Jiquilillo

After our night in Managua, J and I set off to try to reach the northern coastal (Pacific) beach town of Jiquilillo, which is apparently still so charmingly undeveloped due to having been completely wiped out in a tsunami a bit more than 20 years ago. It was an adventure just getting there, as our microbus from Managua to Chinendega arrived at the beginning of the siesta lull between buses, and we had a three-plus hour wait. For some reason we still don't understand, several people at the chaotic market/bus depot advised us to hop on a local bus for the 3 km trip to the next town over and to wait for a Jiquilillo bus there. I assumed (since I couldn't really understand the details) that we could catch an earlier bus there, so off to El Viejo we went. But once we got there, it became obvious that there was no earlier bus, and we would just be waiting for three hours there instead of the market where we had been. So our whole afternoon looked pretty much like this.

 

It was probably a quieter, more pleasant 3 hours than it would have been in the marketplace, but the major flaw in that plan is that when the 3:00 bus finally did pull through, it was packed to the gills. If we'd stayed in the market, we might have had at least a small chance of getting a seat for the ride. I haven't been on transport that crowded anywhere other than in a Malagasy bush taxi. There were a dozen guys hanging off the back of the bus, a few hanging out the front door, and I don't know why they even bothered to throw our backpacks on top, because there was no room for us and the driver started to impatiently drive away without us. But since our bags were on top we were committed and somehow--I still don't know how--managed to elbow our way onto the front steps of the bus, where we were packed in so tight it was at times difficult to breathe. They had to fight for a couple of minutes to wedge the door closed so people wouldn't fall out, as they were packed so tight they had nothing to hold onto. Craziness!

But it was all worth it, because when we finally got off that dang bus, it was here:

We spent two nights at a sand-and-sun-drenched hostel on the beach, where pretty much all anyone did was this:

It was awesome! I even got to see and hold some week-old baby sea turtles who were purchased (as eggs) from poachers as part of a local rescue effort). They were ridiculously adorable.

But most of all I think I treasure the pictures taken only in my head. As the sun was getting lower on the horizon on our second evening there, I went out to do some yoga on the beach, and then went for a swim. The water was the perfect temperature, the air was the perfect temperature, the waves were so fun to jump, the setting sun was turning the sky and the coastline every imaginable shade of color, and a Nica family even pulled up in a horse-drawn carriage--Mom, Dad, and three kids gazing out at the sunset while the horse stood majestically with an occasional wave reach up around its hooves. As the sun sank below the horizon, I walked a bit up and down the beach, never wanting the moment to end, and knowing so acutely that I'm pretty much the luckiest person on the face of the planet.