Making new friends in Nicaragua
I’m starting to see travelers are their own sovereign nation. Self-governed, of course, but united nonetheless. We discover common interests and a kindred ethos; we journey together, help one another and share what we have. We don’t do this because of a collective history or common ground - our histories are varied and the ground is ever-changing. We are all foreigners, united in our strangeness - a drifting band of one.
The other night we were Spanish, American, South African, British and Nicaraguan all sitting around a campfire, talking deep into the night about the theory of relativity, universal income, poverty and marriage. We were questioning everything and considering a world without political boundaries. Yes, we were sober. Indeed, we knew we were tempting that fine line between reality and unrealistic utopia, but we wanted to imagine the world not as we knew it but as we wanted it to be. However far-fetched this imagined reality, I’d argue this is a worthwhile exercise for anyone - how else do we enact anything better?
Perhaps this is the philosophical territory of those privileged or foolish enough to invest our time and our money where the dividends are intangible and rewards, ephemeral. In that case - you’re welcome.
Nicaragua affirmed our place amongst the sojourning souls of the world. The longer we travel the more this starts to feel like a place, or maybe more accurately, a mode and a pace we could maintain forever. We didn’t “do” Nicaragua (as the jarring, defiling expression goes), instead we felt our way around, letting people and places, the weather and our whims determine how and where we went.
Our first stop was Jiquilillo, on the northern coast, where we accidentally discovered Hostel Esperanza, “hope” in Spanish. We expected to stay a night but one became five when we met three traveling Dutch - Stef, Nicki and Patrick. I hesitate to even mention the origins of their passport, as it honestly becomes almost an arbitrary fact on the road. Same goes for what you “do” at home (for work) or what you “are” (profession). Much more pressing is how you interact, what you can do together immediately, where you’ve just been and where it is you’re going next.
We stayed at the coast and surfed for a few days longer so we could then all hike Volcan Consiguina together. We decided to spend a night at the top to catch sunrise the views of Honduras, El Salvador and Nicaragua. It wasn’t a difficult climb but we brought everything we needed for the night, shared a meal and an experience that we likely wouldn’t have attempted alone.
From here we travelled to the revolutionary bastion of Leon - a lively student town that is home to the largest cathedral in Latin America and maybe the best ice-cream (banana cookie-dough and salted caramel). Nicki and Stef hitched a ride and we carried on together until they caught the bus south to Granada.
Somehow, these shared experiences, or shared stories of similar experiences, have a way of making friendships feel like they’ve existed far longer than they have. We met another lovely couple at Jiquilillo, too, Jodi and Ben, when they pulled into our campsite so Ben could find a bit of respite from the pizza-a-la-poison he’d eaten down the road. Their easy-going nature and the fact that we’d left our kindle behind at Jiquilillo meant we’d meet up with them again the next week at Pochomil, where again we shared a campsite and a few waves. After a day in Granada together and another coincidental meeting at another beach two days later (hundred kilometres south), it felt like we’d been mates far longer than a week.
As the continent narrows, all the foolish conquerors and other explorers seem to funnel through the same chute, which is just how we came to sit philosophizing around the fire with Jose, Louisa and Mark - friends we’d made in Guatemala and northern Nicaragua.
Coldplay sings a line in their song, “We Never Change” : “I want to live in a wooden house, where making new friends would be e-easy.” I’d say a van is just as good.
