Itchy Feet

I've taken at least one Big Trip abroad every year for the past twenty years: I've visited South and Central America, Europe, and the West Indies multiple times. So at the beginning of this year I decided to play on home turf until the autumn at least, save some money, explore New England, so rich in resources, perhaps even some other parts of this enormous continent. I was very pleased with my decision in no small part due to the fact that I've lived here since 1994, love it, yet barely seen the Statue of Liberty. Then again, she's not quite my cup of tea.

The Statue and other man-made attractions aside, New England is truly a fantastic place: I visited Connecticut, went skiing and bagged eight 4000' peaks in the Presidential Range in the first ten weeks. Now of course I'm in aggressive acupuncture treatment for acute tendinitis in my glutes and hamstrings...

North Carolina was next on the list but this got sidelined by a few curve balls. The most difficult one to contend with was my itchy feet.  They drove me crazy with their loud complaints: they desperately needed to get scratched by foreign soil. In addition, my soul was starving for another language and a different currency, new people, other food, and that great unknown factor. I immediately saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

I started talking to people. A friend at work suggested Spain; I thought Italy or perhaps Chile again; I ran into an old friend and told him my dilemma: "I have time off but need a destination". Five days later he sent this message: "Destination: I know a place that's simple yet luxurious, usually decent waves, not much else to do but swing in a hammock or chase ghost crabs."

Courtesy of Los Cardones Ecolodge

I didn't need to hear too much more and when he added that a mutual friend with a house one mile from the beach needed someone to look after his dog and take care of the house the deal was sealed.

Nicaragua next.