Fireflies

The magic of travel evidences itself in so many ways.  Lately there have been pinpoints of light, flickers in the darkness, that elicit our exclamations of joy.  Many of them emanate from the hammock where we lay together, shaded by the coco palms, next to the aquamarine sea.  There we quietly embrace the rhythm of the sea which fills our hearts with its steady beat bringing our attention to the breath and helping us simply to be. A more tranquil mind, the soothing of our over-burdened nervous systems, our bodies made fresh from the deep rest we've gained, we are almost healed from the various maladies incurred on the journey and before, during the time of work and holidays, packed into spaces with more cars and people than usual, all of us going toward some place to buy some thing for someone.  It takes some healing afterward, healing from that pressure, that density.  We breathe a sigh of relief, but there are deeper parts that have been subsumed, pushed downward and inward by that pressure, that require a deeper healing.  That's one of the main reasons that we are here.  That and fireflies.

Not that we knew that there were fireflies here when we started out.  They were just one of the magical apparitions that blinked our way once we got here.  One evening Sandy was sitting on a log, quietly reflecting, when she noticed them and pointed them out to me.  I couldn't remember seeing any since I was a child in Texas.  I'm sure that I have seen them since, but sometimes magic gets lost in the meantime.  Another piece of magic appeared the day that we took the 1/2 hour panga ride over to Little Corn Island:  no cars, no motorized vehicles of any kind on the island.  How soothing!  What a throwback to an earlier time, if not for the availability of cappuccino and burgers and ice cream sundaes.  Oh well, gotta put up with a few modern conveniences, eh?

We are now on a plane leaving Corn Island and bound for Managua where we'll catch a bus to San Carlos. We depart with gratitude in our hearts for the many gifts we have received, our daily infusion of noni juice, the delicious coconut milk seafood soup locally called rondon, the many wonderful people that we met, sunrises, stars and the myriad ways we enjoyed the ocean and beaches. Now we are ready for some adventure!

The plane morphed into a chicken bus making stops every few minutes to pick up another passenger and wedge them into the aisle, or to allow the food hawkers ("Quesoillo!  Soillo!", "Pan de pina! Postre! Pina! Pan!") or the drink purveyors ("Gaseosa! Seosa! Seosa!") or the phone card vendors ("Claro! Movistar!") to squeeze and push and shout their way through from front to back and return before getting off at the next stop.  We endure the 6 hour trip for $6 in order to get to San Carlos, the jumping off point for a 120 mile eastward kayak trip down the Río San Juan to San Juan del Nicaragua (the name being changed from San Juan del Norte in recent years to help cement Nicaragua's claim to the north side of the San Juan River in a border dispute with Costa Rica.)

We will spend a couple of nights at an ecolodge called Esquina del Lago before leaving on the journey.  There we will meet up with our guide, negotiate a price for his services, as well as the type and process of food and lodging along the way.  We have brought a tent and sleeping bags, and have been assured that we will have an opportunity to use them on this journey if we so choose, and I'm sure the choice each day will be based in part on the size and number of crocodiles that we have seen.  Meanwhile, my left butt cheek longs for the asistante de bus to call out, "San Carlos!  San Carlos! E-pa!"  as soon as possible.

Now, we are here sitting aside Lake Cocibolca, the largest freshwater lake in Central America, awaiting the panga that will take us to our temporary home while watching the sun set, the children play on the malecon (waterfront) and enjoying, once again, the easy vibe of Nicaragua.  Pura vida, even though we have yet to reach Costa Rica.