiful beaches for Adam to surf, and that it was also much cheaper than Costa Rica, the most expensive country in Central America. We decided to start in San Juan Del Sur, a small coastal village popular for travelers and surfers, and to just decide day by day what to do and where to go next. Going with the flow is a skill I’ve acquired since coming here. This may sound surprising to those of you who are familiar with the irrational and unyielding conviction I maintain to always be in control of the things and people around me. But when my friends and I are traveling somewhere together, I don’t really care where we go. Literally EVERYWHERE is beautiful, and when we’re experiencing new places and things, we’re always laughing and having a good time. So when Adam said he’d heard San Juan Del Sur was cool, Katie and I concluded, “OK, let’s just go for it.”

I know what you’re thinking: ‘Wait, Adam went with YOU TWO? And no one else? The poor thing.’ And you are correct in this assessment. Because Mike bailed on us last minute (in true Mike fashion) and ACTUALLY went home to Canada, and because Flo had to stay home to deal with some sort of stomach virus, the three of us were on our own, making this the smallest weekend traveling crew to date. So silent Adam and loud irritating us booked seats on the 6 AM Tica Bus from San Jose, Costa Rica to Managua, Nicaragua for Friday morning, April 9th.

I can’t say Katie and I slept much on Thursday night. We were pretty busy making millions of crunchy peanut butter and guava jelly sandwiches for the trip (nine, to be exact), as well as packing, as efficiently as possible, L-Pack Jr. and Katie’s backpack, which we now call “Danny Boy.” At 4:30 AM Leo met us outside our house, then we picked up Adam and his surfboard. I almost feel like Adam’s surfboard has somehow become a human being; another member of our group. I’m always expecting its presence and helping Adam maneuver or care for it, and Katie and I constantly take it into consideration. If someone suggests getting a cab for four people we say it won’t be possible, because of Adam’s surfboard. I think it needs a name, but I haven’t quite come up with one yet. I’m pretty sure it’s male. One of these days the perfect name will just come to me, perhaps in a dream. On second thought, it just came to me. Katie and I have officially named Adam’s surfboard Julius. Allow me to explain: Because the bus trip was international, we were required to bring our passports, and therefore we all got a chance to seriously study each other’s passport photos and information. Unfortunately for Katie and I, this meant we finally had to show other human beings the pictures of our fat ugly pre-teen faces. Katie’s is particularly embarrassing because in hers she is wearing, for some odd reason, a Burberry scarf and only one earring. Unfortunately for Mike (who was originally going to come with us) this meant exposing a passport photo that has an uncanny resemblance to one of those mug shots you see on True Crime documentaries about serial pedophile rapist/murderers. Unfortunately for Adam, it meant we all became aware of the fact that his middle name is Julius. So obviously, we’ve been making fun of him for this, at least once a day, since our moment of revelation. Katie thinks that since his surfboard is silent just like he is, its name should be something reminiscent of Adam---and what could be more fitting than his Roman middle name?

So the four of us (Adam, Julius, Katie and I) hopped on a bus complete with accommodations that put our usual weekend traveling vessels to shame. We were basically in the lap of luxury. Air conditioning! An absolute phenomenon. Cushioned seats! Incredible. Adam of course sat silently and separately from us for pretty much the duration of the trip, without feeling the need to converse. I slept for most of it (6 AM plus no way of drinking coffee equals me sleeping, as most of you know), much to Katie’s chagrin, because I tend to be napping when she’s wide awake on bus trips, pleading with me unrelentingly to play “TTT”, until I explain to her that no one over the age of eight should have the desire to play Tic-Tac-Toe, as no one over the age of eight can possibly lose Tic-Tac-Toe, and therefore there must be something wrong with her. “But I love TTT!” she says, then often proceeds to convince Adam to play with her, unless she moves on to reading whatever Nicholas Sparks/James Patterson novel she’s currently obsessed with, while I get to sleep a little bit. I woke up on and off, and five hours later, we’d reached the border.

