It stretched away on all sides: a shiny black crust many metres thick that snaked and cracked across the face of the earth like some revolting sore. It radiated the sun’s heat with ferocious efficiency and one felt totally basted in warm air, like a piece of meat in a convector oven. I felt my core temperature peaking as sweat ran from each and every pore, eyes stinging from the salty rivulets and the diamond-bright sunlight overhead that this cursed rock seemed to reflect upwards thwarting my wide-brimmed hat. It was hellish in its assault on the human frame, hellish in aspect and hellish in its total abnegation of life. Or so it seemed. 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.
Today is the 12th May 2015. My birthday. I am 53-years old and happy with that and would not have it otherwise.