Boards on the roof. The Pacific somewhere ahead.
Leaving Managua behind, we followed dusty roads into a landscape of volcanoes and tropical green, where everything slows down, heat, dust, and rhythm.
The boards travel with us, already pointing toward the ocean. Dirt roads, vegetation taking over everything, an explosion of green without borders. Children on horseback, roosters crossing the road, life moving without urgency.
The sun like a burning ball. Dust rising behind us. The jungle closing in again.
And then the sea. The last dune, the North-East wind, the ocean opening in front of us.
We enter the water. Paddle, wait, drop. Walls of water unfolding like they were always meant to be there.
At the end of the day: salt on the skin, sunburnt silence, everything slowed down again.
Nicaragua stays under the skin.
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