Passport in hand and dragging two SUP travel boardbags and a backpack, Tim and I board our plane in Los Angeles and start the long trek to Nicaragua. When we arrive in Managua late that evening, we discover that both of my boards haven’t made the connecting flight. Great, I think, here I am in the middle of nowhere with perfect waves and no boards. I’m going to go crazy! But after another two and a half hours of driving through rain, rivers and jungle in the dark, I’m too tired to care. We finally make it to camp and it’s off to bed.
You know you’re on an adventure when you are shaken awake by a screaming pack of howler monkeys, swinging in the trees next to your window. It’s early and the surf is still small. So with a day or so to go before the new swell is supposed to hit, we decide to take a road trip. Driving through the dirt roads of the nearest village, a thick blanket of smoke hangs over all the houses as families prepare their daily meals before sending their kids off to school. Some of the houses are built out of wood and mud; others have walls made from black plastic bags and scrap metal. I’m humbled by how the people here do so much with so little and still are always smiling.
