Meet Me in Nicaragua

"Our phones won't work, so let's meet at the airport in Managua. My flight gets in at 3:30. We'll catch a cab there and bounce around on dirt roads for three hours on the ride to the coast," I told my younger brother, Tim, rocking in the comfort of my ergonomic office chair in Midtown Manhattan. "Where are you, anyway?"

"Waiting for my flight in Houston. This place is a zoo," Tim said under his breath. "I am going to stay at a hostel in Managua tonight, but you should probably give me directions to the place we are staying just in case something goes wrong and I need to get out there by myself."

"Sounds good, I'll text you it right now. Let me know if any plans change. I have to run, see you tomorrow afternoon. I'm pumped. See you on the other side," I said in one breath as I glanced down at my watch and realized I had a meeting in five minutes.

"Don't forget to bring the sunscreen," Tim joked in a motherly voice.

Little did he know, but in a fit of excitement and procrastination from my daily obligations, I had ordered sunscreen on Amazon, Bull Frog SPF 36, weeks in advance.

Flying the cheapest option through Central America to a remote country and meeting someone with no means of communication turned out as dubious as it sounds.
Five hours after leaving JFK, my empty flight landed to the elated clapping of the native Salvadorians and news of the cancellation of all the day's connecting flights to Managua. Envisioning Tim moping around the Managua airport for hours waiting for me arrive, I quickly found wifi and sent out a slew of emails telling him to make his way to the beach without me. After an hour of feeling like a derelict older brother, my iPhone vibrated, alerting me that Tim had skipped town soon after arriving in Managua the evening before and gone directly to the coast.
"That fucker! what if I would have showed up on time? " I smiled in relief.
A free night's stay, three complimentary meals and a 200 dollar flight voucher later I landed in Managua at 9am the next morning. Eager to dump my backpack, I converted the kilometers to miles in my head as the cab sped through dusty roads towards Popoyo.

The ocean's spray and my brother's sheepish grin quickly made me forget about my travel hiccups. For a week, my brother and I enjoyed the carefree attitude of the handful of other surfers, drawn to this remote beach in Nicaragua. When the tide was right, we surfed. When it was cool, we skated the mini ramp. When it was hot, we read.

Mangos, freshly knocked down from a tree.

A horse under the full moon on Saturday the 19th. Aperture F1.4, shutter speed .4s, and iso 4000.

The miniramp, a stone's throw from the beach.

Time slowed.

Blue and Yellow.


Starched with Salt.

Meet me in Nicaragua.

Here are some more links,
Nicaragua Dos (Picasa),



With a crunch, I fell through the thin layer of ice, sinking to my knees. Avoiding scraping my shins on the jagged corners, I pulled my foot directly up through the snow and stepped gingerly back onto the frozen Massachusetts countryside. As the sun set, I made my way across the snow-covered field towards the comfort of a warm fire and dinner. Every 10 or so paces, an overzealous step cracked the ice again, repeating the process.

The last flirtations of daylight retreated behind the hills as I kicked my feet together, in a hopeless attempt to remove the snow from my boots, before opening the backdoor. The smell of pan-seared steaks from a local farmer greeted me as I walked into the kitchen. "Fuck New York," I said to my roommates with a grin on my face like a thirteen-year-old that had just found a Playboy stashed in his older brother's dresser.

For two days, we holed up, watching the snow fall outside and the wind rattle the windows. Early in the morning and before sunset, I went on walks around the idylic New England roads that surrounded the Wijnberg's house. The honks and busy streets of New York felt worlds away.

Faded paint.

Edge reading on Sunday morning.


The fire place.



Kicking Snow.

Lunch time.

Sunset on a lone birdhouse.

A nearby barn through an antique window.

Function over form. Nike SFB.

Distance makes the heart fonder.

Here are some more links,
Getting Away (Picasa),
Two and a Half Hours (ART).


Thanksgiving Break: Trecking the Eastern Sea Board

For the next nine days i will be on Thanksgiving break. I plan on spending a couple days in Boston, and then hopping on a flight down to Philadelphia for a couple days, and then up to Manhattan for a night or two and then back to Philadelphia for Thanksgiving and then finally back to Maine. I plan taking a lot of photos and hope to find some cool things for the blog.

1 Comment