The ants had been right: shortly after nightfall the heavens opened and the rain drummed down on the tin roof making conversation difficult. Later it softened considerably and was more like rain falling on canvas, a comforting lullaby. Continue reading
If there is one thing destined to make a man feel totally hamstrung, inadequate and foolish it is not being able to express himself clearly. Nowhere is this exposed more vividly than when trying to communicate in a foreign language where one is often reduced to a frightful child-like level of sentence construction. Continue reading
Browsing the English titles on the bookshelf I pulled out a tattered copy of Hemingway’s ‘Green Hills of Africa’. Resting the book on the shelf I opened it near the beginning and was greeted with the sight of a small brown scorpion advancing up the margin near the spine. Continue reading
The rising sun cast long shadows across the cool sand. I stood on the same stretch of beach where the evening before I had watched the release of several hundred Olive Ridley baby turtles and looked west out over the Pacific. Continue reading
My Cafe Doble Nica was hitting the spot nicely and the covered courtyard of Cafe Libelula – Dragonfly – was filled with the lively buzz of various languages layering over each other in the hot, humid air.
It is hot. Very hot! The kind of heat that wraps itself around you and hugs you tight. And here in Nicaragua in November it remains that way for the full 24-hours of every day.