I’m quite happy not being woken up by chickens, monkeys and the 6am bus pomping its horn outside my window – all of which were a common occurrence in Nicaragua. But, and who thought I’d ever admit this – I’m kind of missing being up and about at first light.
In Nicaragua my daily rhythm was far more in tune with the natural rise of the sun – 6.30/7am mornings were my new norm. I even felt bright-eyed and bushy tailed.
In the UK? My alarm went off at 6.30am yesterday morning, and it took me a full half hour to open my eyes properly and even contemplate disentangling myself from my duvet. After finally succeeding, I staggered to my kitchen to make myself a good cup of coffee. Nicaraguan, of course.
My wardrobe choices are no longer based on, “which of my items of clothing are the least dusty?” Clearly, this sounds wonderful. But there’s something that now feels a little bit wrong about being faced with a whole wardrobe of clothes to choose from. Do I really need all this stuff?
I went out for lunch for a friends’ birthday the other day, and it took me half an hour to choose what to wear. For lunch! What’s that all about?
Travel keeps me low maintenance, and by returning to the western world of plenty I’ve automatically gone up a notch on the scale. The joy I experienced at being reunited with my high heels and hair straighteners made me feel … how can I put it … a bit shallow. But at the same time? So goooooood.
“Oh, I was travelling with my boyfriend here for two weeks. But he had to go back to England. For work.”
Or so went the tale according to me, after being asked for the gazillionth time why I was travelling alone, and receiving numerous confused looks upon explaining I was happy doing so and I liked it.
Or – my particular fave – being asked why I didn’t have children.
The answer to that one?
“Me and my (imaginary) boyfriend have only been together six months, so it’s too soon for children at the moment.”
Seemingly not in Nicaragua, as the vehement looks and comments of disagreement told me!
It was at this point my inner voice would scream: “Arrrrrrgh, aaarrrrrrgh, arrrrrrrrrrgggghhhh! He doesn’t exist! I just made him up because I don’t want to appear any more strange than a five foot ten sort-of red-headed white girl travelling alone on a chicken bus already does, without getting into a whole debate in Spanglish about my wishes / non-wishes for children!”
Instead, I just smiled sweetly, and ordered another chicken tortilla from the nearest vendor.
Anyway, I’m not missing the regularity with which complete strangers ask me such questions about my private life.
However, I AM missing the level of interaction and chattiness that’s common in Nicaragua.
I MISS hearing those revolutionary tales – I was incredibly humbled by what ordinary people had gone through.
The only voices I hear on the London Underground are those of us from more northerly reaches of the British Isles, and tourists debating which branch of the Northern Line they need.
I mean, seriously, what’s the matter with you all? Ask me how old I am and why I don’t have children, damn you!!!
Hi, I'm Julie, a York (UK)-based travel blogger and comfort-zone pusher. Join me as I bring you pics and musings from my mildly adventurous travels around the globe. My mission is to hear you say, "I"m so glad I did it!" instead of, "I wish I could, BUT ..."
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