There’s a lot of getting off the bus and getting back on the bus that occurs when crossing the border. It’s quite annoying, especially after your body acclimates to the air conditioning. Upon exiting the first time, we were immediately swarmed by about ten men holding huge wads of Cordobas (the Nicaraguan currency) and big calculators, offering us their exclusive exchange rate. It’s seriously a challenge just to get off the bus and pass by them. Then we waited in a line for about half an hour, which in hindsight wasn’t that bad at all, but I obviously complained because I had still yet to be caffeinated. Also, it was ninety degrees outside. Customs consisted of a stamp and a wave. No words were exchanged. It was honestly simpler than returning to NY from a foreign country, armed with my U.S. passport, a Yankees hat on my head.

We got off the bus again about half an hour later so they could process our passports and recheck the under-the-bus luggage. I sat on the concrete ground sulking because I didn’t understand what was going on. Did I say earlier that I no longer feel the need to have control over all things going on around me? I lied. So while I sweated profusely and searched for jugo de pina, Katie befriended a couple that would become two of my favorite people I’ve met since arriving in Costa Rica: Catherine and Tom. Catherine would later tell me that after getting to know me and seeing how eager I always am to really chat up with strangers, she will be forever offended that I didn’t try to talk with them immediately, and instead chose to sit quietly on the concrete drinking my pineapple juice in a pool of my own sweat. Obviously, she doesn’t understand the true horrors of caffeine and control addiction.

By the time we’d gotten back on the bus and traveled to Rivas, I’d pulled myself out of my funk and talked with Catherine and Tom, who were heading to San Juan Del Sur as well. Catherine is a Canadian and Tom is from England. Catherine could not fit in better with Katie and I. She really likes to chat, she has the same opinion as we do on life’s most important matters such as which types of people and things are either fantastic or annoying, and she enjoys a good interpretive dance at Nicaraguan bars. Tom is pretty much the British version of Adam. He enjoys being silent most of the time, making himself laugh with his own jokes, and taking absurd amounts of pictures of the sunset. We would discover each of these things about them during the next few days of spending genuine, solid, quality time together.

Rivas is a beautiful little city. There’s something distinctly different about it in comparison to towns I’ve visited in Costa Rica. The flat wide cobblestone streets are very clean, and the houses that line the streets are all brightly colored. There’s something kind of European about it. We trekked with Catherine and Tom about ten blocks to the Chicken Bus station. Chicken Buses are what they call the local buses in Nicaragua. They’re old American yellow school buses with brightly painted designs and pictures on them. From the few I’ve experienced, Chicken buses are usually packed and sweaty, and vendors are allowed to jump on and walk up the aisle, selling food to passengers in between stops. There is usually a man besides the driver who works on the bus, collecting the money and hoisting people in through the back door of the school bus that is always just dangerously ajar, or helping old women unload their live chickens or five pound bags of rice or whatever other strange and gigantic grocery items they’ve decided to bring on board.

San Juan Del Sur was absolutely gorgeous. I loved it. The beach wasn’t actually good for swimming or surfing because the waves were small and it was more like a marina, with sailboats and fishing boats anchored right off the shore, but we didn’t really care. On our first evening we walked alongside the ocean, watching groups of teenagers play soccer in the sand, and I immediately felt at peace. The town was small and tranquila and it seemed like a happy community of locals as well as travelers. There were a bunch of hostels and hotels all over the place, and about six bars and restaurants right on the water. The five of us checked into Rebecca’s Inn, a house owned by Marta, a woman in her sixties who really liked to chat up. It was kind of like staying with a Spanish-speaking grandmother. She cared about our wellbeing, but also enjoyed disciplining us and being aware of what was going on with the people in her house at all times. We were told once to quiet down in the common area because other guests were resting. One night a young woman was crying in her room after having argued with her boyfriend. Marta was very distraught, so she obviously butted in and tried to calm the girl down. Afterwards Katie and I gossiped with Marta in the kitchen about what had gone on, and then tried to offer the girl help, because she was American and Marta couldn’t speak English. When the girl was rude to us and basically told us to mind our own business, we proceeded to gossip with Marta more, this time about the girl’s bad attitude.

