Laguna

Sunburned and flipped on our inner tubes along the floating dock, today was spent at the swimming hole, all green and blue, all lapping waves and clear water jumps, all our new Irish friends pushing us over and now back to the hostel for the world´s best burrito...and the only thing we can afford...we´re supposed to rest up because it´s Saturday night, and regardless of the fact that every night seems like Saturday night, we´re expected to show up in full form at the Beach Party where locals grind to blasting beats and gringos sweat it out just trying to keep up.

Yesterday´s bottle of tequila at one PM on a rainy day must be put far behind, and the British guy who was crafty enough to take evidence, more than fifteen pictures of me, in various states of card games and sugary shots. Who won and who lost is one and the same...

In Nicaragua there have been steam venting volcanos, my purchase of Nica punk rock CDs, the guard yelling at us for jumping on a plastic sheep, the worst milkshake in the history of milkshakes, the crumpled pages of so many books, swapping stories and countryside pictures, fans and open air, and very long open nights. Our clothes are in a rainbow jumbled corner, we´re sleeping in a loft where the rain crashes down, if you could call it sleeping at all, and there are less than two weeks left and all I can think is how I can manage to miss my plane home.