Travel has a way of stretching the mind. The stretch comes not from travel’s immediate rewards, the inevitable myriad new sights, smells and sounds, but with experiencing firsthand how others do differently what we believed to be the right and only way. – Ralph Crawshaw
Sunday, June 3, 2012 (DAY 91)
5:30am, and we have John Wayne knocking on our door for our wake up call to leave behind El Salvador for Nicaragua. When can anyone else ever say this exact same sentence as a factual statement? The first time I met John Wayne was at Parrots Dive Center in Utila, and, after a proper meeting of the enigmatic hilarious character that is often the center of our current group, I thought about Mike Vlad, who has a mancrush on the legendary actor that shares the same name of our own Honduran gunslinger, and I am reminded of all of the great times that have been shared in their home, especially the epic meals. Michelle and I are the first ones up, as Lindsay lays in bed staring up at the ceiling in the bed across from me. I just know she’s contemplating whether or not unicorns are real or if she can track down the exact secret location of Willy Wanka’s factory of magic. Just after collecting my scattered belongings from around our meticulously devastated room that resembles images of tornado alley, and, really is a true art form in the way the three of us have managed to have such controlled chaos confined to a single room, Julie pokes her head in to say good morning with her slight hint of a southern accent. Hailing from South Carolina, Julie is John Wayne’s girlfriend, still awesome to say, and they are traveling for the next month before heading back to the Bay Islands of Honduras.
5:30am, and we have John Wayne knocking on our door for our wake up call to leave behind El Salvador for Nicaragua. When can anyone else ever say this exact same sentence as a factual statement? The first time I met John Wayne was at Parrots Dive Center in Utila, and, after a proper meeting of the enigmatic hilarious character that is often the center of our current group, I thought about Mike Vlad, who has a mancrush on the legendary actor that shares the same name of our own Honduran gunslinger, and I am reminded of all of the great times that have been shared in their home, especially the epic meals. Michelle and I are the first ones up, as Lindsay lays in bed staring up at the ceiling in the bed across from me. I just know she’s contemplating whether or not unicorns are real or if she can track down the exact secret location of Willy Wanka’s factory of magic. Just after collecting my scattered belongings from around our meticulously devastated room that resembles images of tornado alley, and, really is a true art form in the way the three of us have managed to have such controlled chaos confined to a single room, Julie pokes her head in to say good morning with her slight hint of a southern accent. Hailing from South Carolina, Julie is John Wayne’s girlfriend, still awesome to say, and they are traveling for the next month before heading back to the Bay Islands of Honduras.
Struggling to come to life at such an early hour, along with the thought that we will be spending the next ten hours crossing through three countries and two overland borders, we are leaving behind the much loved Casa Ma Koi of Playa El Tunco. Picking up our sixth man to round out the latest group of travelers that I am fortunate enough to have met, Cameron hails from Rochester, Michigan, however, he has spent the last two years in Mongolia with the Peace Corps eating copious amounts of canned horse while surviving Siberian winter winds. Lindsay, Michelle, and I actually met Cameron in San Pedro La Laguna, Guatemala over a month ago, but as most backpackers tend to migrate in one direction or another, the magnetic force of cheap hostels tends to reunite us more frequently then you would imagine. After exhaustive negotiating tactics, the five of us have convinced Cam not to hold tightly to the waist of Roberto bicycling to Managua, but to join us in a modern mode of transportation that has fewer chances of ending up in a ditch shanked beyond recognition. Using my super-Asian special skills and abilities, yes kind of a like a X-Man, the numbers are calculated and it’s realized that it would actually be cheaper for the six of us to take a private shuttle bus from El Salvador then it would be to arrange transportation, first to San Salvador at 1am to catch the 3am Tico bus, and probably a decision all of our parents would agree with as well.
Eight hours later, and we have success in reaching Nicaragua. This could not have happened soon enough since I was tired of fighting off Michelle for her to stay on her side of the imaginary line that I drew down the seat, while she was watching, mind you, and yet she still refuses to obey the boundaries. I am also sure that the driver is sick and tired of hearing the wailing whining voices of Lindsay and Cameron as they alternate in unison with, “are we there yet,” for the past seven hours and fifty-seven minutes. The only two in our party that appear to even be passable as adults is Julie and John Wayne, that is, until I turn around seeking support for my cause and notice they are both drinking out of sippy cups and eating plain Cheerios from small plastic bags. We certainly are not mature individuals, but children, and while there isn’t a sign above our mode of transportation reading, ALMOST FAMOUS, it should read “HIDE YO KIDS, HIDE YO WIFE,” not because we are a traveling band of rapists, on the contrary, but because we should be removed from society as not to infect others with our childish behavior. The joys of youthful entertainment on the road.
Arriving in Leon at Big Foot Hostel and all I wanna know is, where’s da gold at? Where’s da gold at? Searching high and low through the colorfully painted walls, Cam and I are unsuccessful in finding the gold and assume the food burglar that plagues this place is also the same person that is hiding the gold. Cheeky fellow. With the memory of pirates gold and diamond bedazzled jeans that apparently also act as swimming attire for locals, we decide to check out the colonial town. Unsure why we are drawing more attention from everyone around us, I figure it must be because we are all so ridiculously good-looking, but then, someone asks why the six of us are holding hands to cross the street as if preparing for a game of Red Rover. Frustrated from the embarrassment these people continue to cause me, I am on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum this town will forever remember. I told everyone the buddy system works just as good, but of course, no one wanted to listen to the guy that has read all of the Berenstain Bears books and DVR’s countless hours of C-Span. From first glance, Leon reminds me of Antigua with how the city is laid out on a proper grid system, unlike the winding disorganized streets of San Pedro La Laguna.
Returning back to the hostel, the heat is beginning to become intolerable and we are in desperate search of shade. Since the pool is being filled at the speed of a DMV waiting line, I find the next best thing is a cold shower. Feeling refreshed for the brief few seconds before once again being covered in sweat, the discussion to depart for the nearest beach town is a unanimous decision. I continue to enjoy the freedom that is awarded with traveling by appreciating what each day may bring by embracing the experiences unique to the diverse lifestyles I find myself immersed in. The ability to pick up and find yourself in a new part of the world without the worries of what has been left behind, but always looking forward to what is in front of you, reaching towards the finish line of a life that seems to have chosen you can be a repetitive daily thing, but only if you are willing. I know that I have used this quote before, but I find it very inspiring, “many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.” – Thomas A. Edison
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