We met a lot of people during our three days in San Juan Del Sur, and really enjoyed chatting up with strangers and learning their life stories. Katie and I share a passion for doing this. We had a couple of dinners with Catherine and Tom that lasted about three hours, and I feel like I know them both so well after having spent only a few days together. I’ve found that there’s something about traveling and being consistently outside of your comfort zone that seems to give you an open-ness you don’t have in normal, everyday life. I think if you truly want to get to know new people and have real experiences and conversations with them, you have to simply cut the crap. With Catherine and Tom, and with other people I’ve met, I just put all of my cards on the table up front. The conversations that ensue tend to far surpass those that are surface and more guarded.

We met a ton of people at the pool. And by the pool, I mean the most beautiful pool I’ve ever been to. On Saturday upon waking up after a long day of traveling and a fun girl’s night out, Katie and I decided we’d prefer not to spend half an hour on a shuttle to the nearest beach. We pretty much knew we couldn’t even stand the sight of another bus. Instead we asked Marta where there was a pool we could just relax by for the day. She directed us to Pelican Eyes, a really fancy hotel at the top of a tall steep hill up the road. If anyone reading this is a real adult with real money, I’d suggest it for your next vacation. Getting to the pool required a trek. We could have taken two to three breaks on the way up those never-ending hillside steps, but we were so hell-bent upon submerging our sweaty bodies in water that we persevered without pause, and found ourselves finally in some sort of paradise. The large infinity pool overlooked the ocean in front and mountains on all sides. Vines and flowers grew all over the wooden poolside canopy, and twenty-somethings just like us who clearly couldn’t even dream of affording to actually stay at the hotel were swimming and basking all over the place. When we inquired about the situation, a Canadian guy told us that the new hotel owners had decided to just keep the pool open to the public, as most people end up buying a drink or two if they hang out long enough. So we were free to chill all day; and we did just that. We chatted up with tons of people, some of them travelers passing through, others those who had settled for the time being in San Juan Del Sur. I met a local guy named Josue who remembered serving us dinner the night before, and he and I ended up being friends for the remainder of my time there. So two days in a row, Katie and I hung out at that pool and didn’t feel the least bit lazy or bad about it. We go to beaches every weekend, and this place was simply too much fun and too visually gorgeous to pass up.

Fittingly, the most popular bar in San Juan Del Sur was called the Iguana. Evidently wherever we go, you can locate us somewhere with ‘Iguana’ in its name. There was also a bar just down the road that had a beachfront area, complete with chairs to sit on and look up at stars, in front of a fire. Katie likes to make fun of me for always “being creepy and alone” at night, looking up at the stars or dipping my feet in the water when we are in some sort of beach social setting, but I don’t care how creepy it is. Somehow I find the time to do this every night, no matter where we are or whom we’re with. There was also a bar called the Crazy Crab, with a large dance floor. This was where Katie and Catherine and I really went for things on our last night in San Juan Del Sur, while Adam secretly videotaped us with Katie’s camera. However, I’m seriously considering burning the evidence, as psychotic interpretive dance is a lot more hilarious and entertaining when you’re the one performing it with your friends, but rather horrifying to actually view, something I discovered yesterday upon watching them for the first time.

On Friday night Katie and I had a girl’s night out, as Adam and Catherine and Tom were all tired. So we just went for it at the Iguana. Shockingly, I ran into someone who went to my high school. In Nicaragua. What are the odds? He wasn’t a friend of mine by any means. In fact, I don’t think we ever once spoke to one another throughout high school. But to me it was funny and worth it enough to walk up to him and say, “Excuse me, did you go to Fieldston?” He and his friend got a kick out of what a small world this is, and we hung out a bit with them. Katie and I danced like spazzes, chatted with our New York friends, and met some other people as well.

