Laundry first, then a siesta. Sound good?

(I forgot to post this one, it goes back in Las Salinas, before Isla de Ometepe and the volcano.)

(That’s Neo the Devourer of Men, sedated by the heat in front of the single street in Las Salinas de Nahualapa. The red and black on the electric poles are the Sandinista colors and are on nearly every pole, as well as most of the rocks, in the country.)

The long hot afternoon lolls indolently in front of me. What to do?

I prefer to do my laundry each day or two, so it’s quick/easy instead of an onerous task, plus it also allows me to bring less clothes. So I take my dirty laundry bag, plump with one each T-shirt, shorts, underwear, and the bag of soap, and my friend Karen shows me the thermal tubs where the locals wash their clothes.

In a glade of hot dusty sunlight village women are standing up to their ample thighs in the warm water, scrubbing clothes on the concrete washboards built alongside. It feels bizarre to climb into the warm water when the air is 170 degrees, and the locals (as usual) are peering at the white guy wondering why a male is washing his own shirt, but with a couple little girls wandering around as ice breakers, we are all soon chatting away as I scrub the bus sweat out of the armpits of my shirt.

Nicaragua is another country where people hang their clothes to
dry on barbed wire fences, this one across from the thermal springs.

There is a shallow swimming pool too, which looks gorgeous over there, despite the mud on the bottom, but then I remember it’s warm too. Instead Karen and I head back to our respective residences and agree to meet up after siesta-ing through the worst of the heat, planning to head to the (surfer)world famous Popoyo Beach afterwards.

The waves at Popoyo are supposed to be towering things, but if possible I desperately want to swim in the cool salt water. Plus it’s good for the heat rash which is slightly disfiguring a couple of my fingers and toes. How we get there will depend on the tide, if it’s low we can walk across the tidal flats, if it’s high we either have to walk around, or if we can finagle the canoe from the farm and paddle down.

I lay here sweating in bed during my siesta, wondering how I can possibly be lucky enough to find myself in this situation. Will I walk across the salt flats to the tropical beach, or shall I take the canoe?

Have I mentioned I love traveling?