We were scheduled to return on March 31st, after traveling around the country then settling into a remote surf area for our last ten days. But we ended up sheltering-in-place in there - eventually unable to leave due to airport service suspension and border closings - until we caught a charter flight out by the hair of chinny chin chins on June 17th.
We didn’t have our laptops, the electricity was always going out, we had no TV. We couldn’t do shit about shit. All we could do was be. And think. I filled journals, I made songs, I found a doll on the beach and named her Wanda. (@askwanda).
I smoked a lot of schwaggy-ass weed, that’s for damn sure. We rented a small house on the beach from a Nicaraguan family– our host was a secret stoner so that worked out for me – and there was one other house on the property, rented to an Australian family of 4 who were sheltering-in-place/eventually stuck right there with us. We went through it all, quarantined together. I miss them so much, especially the matriarch of the family, Kristy, my buddy! (Wanda didn’t freak her out at all) People ask if my terrible Spanish finally improved, but, nope. I came to Nicaragua and learned Australian. The situation there is pretty grizzly (look it up; though be forewarned it’s not going to uplift your spirits), and I’m glad to be back home, most importantly because I now have the ability to phonebank and take action before the election, but I’m still grieving the adventure.
Check out @miwaragua for photos from our journey.