The man in the greasy washroom mirror.

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
1
58
332
Trip End Ongoing


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Where I stayed
Hostel Espiranza.

Flag of Nicaragua  ,
Thursday, November 24, 2011

You know those moments in the morning when you forget where you are?  That didn't happen.  I was out of bed pretty much as soon as I awoke, packing my stuff and trying to reclaim a modicum of dignity and pride so readily dented in the early hours of the morning.  I'm stammered some kind of explanation which doesn't really wash.  I also discover that the money I left for my tab last night has gone "missing".  I guess that was my own stupid fault.

The shuttle into town doesn't come quick enough.  I stumble to the first hostel I see, another horrible little hole that I soon discover is right next to a club.  At this point in time I don't really care and I fall into a darkened room.  There on the pillow, still fully clothed, for the first time since I can remember, I totally break down and cry myself to sleep.  Sometimes the world gets the better of you.  For me it generally happens after copious amounts of booze.

When I come to, the room is pitch dark and I have no idea the time.  My face feels like its melting off and the sheets are sticking to me.  I haul myself up and out, and wander down the main street, not sure where I'm going, or what I'm doing when I get there.  As luck would have it, I bump into two friends and they persuade me to have a thanksgiving dinner with them.  It's not a total waste of an evening, with some nice company, but my head is a little all over the place, and after eating I make my excuses and beat a hasty retreat. 

I have my own company before I crawl into bed around 4am.  In that time I have managed to have a serious look at myself in the mirror.  What I've been doing for the past few years is simply not working.  It's time to seriously get my house in order.  Yet for me, it's always a case of easier said than done.  I'm well aware that I will probably be out tomorrow night, doing it all again.  Perhaps if I was back in Granada, I would find something more wholesome to do, but here in San Juan Del Sur, the party is king.  And surfing.  And since I don't surf...oh you get the idea.

I've also made the decision to do my best not to mention girls in my continuing adventures.  I have had a dawning realisation I'm a broken record.  However if I feel that it makes for an amusing or interesting story then I will be sure to pass it on.  Especially if it involves guns, chickens, hot Swedish women, naked twister and brushes with death.  One can but hope that's around the corner.

ONWARDS!



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