This is the view of the sunset from poolside at my hostel – yes, HOSTEL – Casa de Olas in San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua.
High on a hill, palm-thatched dorms skirt the edge of an infinity pool, perfectly positioned to catch the sun as it sets over the town and beach below.
I was having a couple of days chill time, in between recovering from my slightly traumatic conquering of all 1,394m of Vulcán Maderas on Isla de Ometepe (much of the descent completed sliding through mud on my backside with my guide Omar “helpfully” encouraging me by telling me that he had an 80 year old woman last week complete the climb in half the time. Yeah, right) and the start of lessons at my Spanish School in Playa Samara, Costa Rica.
There was a bit of a mid-season lull so the property was only half-filled by an international-ish crowd of Aussies, Canadians, assorted Europeans and a lone American. A mixture of the usual backpacker crowd, week-off-work-vacationers and a large surfing contingent.
The calm, followed by intermittent bursts of Toña-fuelled chaos, all took place under the watchful eyes of ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’, Aussie couple Fred and Carla running the hostel on behalf their US-based entrepreneur son, alongside their bitchy woman-hating adopted ‘daughter’ Buzz (Buzz is a monkey, BTW).
Days were spent lolling in a hammock with a book or jumping in the jeep shuttle: either to one of the nearby beaches, or down into the tiny, primary-painted town for a wander with the girls or to drink cocktails with Carla – a very glamorous gran who can out-daiquiri this Diva any time, any place. Dinner was home cooking, served family-style back at the hostel, with everyone gathered around the table sharing stories and sensibly lining their stomachs before someone got the shots in. And someone always got the shots in.
I’m not normally one to sign up for a Gringo-fest, but Carla managed to FOMO- me into ditching my carefully constructed, pre-planned and excel spreadsheet-ed (I’m a Virgo – sue me) travel itinerary in favour of sticking around for the carnage of Sunday Funday. A pre-purchased t-shirt serves as your ticket to the now-legendary weekly debauch, where a fleet of trucks transports you between pool parties all afternoon, leaving any survivors in town to crawl the bars and clubs until late.
I didn’t take much convincing. Anything to experience just one more of those heart-stopping sunsets.
Casa de Olas: Lot 6, Las Escaleras, San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua
