Last night, I laid in a hammock and swung myself. The night was cool after a day of intermittent (tropical = heavy) showers and the crickets were throwing in the kitchen sink. I was exhausted and had had a lousy dinner. My body itched all over from angry mosquito bites that don't appear to be getting better at all. And I was dreading the trip home the following day. I was obsessed with just one thought: that I'd lost my Wanderlust.
But by the fickle finger of Fate (as Charity would put it), just before climbing up into my top bunk, I decided to stay another day: I switched off my mobile which was set to go off at 4:00 am (although it still managed to ring despite being a really cheap mobile).
This morning, I was sitting at the feet of giants and gazing down at the people milling about Parque Central. I explored the cupolas of the cathedral against the dramatic backdrop of the volcanic range.
In the afternoon, I walked to the indigenous village of Subtiava (which was the focus of the area before the Spanish founded Leon) to catch a bus to Poneloya. And before I knew it, I was getting my khakis wet with the Jose brothers in the high rolling waves of the Pacafic.
Now I'm back in the very same hammock, swinging myself side-to-side. It's raining outside but the crickets are stubborn. I'm happily sunburnt (for now) and I'm looking forward to heading home tomorrow. It wasn't that I'd lost my Wanderlust; I just didn't know how to look for it.
But by the fickle finger of Fate (as Charity would put it), just before climbing up into my top bunk, I decided to stay another day: I switched off my mobile which was set to go off at 4:00 am (although it still managed to ring despite being a really cheap mobile).
This morning, I was sitting at the feet of giants and gazing down at the people milling about Parque Central. I explored the cupolas of the cathedral against the dramatic backdrop of the volcanic range.
In the afternoon, I walked to the indigenous village of Subtiava (which was the focus of the area before the Spanish founded Leon) to catch a bus to Poneloya. And before I knew it, I was getting my khakis wet with the Jose brothers in the high rolling waves of the Pacafic.
Now I'm back in the very same hammock, swinging myself side-to-side. It's raining outside but the crickets are stubborn. I'm happily sunburnt (for now) and I'm looking forward to heading home tomorrow. It wasn't that I'd lost my Wanderlust; I just didn't know how to look for it.
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