Christmas in Rasta Land
Trip Start
Oct 28, 2006
1
23
29
Trip End
Jan 09, 2007
Where I stayed
Corn Islands, Nicaragua
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
After my first night in town the thing that strikes me most is how undeveloped the place is. The town is a strip of bars and shops(shacks really) along the beach and a tiny port, I ask the cab driver to take me Casa Blanca and get dropped off on the beach; 'da green house ova yonda' he tells me and I score a nice little room with the sound of waves to lull me to sleep. After a little research I decide Lil Corn is the place to be and hop on a ferry the next day to the even more seriously undeveloped sister island where electricity, roads and shops are hard to find. I decide to make for Dereks Place and get pointed down a narrow dirt track leading into the jungle. I wander through abandoned beach and jungle for about an hour with my massive pack before I stumble upon an idyllic little encampment of driftwood bungalows set amongst the swaying palms. A tall blonde man with a plaited beard approaches me and Im soon negotiating with derek for a pleasant little shack with a sandy floor and candle light. The place is deserted at first but over the next few days Dereks fills up with my surrogate christmas family. Theres his outspoken catalunian wife, their 2 kids, a pair of civil servant backpacker girls from Brighton, a 30 yr old armenian american student from San Francisco who runs a painting business for well to do Fresnas currently in his 9th year of uni as well my favourite of the bunch a northern englishman married to a Boston lass who teaches pole dancing also living in San Fran. Then there is a the dark star group whose lack of english skills sets them apart but who I find company in for most of my stay consisting of a pair of italians from Milan whose shabby appearance and apparently alternative lifestyle doesnèt immediately make me think of Milan, a boastful 37yr old hotel worker from the isle of Menorca who finds a strange solidarity with our location (and plenty of opportunity for boasting and advice) thanks to being a fellow island dweller and finally a whinging Hungarian with death metal tats who is scared of everything and cant stop talking about the girlfriend he has left behind for 5 months. They make for an interesting group of people and I manage to while away a week reading, swimming snorkelling and drinking at the local bar/discoteque which in itself is a cultural experience. Inhabited exclusively by the entire youth population of the small island (20-30)boys in bandanas and basketball singlets stand around cheering and egging on the 2 or 3 women on the dancefloor who are movin their asses the way only africans can with a couple of lucky guys. Christmas passes by with a rare joint of BBQed meat obtained at pains by Dereks wife who had to arrive at the cow owners house at practically the same time the cow was killed in order not to be left with the offcuts(cashing in a cow being a fairly rare and much talked about activity amongst the locals). She regales us with horror stories of her sons ceasarian birth in the dangerously unequipped hospital in Bluefields and we enbjoy a night of drinking and dancing under the stars with only the crabs and the sound of wind and waves for company. It takes a bit of effort to draw myself away from this deserted island paradise but eventually I do my time running short in my bid to make it to Mexico for NYE...
