Two weeks in seclusion with a beach.

Waiting outside in the hot morning sun for the shuttle to pick us up, the rush of happiness swells my mind and belly. I love the beach. I love the waves, I love the feeling of freedom in the water, I love the warmth of the sun, I LOVE it. We took a shuttle from Leon to Rivas, which took about four hours, then hopped onto a chicken bus for the rest of the ride out to the coast. As it was nearing lunchtime we start to feel the hunger burn; fortunately, waiting on the bus is a great place to be hungry. People popping on and off the bus with all sorts of food, candy, fruit and drinks. We opt for something called a quesillo, a fluffy tortilla with a large slice of stringy Mexican-style cheese, slightly melted by the warmth of the sun, then topped with vinegar soaked caramelized onions, rolled into a lovely hand held bundle and topped with crema and hot sauce. It was perfect. Completely satisfied, we get as comfortable as possible for the ride to Popoyo. The drive should have only been an hour direct, but of course with the amount of people getting on and off and bringing whatever they can from the city into their villages, and the time involved in loading the cargo onto the roof, the trip took nearly two and a half.

We hopped off on the side of the road and started walking with all of our gear under a scorching sun in thirty-one degree heat. The half-hour walk seemed like an eternity, but we eventually arrived at our home for the next two weeks. Our cozy little cabin was in the middle of nowhere, twenty minutes from the closest little shop and twenty minutes from the beach in the opposite direction. Although the heat of the afternoon was overwhelming, seeing as our place was perched on the top of a hill, indoors there was a calm, cool breeze bringing everything to a perfectly comfortable level.

This was local living. Every couple of days when it was time for a water refill, we would walk to the store and carry back a five-gallon jug. The fruit and vegetable “store