San Juan weekend (the full story)

Rather annoyingly I'd written half of this blog entry when the computer froze (oh the joy of technology!) so I've had to write it all again. Oh well. So I just heard yesterday about the crazy weather in the UK, and I hope the snow isn't too mad. It seems so far from my reality here, where hot hot hot is what you have all the time (although actually I'm getting much better at dealing with the heat - you just get used to being hot and sticky all the time and sort of stop caring, although I'd love not to have to wear my hiking boots all the time, but my ankle just isn't healed enough yet to risk it out and about). You'd all laugh to see me here in the internet cafe, sipping an iced tea, wearing a sundress, but with my big leather hiking boots on. I think everyone in town now knows me as the "chica gringa con las botas". Even the school kids smile at them...

Getting back to my weekend in San Juan del Sur, which I promised to write more about today. (N.B. You'll have to go back a post to see the photos.) So after lunch (and I did have to have some lovely fresh fish to make a change after all the chicken and mat we eat in Granada) we settled into San Juan on Friday afternoon, and just hung out at the main town beach for a couple of hours. I took a swim, lazed in the sun and then we watched the sunset sitting on the beach, which is one of the main "sights" to see there - beautiful. Four of the other girls from the house had arrived the previous day as they wanted to practise/continue learning to surf (well three of them were there for the surfing, and the other one is a surfer groupie!) We all met up for dinner and then onto one of the beachside bars for drinks and chat... Like Granada, San Juan is something of a backpacker hangout, so there's quite a scene. Torey met a friend for a walk on the beach, while the rest of us hit the one nightclub in town. It was rather quiet so it wasn't too late a night all in all.

Then the next day it was on the 10am beach truck for the surfing girls and on an 11am launch to the other beaches for Torey, Jason and I (the lazy ones!). No one else made it so we had the whole boat to ourselves for the 40 mins trip to Playa Madrajugal, a fantastic semi-deserted bay. Our captain then took off for a day's fishing while we hung out. Torey and I had hired snorkelling gear, which was good fun, even if we didn't actually really see anything much beyond a few little grey fishes. Then we hiked over to the nearby surfers beach, Playa Maderas, where the big waves are and also a small hut which serves a couple of lunch dishes plus cold beers. It was a complete surfer dude hangout, with boards up on the walls and a lot of "how was that wave for you?" conversations going on. But cool to join in with, even if I wasn't truly in the surfer gang. If we ankle was OK, I would love to give it a try though... maybe towards the end of my trip... Becca, Chris and Fiona have become complete surfing addicts.

That night there was supposed to be a big beach party organised for a biker festival in town(!?) To be honest, there were about half a dozen very noisy bikers riding around town, but certainly not the hundreds we had heard rumours about. Torey and I had dinner with a group of American forest firefighters we'd met on the beach that afternoon (yes, such things do happen in Nicaragua) while poor Jason took it easy because of a bad stomach. [Luckily so far I haven't had too many problems of that sort, just a couple of slightly dodgy days, but nothing serious - probably because Granada has mains drinking water (apparently it's the only place in Central America with potable water) so you can trust all the juices, ice, etc even from street vendors.] We met up for drinks later with the other girls in the infamous Iguana Bar and then headed down to the beach party. I had some hopes that there might be music other the usual reggaeton, and there was the occasional other track, but still you can't escape reggaeton's iron grip on the Nicaraguan music and nightlife scene. But that's probably all for the best given my ankle (too much good music and I'd be throwing caution to the wind).

And like every other Nica night out, we ended up in the nightclub listening to/dancing to raggaeton, but so what - the rum was flowing... Becca had met a Nica guy who owned the hotel next door to the club, so she and I ended up there afterwards with him and another friend, and we went to the beach to wait for the sun rise. Sadly this is the "ugly" part of the story because I had my bag stolen (the first time in my life I've ever lost my purse)! It was all very strange, how it happened. We saw a boat seemingly capsizing in the swell (in the dark) so two of us went to try to help or find out what was happening - I thought perhaps the guy in the boat was drunk. But actually I think he might have Bean trying to steal the boat because he refused all help despite everything coming out of the boat (I located at last on oar in the sea), and without saying a word to our shouts in English or Spanish went off into the darkness using the outboard motor. Meanwhile Becca and her friend had gone back into the hotel since there was nothing more they could add, but alas not having realised that we'd left our stuff with them when we dashed off to the sea. So I returned to find my shoes, but no bag. And I was pretty pissed off and upset, I can tell you. In fact I had to wait several days before I could write about this on my blog because I was so annoyed and sore on the subject.

There was nothing to be done at this point, but cry a little, get some sleep and then report the theft to the police. At least I didn't have my passport or credit cards in my bag - just some money, a few personal bits and pieces, oh and my house keys in Granada (and there's a whole new story about when I got the locks changed on Monday...) So I finally managed to persuade the police to take down the details and give me a report for my insurance company (apparently the Nicaraguan police are notoriously loath to make theft reports because it's just a lot of bureaucratic work for them when the case comes up in court, and no one ever gets caught or prosecuted). Then it was back to Tito's hotel to hang out there and wait for him to give us all a lift back to Granada (Torey and Jason having already left early that morning to head back for an organised trip to Las Isletas). It was a long, long day, as I had had very little sleep, was pretty fucked off and generally just wanted to get home and sort everything out. But eventually once the girls had drifted off (apparently they ended up at a cock fight or something) and then drifted back it was time to go. And at least there was no fighting for a seat on the chicken bus this time. And so endeth the San Juan weekend, with me passing out on my bed back home in Granada at 9pm.