один мир на двоих (stusik_i_sharik) wrote,
один мир на двоих
stusik_i_sharik

Little Corn Islands

So exhausted but still wound up. Last time I was in a plane of a similar size, we soared above the Nazca Lines in Peru banking ninety degrees for a better view. Now, in this 12-seater "crop-duster", the co-pilot so young I would guess he doesn't have his driver license yet, I shoo away unnerving thoughts about flying. We are not above the clouds but at eye level. I don't remember the last time I looked a cloud in the eye. They look like powder mountains, and I fantasize about hiking these fluffy boulders without falling right through.

I am not tired, but my back aches, and my eyes are heavy. A night at a bus terminal and another at the airport would do that to you. Leaving Utila, we felt having a stable bed for three month was too much luxury, so now we must rough it out if we were to get back into the traveling mode once again. In actuality, it was more of an answer to bus scheduling and budget - there is no point in paying for taxis and accommodations, when having to show up to buy tickets at four in the morning will cause the same head and muscle ache as sleeping in the terminal.




Now the rest of the passengers are asleep, only I watch the clouds. I like the whole ones. Those with the faded and torn edges remind me of unfinished dreams - ghosts of what a dream could have been. A gust of wind awakens you, and the dream is snuffed before its time - a cloud in pieces. Dreams, I now begin to realize, are better had than talked about. The rest must have figured it out before me. I'm off to mend my clouds.


Nothing can put you to sleep like a mile's walk in paradise. Backpack digging into your shoulders as your bare feet plow through the hot sand. Another meter, another step, and we can drop the load and stretch out on the white beach basking in the greatness of no civilization. Friendly hammerheads and stingrays only a swim away. Where is my mask and snorkel? Not now. Tomorrow. Today I will waddle to the nearest palm tree where, brought down by their own weight, ripe coconuts and mangos are ready for the picking. This would be today's breakfast. As free and fresh as this weary traveler could ever hope to get.



To dilute the boredom and avoid a headache from oversleeping, we dove. Diving is our drug, and it's an expensive one too. Luckily enough, this Little Corn Island in Nicaragua is not a long way from our diving home of Utila in Honduras, and even here, a country away, we found acquaintances who were nice enough to give us a few "hits" at a discount.






In the water I am awake. Alert. Some say they love the feeling of diving because it makes them feel at peace. Like in a perfect bubble. I feel the same at times as well, but give me a camera, and all you'll see is the white water from my fins. I wander how humorous it must be for the other divers to watch me circle the same patch of coral, for the third time, in a futile pursuit of a midnight parrotfish. "You cannot out swim an eagle ray!" my friends reproach me on the surface intervals. I know, but I can try...



Tags: places:central america:nicaragua, underwater, us, view
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