“I won’t be back too late tonight.” The young guy working reception at my hotel in San Juan del Sur looked down at my green Sunday Funday tank top and back up at me with a smirk. “Sure…” I was headed off to one of the most infamous parties in Central America so I couldn’t blame him for his doubt.
I could feel my feet heating up inside my hiking sneakers as they dug into the side of the volcano, trying to maintain some control over my downward speed. Dust and rock kicked up into a cloud around me as I hurtled down the side of Cerro Negro, the youngest active volcano in Nicaragua. Some horrific accident? Nope, I signed up for this.
“Let’s go to the local market. Forget the tourist one. Why pay more?” I wanted to check out the markets in Masaya but didnt want to go alone, so tagging along with my new hotel friends was perfect. We wanted to see where the locals went. Forget the sanitized versions meant for gringos, give us the real deal.
Last fall I developed a habit. I would pack up my laptop, hop in my car, and drive 20 minutes from downtown to The Watershed in pretty Petty Harbour. It’s a coffee shop/cafe right on the harbour and I seem to have found my writing muse there. It’s open again for another season and I’m happy to have my Sunday ritual back.