The following night, Adam decided to man up and come along with us for some fun. Well, first there was a blackout. Adam and Katie and I were hanging out in the common area outside of our room when all of a sudden the lights turned out. The electricity was out throughout the entire town, though we were informed that some of the key bars and restaurants had generators. Marta went around the house lighting candles, and Adam and Katie and I decided to wait out the blackout before venturing out on the town. Marta let us know, however, that the blackout could last anywhere from forty minutes to four hours. So Katie swung in the hammock, I rocked in the rocking chair, Adam lied on the couch, we made some rum and cokes, and had a nice long talk. It’s possible that Adam opens up better in the dark. Anyways, eventually we decided we shouldn’t wait any longer for the power to go back on because it may never happen, and Katie and I conceded to getting ready for a night out by candlelight. Now for me, this entailed changing out of my bathing suit into jean shorts and a t-shirt, making Adam take a couple of digital photos of me, then looking at them to make sure I didn’t look wholly horrendous. Katie, on the other hand, insisted upon showering. I took full advantage of this situation by attacking her in the shower with my camera a couple of times while she shampooed in the pitch black. There was screaming involved, but the result was a couple really priceless pictures. Adam lied around on the bed while we “got ready,” most likely dreaming about having some sort of male companion.

So the three of us went back to the Iguana, where Adam watched us dance like idiots. I spent time talking to lots of different people that night, just sharing my experiences of traveling and of living in a different country with various world wanderers. Of course at the end of the night I found myself sitting on a beach chair alone in front of the bar, while Katie and Adam chatted it up with people, looking up at the stars and thinking about my mom. I swear I don’t consciously try to become melancholy and contemplative or just plain sad at the end of the night, but somehow, this just seems to be how it works out a lot of the time these days. Sometimes the melancholy is an OK feeling, like the kind of feeling you get from acknowledging what a great time you’re having somewhere, and thinking about the good things in your life and the good aspects of the world as a whole, but then reflecting on how sad it is that someone isn’t there with you to enjoy all the good things, or how sad it is that something in your life didn’t exactly work out the way you would have liked. You feel lonely even while feeling happy. This good kind of melancholy is a mix of happy and sad, a sentimental, yearning loneliness you feel while still wanting to have a smile on your face. But then sometimes I’m just plain sad; the kind of sad where I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without her, where the world seems empty. The kind where I’d rather just throw in the towel. I think that night, in front of the bar on my beach chair, it was the OK melancholy that I was feeling.

Anyway, as I sat there looking up at the stars, I felt my chair move a couple of times, but I didn’t bother to turn around because I assumed it was just drunk people accidentally bumping me. Plus, I was in my melancholy solitary zone. But when it happened a couple of more times I finally looked behind me and saw Josue. He was laughing at me and accusing me of being asleep. I talked with him in Spanish for a couple of minutes, insisting that I wasn’t asleep, just looking, but that sleep wasn’t the worst idea. He tried to convince me to go to the Crazy Crab, but I got Katie and Adam, and the three of us headed back to the Inn, where we made Adam have a girl slumber party with us. When we all crawled into our separate beds, Katie said, “Adam, we’re gonna chat up now.” Katie and I proceeded to spin our bodies around so our faces were at the foot of our beds, in order to look at each other closely. Adam didn’t budge.
“ADAM, FLIP YOUR BODY AROUND!” Katie insisted.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because we’re chatting up! Duh, whaddayathink?” she asked.
And that’s how we turned Adam into a girl. With forceful verbal commands. The three of us slept very well after a good long chat.

The next day we all went to the pool! Adam decided that because the waves weren’t supposed to be very good, he could spare one day of surfing to chill with us, and Catherine and Tom were more than happy to hang out by the pool. We laughed all day long together. At one point, Catherine expressed how much she hates being called Cathy, so Katie and I have referred to her as Cathy ever since. Because Katie’s name is Katherine as well, they have now become the two Kathy’s.

