Rory Parker goes to Nicaragua in search of vulnerable travellers!
Ultimate decadence. Hot and sweaty world, a/c cranked so high you can see your breath. Sleep beneath a down comforter while the outside world bakes in an equatorial sun.
We’re situated above the bustle and bustle. Balcony overlooks bar row. Stumble drunk teens on their merry way. Second floor crocodiles looking to separate the weak from the herd.
Very nice hotel. More than I expected. Exactly one floor above check-in. They can hear everything.
Relatively mellow so far. Low energy on arrival. Eighteen hours of travel will kick your ass.
Unbridled fun at the farmacia doesn’t help with the pep. A half-dozen beers guzzled while waiting for check-in gives a temporary boost. But it’s a directionless manic energy. Better pop another Valium to get your head straight.
Out like a light for sixteen hours.
Woke up to excellent coffee. Amazing breakfast. High-speed WiFi. Included with the room. This place is a steal.
So stoked to be a grown-up.
Looking down my nose at the backpacker crowded. Packed into hostels like low-budget sardines. Breathing each others farts. Masturbating surreptitiously to the couple humping on the top bunk.
Why bother being quiet? Uninvited third-wheel menage action. Nothing wrong with that. Unfair to call someone a creep when there’s penetration three feet up.
Beer festival today!
Burgeoning micro-brew community down here. I’ll stick with the Toña. Rent a wheel barrow to cart around the wife. Met up with some chubby ripe young ladies. Will see them there.
They smell like prey.
