Maybe Jesus Has a Wedgie

E: what's that over there?
L: that's Jesus overlooking the city
E:Jesus? You sure it isn't San Juan? He should be the patron saint.
L: no, it's a statue of Jesus. A personal gift from some rich guy
E: interesting. How come he only has one arm?
L: one arm? Oh, you just can't see the other one at night.
E: where is it? Is it behind his back?
L: I don't know! Maybe Jesus has a wedgie!

Conversation while had in the car on the dirt road from the expatriot subdivision to the tiny very hip downtown of San Juan del Canada. I mean, San Juan del Sur.

It's nice here at the beach. Especially after some hard travel in Nicaragua. My inner Princess and the Pea has invited herself to my Central American adventure. I'm not proud of this. But I can't seem to shake her.

Maybe it's the nights being eaten by mosquitos. Or the lack of power and running water on more than a few occasions. Maybe it was the Star Wars sheets and Harry Potter pillowcase. I don't know. But she's here and she's really bugging me. I want her to leave the same way I want to get away from 22 year olds playing drinking games. But I'm stuck with her.

The final straw was in Ometepe. I hitched a ride with aforementioned 22 year olds in a collective taxi for the two hour drive on dirt roads back to the port. I should mention Ometepe is an island made of two volcanoes perched in lake Nicaragua. Stunning. We are on the base of the smaller of the two volcanos. Much farther than I imagined was possible from the ferry port.

There were 7 of us. Room for 9. In Central America, room for 14. Two more wanted to join. It was the right thing to do. We were in a remote area, quite expensive and time consuming to get back to 'civilization'. Stupid couple didn't want their oversized backpacks on top of the van. A surprise coming from stupid couple bragging about the year they are spending in Latin America, and stupid couple that didn't agree on a price before we all piled in the van. They won't budge. And they are being quite rude about it. I WANT to be passive aggressive, and say that I will stick back with the extra two and share a cab with them. But Inner Princess can't imagine another two hours at this hole of a hotel. Inner Princess wants everyone to be happy and get in the effin van. So that everyone can be where they need to be- the exact same place, in the exact same car for the exact same price.

Things works themselves out and I am thrilled to be complimented on my small backpack. Carry-on size to be exact.

We end up at the port but I can't leave for another day so I book myself a hotel in "civilization". With hot water, even. From the wall, not the electric contraption hanging on the shower head that could be misconstrued as a suicide attempt if not wearing rubber soled shoes in the shower. No AC, which I hardly notice anymore, but Inner Princess is still quite pleased. Especially because there's a laundry lady next door. This is the first time in over three weeks that I've seen a laundry lady. It's been sink laundry for a bit which was fine until my amazing trip to Río San Juan where I caked my belongings in rainforest mud. Quite a souvenir.

I'm told there is even a dryer! A strange concept in, well, most countries in the world. This means my pants might fit for the first time in a month. Inner Princess is pleased. I take a chicken bus journey to some supposed to be amazing hot springs that takes me almost three hours and involves holding a baby in an overcrowded bus- even by Central American standards- while I listen to the bus helper swear at the backpackers insistent on wearing their packs in the bus (a theme apparently) not realizing how this affects the locals. Remember them, backpackers? The ones that live here and just worked all day for a dollar and need to get home to their families?

By the time I arrive it's almost time to leave. Fortunately there is a trio walking out as I do and I am bold. "Hey, did you all drive here?" I ask, in English, and the words roll around in my mouth like rocks.

Yes, they drove. And instead of dropping me at the fork in the road, I'm driven the entire hour back to "civilization" by a Managuan living in North Carolina, visiting home for the holidays.

I walk back to the hotel, inwardly excited at being able to pick up a truly clean load of laundry. I bring it back to my room with hot water. It's folded beautifully, my very small bag of clothes. I inspect my pants and there is absolutely no sign of mud. So I put them on. And suddenly I feel like I'm 7 and start yanking them off of me.
They stink.
I know this smell. It brings a memory of being in Yosemite, stuck in Yosemite because of the forest fires.
And then I want to gag. Because I know this smell. It's the toxic smell of burning trash, plastic trash. My clothes weren't put in a dryer. But they were hung outside over a fire- over burning trash- to dry quickly to appear that they indeed use one.
I'm immediately deflated. And Inner Princess isn't pleased. She wishes I was more of a girly girl and had more than the carry-on bag that I was so proud of several hours ago. Just for today. I take a shallow breath, as a deep one may make me sick- and seal them very tightly in a plastic bag.

The next morning I take the ferry back to the mainland where Terry from Canada, a friend of a friend, is waiting for me. He takes me to his beautiful home in San Juan and Inner Princess is appeased. The first thing I do when I get there is put on my bathing suit and wash every single cloth item in my backpack, in a proper washing machine. I notice almost immediately how I have come to use the word 'proper' on this trip. Grocery stores, beds, wash machines, wifi, showers. Proper. Is this like the word 'torch' or 'holiday'? Am I picking up European travel words, or am I just being high maintenance?

Originally San Juan del Sur was not on my list. Touted as a touristy party town, I just didn't see the draw vs price tag. My Kiwi friend Sophie, who I met my very first day on this trip in Guatemala, came here weeks ago planning on a three night stay. I found out later that afternoon that she was on night 15, and I could sort of understand why. Especially after a few hard weeks traveling in the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.
There's surfing. A lot of it. And yoga, which means there's access to good food. A direct correlation, actually. And there is a lot of it. The pace is nice. The amenities are comfortable without disregarding the fact that you're in a foreign country (except that its clearly a Canadian snowbird town). It's pretty. Slow. And of course there's Jesus looking over the town. In the daytime, it's clear there is no wedgie, and both of his arms are visible. I'm thrilled to hang out with Sophie again for the third accidental time in the last two months. What did we do without Facebook? Without proper wifi?

My wonderful Canadian host took me to the Costa Rican border today. My first border crossing not in a tourist shuttle. Took two busses once I crossed into Costa Rica, none with crazy paint, music, stickers, or babies in my lap. Apparently the more advanced a country is, the less interesting it is culturally. I want to snicker at Inner Princess about this.

Now I'm in Playas del Coco with other friends, and AC to boot. Inner Princess went to a proper grocery today. There were rice noodles. And green things. I cooked for myself. Inner Princess is pleased.

There's yoga here, so I'll be eating well. The smell of burning trash is still present. A reminder that I'm still in Central America and should pay attention to how my backpack affects the locals. Because everything everywhere affects the locals.