Later in the afternoon when I was reading my book and attempting to have some alone time (which is really not possible because any time I lay down to read my book, Katie says, “Chrissy, what do you think you’re doing? I really wanna chat up!”), Cathy asked me, “Chris, what do you think of houses that cost twenty dollars a night?”
I looked up from my book. “Well, in what context?”
“The context doesn’t matter,” she explained. “Just answer me this: how would you feel about staying in a house for twenty dollars a night? If that house was pretty much on a beach?”
“I mean, I guess I’d go for it,” I answered.
“Good! So it’s settled then,” Cathy concluded. “You guys are coming with us tomorrow.”
I didn’t really ask where, because I didn’t really care. A house near the beach sounded all right to me.

When we were pooled out, the five of us enjoyed an amazing cheap dinner and then sat beside the beach before planning on going to the bar. Katie and Cathy were drinking the rest of the rum we’d purchased the night before, but I really felt like a beer, so I told them I would run to the bar and purchase one, then come back. At the bar, Josue was working, though it was super slow so the two of us hung out at a table for a while and talked. I’ve really gotten to the point now where I can have full conversations in Spanish with people and truly get to know them and learn about their lives. It’s an awesome feeling, and so excellent because it means that I’m not limited by a language barrier in terms of the people I can get to know while I’m here. The two of us were talking for a while, and then my friends showed up. The rum was gone, and they had serious intentions of playing cards. So we went upstairs and after a few rounds of some sort of inferior card game that I can’t recall, I introduced everyone to Egyptian Rats. Anyone out there who has played this phenomenal card game knows that it is simply the best on Earth. And also that I am the master of it. I have no mercy on those I play this game with, not even my eight-year-old-sister. So after I’d beaten everyone (naturally), I went back to the bar to chat with Josue some more. At one point Katie came up to me and told me, half-kidding, that I needed to go for dancing with her or chatting with her or something. She jokingly said she was offended that I was chatting with a man at the bar instead of her and our friends. Because she was “mad” at me, she leaned in and whispered in my ear: “I just want you to know that if you weren’t wearing a dress right now, I would give you the worst wedgie of your life. Seriously….SUCH a wedgie.” Then she walked away, leaving me in hysterics, trying to explain the word “wedgie” to Josue, a word, I am sure, has no direct translation.

Eventually we all made our way to the Crazy Crab. This is where the interpretive dancing comes into the story. There’s not much I can say about it other than we REALLY went for something on the dance floor. I believe that there’s a sense of freedom like none other that comes from being in a different country, with new people, where no one really knows who you are. And this sense of freedom allows me personally to feel comfortable doing things I don’t do at home, most notably dancing. Actually, dancing is really the only example of this I can think of at the moment. I don’t dance at home. Let me be clear: I don’t dance ANYWHERE with men, not even in Central America, thousands of miles from home. Me dancing with a man is a disaster, because doing so usually requires some form of actual dancing skill set. But I will dance here like a complete crazy person with my girlfriends, and I have quite a lot of fun doing so. Anyway, the Kathy’s and I danced up a storm until it was extremely late and we’d scared everyone else off the dance floor. After Catherine was officially tired out, and Adam and Katie were ready to leave as well, I’d found myself sitting at a table outside the bar, talking to Josue again. So I gave my keys to Adam and Katie and told them I’d see them in a bit.

He and I ended up leaving the bar, walking to the beach, and talking for the rest of the night. I didn’t notice the time flying by, until I looked up at the sky and realized it was morning. Josue walked me back to the Inn, and as we reached the door I realized I’d given the one set of keys to Adam so many hours before, and was locked out. I dreaded rapping on the door and waking Marta up, knowing she would without a doubt judge me for coming home in the morning, as only a grandmother can. So I told Josue I’d sit outside for a little while longer. With any luck someone else at the Inn would wake up, and I could slip in without disturbing Marta. He sat with me for another half hour, then begged me to promise I’d knock on the door soon, explaining he really had to get home and sleep a little before work. We said goodbye and I watched him walk up the street, realizing I really liked him and was sad to see him go.
He turned around once and called over his shoulder, “Adios Cristina, el frijole!” (I’d explained to him earlier that my nickname as a child was ‘Christine the Bean’).
“Bye, Josh!” I called after him (He’d told me his name was the Spanish version of Joshua).
It’s strange meeting people you feel close to almost immediately, and knowing you most likely will never see them again.

