Sand bullet firing squad
Day 31: San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua
Being in a beach town without any swimming shorts can become a legal issue in most countries. Wishing to avoid all that messy paperwork in spanish, we made a market run to find a pair of trunks to preserve Saben´s modesty (after all, he is ever so modest).
Upon finding a suitable pair (which took him forever), he paid the poor girl who was nearly at her wits end with us and our inability to quickly choose a pair.
Back at the room, Saben huffed and puffed with all his might to fit into those blasted shorts but there just wasn´t enough velcro. Apparently medium isnt as universal as we thought. “It´ll be fine,“ he said. “I can totally wear these,“ he said…as he was being cut in half.
Another trip to the market revealed an anxious and displeased look on the shop girl´s face when she saw us bringing back that pink plastic bag. “Hai mas grande?“ Saben said, with a grin. She motioned at a couple of pairs of different colored shorts but implied that she had nothing else. Maybe she just didn´t want to go through the deliberation again and so only gave him two options this time. Luckily, there was little choice: the orange pair or the navy blue pair? No question there! Saben´s not really a hunter orange kind of guy. After repeatedly assuring the girl that there was no need (or desire) to try on this pair of shorts (in the middle of the crowded market), we left with the same pink plastic bag and another pair of “mas grande“ swimming shorts. Luckily, they fit perfectly and we were finally able to get on our way to the beach.
After one last stop for some much needed sunscreen, we skipped across the road and started walking to pick out a “good spot“ on the lightly sprinkled beach. Even on a weekend, the beach wasn´t heavily populated so there was little competition for a good spot. We settled down to work on our currently pastey complexions, hoping we might stay long enough to leave just a little less pastey than we arrived. But, today, some karma was kicking our asses about something. Instead of a lovely relaxing day on the beach, we spent our time being blasted with tiny sand bullets on our bare skin. Sting, pop, crack! Each one combined with the others to create a feeling of being pressured washed with a sand blaster. No wonder there aren´t many people here! We are going to erode lying here on a beach! We´ve got to get out of here!
The water was so cold it wasn´t worth seeking shelter from the firing squad so we took a walk hoping to miss the seemingly low flying sand “storm“ but that did little to preserve our skin either. So, wishing to remain mostly in tact, we explored the tiny town and decided we would go to the famed north beaches tomorrow.