I should have learned by now not to let the weeks pile up, but I guess procrastination lurks at every latitude. 

Our month in San Juan Del Sur is up.  We've come to think of it like training wheels: getting up and running with our language skills while developing a feel for the country.  Our first thought was to move on, but as we pondered where to go we realized we were perhaps falling into a travelers "norm."  Common questions among travelers are "What other countries have you visited?" and "Where next?"  Now, there are different approaches to everything, and certainly seeing the best of what a variety of countries has is an amazing adventure.  But we came to Central America to experience a new lifestyle and culture and live an easy/laidback life in a great climate.  Which doesn't match packing up and getting on to a new place.  We know some bus routes, can count in Cordobas and have learned some of the language particular to Nicas and besides, there is much more to do to explore this country fully!  So, we've decided to stay in Nicaragua and make the transition from our "starter" town.  Our first stop is to explore some other beach towns, hoping to find a place by the sea whose local economy is not dependant on tourism. 

Now, for the highlight reel, the best of San Juan Del Sur:

1.  Aprendimos mucho espanol.  (Fred can now go to the market alone, bargain for his beans, onions, potatoes and eggs (frijoles, cebollas, papas and huevos) and understand the price when the vendedora gives him the total in cordobas.)

2.  Learning desmoche, a Nica variation of rummy, and winning, when our local teachers insisted on putting money on the game.

3.  Spending several days at Playa Maderas, and having a beautiful, endless beach to ourselves.

4.  Fred winning a holdem tournament (Held monthly at a fancy bar on the beach, 25 players) which when combined with Celina's winnings at a house game paid our month's rent!

5.  Grilling whole fish (though really, it was the process: buying pargo rojo (red snapper) from the pescador, descaling it, oiling and salting it, getting the wood (la lena) lit on the grill, then eating it without choking on a bone.)   

6.  Getting drunk together one lazy, sunny afternoon for no reason at all.

7.  Our tans.

8.  Searching for and finding this little old lady to take in our shorts since we lost another inch after all our climbs up the hill to our casa.

9.  The carnicero: a super friendly, short, fat butcher who never failed to make us laugh and took to calling us amigos after our first three visits in one week.
   

And, of course, a visit from Ken!  Fred's long time friend finally got his passport and his butt to Nicaragua!  The later hours of his last evening in country were spent by the three of us lounging around our outdoor picnic table, unnecessary cocktails in hand, and laughing ourselves to tears recounting the experiences of his visit.  Nicaragua greeted him with rain, lots of it, pouring onto Ken's wisely packed raincoat as we ducked between tents in the oh so crowded market of Jinotepe.  This was intended to be his first cultural experience, leisurely walking through and seeing how business is done in an open air market place.  Instead, it was a drenched sprint, filled with water intensified smells, ankle deep street currents, and blurred glances of piles of fruit, mounds of cheese, sacks of beans, strings of packaged snacks, rows of shoes, ropes of used american clothing, racks of spices, hooks of meat, baskets of vegetables, trays of sweets, tangles of watches, stacks of wood, canisters of oil, bins of toys, displays of bread, and card tables lined with odd assortments of beauty products.

He later laughed that perhaps the rain was a good thing, a balm to soothe his culture shock, though it didn't last for long.  We soon splashed into the bus station and rain was not enough to smother the calls and yells of the bus attendants, shouts that Ken took to mean immanent danger.  See, in Nicaragua, there are no "automated/backlit/electronic" signs that correspond to neatly labeled parking rows and numbered bus routes.  If you think greyhound stations are chaotic, try Jinotepe's autobus terminal.  Instead of signs, there are guys who meander around hollering in a unique, repetitive cadence the destination of the bus they operate.  Of course, not knowing that the city we were headed to was called Rivas, or being able to understand that the guy was indeed saying Rivas, or being prepared for an onslaught of yelling and pointing men, Ken assumed the calls somehow signified "look there's a gringo, get him!"  In our evening of reminiscing, this memory of having such fear, only to realize that in actuality it was just guys trying to HELP him find his bus, brought belly cramps.

Listen for yourself...click here:  rivas.wav (565.90 kb)

We relived a glorious beach day, a Nica karaoke bar, late night pizza, catching rides out the back of jeeps, bargaining for souvenirs, hiking the surrounding hillsides, carousing and bar hopping, and a general great time in a new place with an old friend.