Eventually I got up the courage to knock on the door to the Inn. Marta came to it in her bathrobe, looked me up and down in exactly the disapproving manner I had expected (seeing as I was still wearing my dress from the night before), accepted my stream of apologies, and went back to bed. Adam came to the door to our room still asleep, as far as I could tell, and I collapsed into bed, noticing the time: a little after 6 AM.

I awoke to Catherine bouncing up and down on my bed, and to a muffled yet forceful interrogation from the blanket-covered lump next to me.
“And what time did YOU get home, Chrissy?” Katie asked, an unmistakable mischievous laugh in her voice.
“Ugh, like two and a half hours ago,” I groggily responded, looking at the clock and wishing I was still in dreamland.
“Chris had sex with a local!” Katie cried.
“I DID NOT HAVE SEX WITH HIM!” I answered, indignantly. “He was just really nice. We walked on the beach…we chatted.”
Though Katie and everyone else in this world knows that I am not one to sleep with people I’ve just met, she seemed to think accusing me of doing so was TERRIBLY funny, and Adam, Catherine and Tom followed suit.
“You definitely went for something!” Catherine said.
“I didn’t! It was innocent! We just talked! En espanol!” I shouted.
“I bet Marta had no idea she was housing the town bicicleta,” Katie said, laughing hysterically. Katie really likes to crack herself up.
“Whatever, I need coffee,” I answered, giggling and throwing a pillow at her.

Catherine informed me that we had to be on our way to the 20-dollar-a-night house soon. In less than an hour we were to catch the Chicken Bus to Rivas, in order to meet some guy who would take us to our final destination. This did not thrill me. Sleeping for less than three hours, jumping out of bed to quickly pack and organize my things, and then standing on a sweaty crowded school bus is really not my idea of a fun set of activities...most especially not without the proper amount of caffeine. I could have gone back to bed for hours. Instead I told Adam and Tom and Catherine that if they wanted Katie and I to get a move on quickly, the best way would be for them to get the hell out of our room for half an hour. The place really looked like some sort of hurricane had blown through it.

So I endured a slew of jibes from Katie about “really GOING for things with a local,” a particular brand of teasing which has yet to cease to this day, and we ran to the café around the corner to buy a smoothie for Katie and a strong coffee for me. Then we dragged ourselves to the bus, beginning to sweat immediately, and hopped on through the open back door. My God, did that bus fill up. I stood in the back corner with Adam, our bags piled next to us, watching a couple of drunk guys get on, Tonas (the official beer of Nicaragua) in their hands. It was 10 AM on a Monday. As I finished my coffee and the bus started moving, I looked out the window, appreciating the breeze on my face and feeling happy. I had no idea where I was going, but I was ready to go there; ready for the next adventure.

One of the very drunk men, the one wearing dark sunglasses and a red man tanktop who had annoyed Katie by stepping on her toes so many times that she’d moved up to another seat, turned to Adam. He pointed to the speaker above Adam’s head and started explaining to him in Spanish to do something with it. When Adam looked confused, the man said, “The wires. Plug in the wires.” He took a swig of his Tona, and grinned at Adam. Adam proceeded to take the thin black wire and the thin red wire that protruded from the side of the dusty old speaker, mangled copper hanging out of both ends, and attempt to put the broken pieces together in some way, awaiting the man’s approval. I felt like I was in that movie Speed with Keanu Reeves, but this time Adam was Keanu Reeves and it was up to him to disable the bomb that was surely going to blow up the Chicken Bus and every person in it the moment we went slower than 50 MPH (A speed that in reality, the Chicken Bus driver has never even dreamt of exceeding). Instead, after some fiddling with the broken wires and much prompting from Red Mantank, loud music started blasting out of the speaker. Spanish hip-hop. A grinning Adam and I exchanged high fives and started bouncing around. Red Mantank smiled at us, raised his can of beer and said, “Welcome to Central America.”