On the other side of Nicaragua, there is a sparsely inhabited coast where tourism doesn’t exist. There are no roads. There are Miskitos.
Getting of the plane in Puetro Cabezas
An island destined to disappear, as there were no trees to prevent from erosion. Only a few of the islands in this chain still remain.
The burning part of the “slash and burn” making room for crops and cattle. Progress!
Snagged an abandoned fishermen’s shack for the evening quarters. We celebrated this discovery, considering all the surrounding land as far as the eyes could see consisted of marshy, boggy grassland.
Front porch campin’. Community residents insisted we sleep in their quarters, sometimes even in the same room. Usually pretty humored by requests to sleep in the back yard. many would ask, “WHAT?? You want to sleep WITH THE PIGS?!” #oinkoink
Lagoon paddling alongside a couple fishermen in their sailing dugout canoe. Some days felt like a pirate movie.
It’s never difficult finding assistants in these parts.
A fisheran dislpays two turtle tags he wants to sell. Sandy Bay Sirin Nicargua
A boy learning to paddle a canoe.
Each coastal community treated us, total strangers, as they treat their own family. Shared kitchen, shared bedroom, shared… everything. This high honor also came with responsibility–waking up when the community came to life, which was usually about 5AM.
Sailing to the shitter.
Buying deer for dinner.
Fishermen cleaning a net in Prinapolka
Lumber and a sail boat. Prinzapolka, Nicaragua.
Sometimes, the route seemed….questionable. A canal rarely used only by fishermen’s dugout canoes.
Doing the vine slalom.
Claire giving a child a shot.
Levi tries on my hat.
Exiting our first mangrove swamp camp of the trip, which required extra speedy packing to avoid extreme mosquito annihilation.
A diver waits while is 15 day catch of cucumbers is weighed for sale.
The pier in Purto Cabezas.
Getting supplies at the market in Puerto.
Getting luggage at the airport.
Hualing water home.