The Corn Islands in Nicaragua are sloping green, with frothy waves every shade of blue, barefoot children with monkies as pets, little thatched jungle bungalows and communal dinners, free-flowing rum drinks at 2 PM, downpours every day at 3 PM, crowing roosters, and unripe mangoes hitting the dirt with a thud as we trek to the lighthouse to view it all.
Also, the walk around the deserted beach, untouched by tourists, unknown by most and the narrow path that leads into the forest. And in the water's edge, a dead dog being lapped by the waves, entangled in a rope.
We walk around it and assure ourselves that the dog died of natural causes before scurrying away...and I can't help but joke to myself the next wave of tourist ads for here.
Welcome to Nicaragua. Come for the waves, stay for the dead dogs.
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2 comments:
I think the heat has officially cooked whatever brain is left in su cabeza. Go take a shower, you necrophile hippie.
yeah, youre acting really crazy. I've been meaning to talk with you about that. ;) jk, k. jk.
-t
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