baddykee

[baddykee]

What I wouldn't do to be back.... - #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure #sunset #irishsurfer (at Playa San Juan del Sur)

[baddykee]

Take me back to #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure #irishsurfer #livininthepast (at Popoyo Beach Nicaragua)

[baddykee]

Playa Maderas

If Managua and the chicken bus are multicoloured, San Juan is a technicolour rainbow on acid. It’s a dusty beach town bustling with surf shops, hostels, hotels, burrito shops and street markets. Each shop competing for attention, peacocking with colourful surfboard signage, pastel painted beach junk and various other surfisms.

San Juan is the kind of place you want to go if you’re a bro in your 20s, want to pound beers and chat up girls. I arrived on “Sunday Funday”, pool party day. I was willing to leave the chugging and butt-slapping to the Canadian and Aussie beefcakes. After a few months out with shoulder and back injuries, I had waves on my mind. I was staying in Sunset Guest House slightly outside of town and away from the crowds. As soon as I got there I threw my bags down, got into my board shorts and went to find some waves.

I was informed that it was too late to get a shuttle bus to the surf beach and I’d have to hitch a ride to Maderas. Que yet another “what am I doing” moment. I stuck my thumb out on the main road out of town and within 10 minutes I was hanging on in the back of a local family’s pickup truck.

Driving down a dusty dirt road through a brushy forest, little did I know this would become my primary form of travel for the next month. The road deteriorated as we made our way past small pockets of shabby shanty houses which were contrasted by upmarket holiday villas. Progress was slow as we rolled over local-made speed bumps in the dirt known as “Policia Muertes” which means dead policemen.

Eventually the forest began to thin revealing a high blue horizon behind them as we approached the Pacific Ocean. Dark lines formed on the water by distant incoming waves as I tried to guess their size through the trees.

After three flights, two taxis, two chicken busses, a 2km walk in flip flops, and a hitched ride in the back of a pickup truck, I was finally there, on the iconic beach, Playa Maderas.

The North end of the beach was book ended by a huge rock formation, carved by the sea in some sort of knowing magic coincidence, into the shape of a heavy breaking wave. It’s menacing shape a beautiful warning for naive surfers.

This was a beach to come to if you wanted to be challenged and a surf spot that reminded you to respect the sea. Populated by local and traveling veteran surfers, this was a spot that took me to the limit of my abilities and gave me more of an edge than I’ve ever had from surfing. It would take me 3 days, 3 to 4 hours a day, a sprained toe, a bruised coxis, a lot of grated skin, and a close call with a rip current before I had the understanding required to start catching decent waves.

The waves came about every 15 seconds. They would begin as long, straight mounds approaching fast, increasing in height, veering upwards into a sheer cliff face mimicking the rock at the end of the beach. They were at their peak in size at high tide when they would reach around 2 to 3 metres on good days.

Timing and positioning was everything, if you tried to catch one of these a half second too close to breaking point you would be pounded by a couple of tons of violent rolling energy (1 ton per per cubic metre of wave, I’m told). These kinds of waves would suck you down twice, first on impact and second as it caught your board. If you caught the first wave, usually the smallest in a set of 7 you were pushed under water repeatedly by increasingly energetic blows as your energy dwindled.

30kmph winds, sprayed water offshore into one’s face, blinding and holding the weight of the waves upright long enough for them to ‘close out’, which meant that an entire wave could break all at once for 50 metres. This made it almost impossible to turn and move along the face of the wave to avoid the breaking shoulder.

As the wind and tide was constantly changing, so was the position of the break. The wind and rip currents unceasingly pushed surfers outwards, it was crucial to diligently keep watch, and reposition constantly. It was a battle of concentration; man versus the sea, but it felt more like twig vs river.

On my third day, after finding a board with the attributes to suit both me and the conditions, I found myself in the right spot, at the right time. Looking over my shoulder at an incoming wave, pealing towards me from the right, I paddled hard on my board to match its speed, constantly watching its smashing progress. As I intercepted the shoulder, the back of the board raised up, the front dropped and I shot down the face of the wave. In an instant, I straightened my arms, bent my legs up under my chest, planted my feet and twisted immediately to my left, looking down the wave as it began to barrel behind me.

A violent burst of acceleration shot me across the wave at 30kmph. Water corkscrewed clockwise at ferocious velocity inches from my face on the left. The shadow of the lip arched overhead and as I shot through the powerful tube like a bullet through a gun barrel. I was instantly flooded with adrenaline. Every sense was heightened and yet time seemed to slow down, or speed up, I’m not sure. My eyes widened, mouth gasped and I couldn’t control my smile. After days of wipeouts, hold downs, futility and frustration, I had finally found my perfect wave, and it was glorious.

[baddykee]

My eyes widened, mouth gasped and I couldn’t control my smile. After days of wipeouts, hold downs, futility and frustration, I had finally found my perfect wave, and it was glorious... Read more, link in bio. #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure #sunset (at Playa Maderas)

[baddykee]

Take me back to... #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure #sunset

[baddykee]

I miss #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure #sunset

[baddykee]

at Popoyo

[baddykee]

50% of this weeks wounds... #surfingpleasure (at Popoyo Beach Nicaragua)

[baddykee]

You wouldn't think by looking at them, but these sets are monsters. Around 2-3 metres. About the size if a bungalow. This poor guy (small dot on the right) has 5 or 6 left in the set to go. #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure (at Popoyo Beach Nicaragua)

[baddykee]

Home ownership goals... #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure (at Popoyo Beach Nicaragua)

[baddykee]

What a thing to wake up to 🙌 #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure #sunset (at Gigante, Rivas, Nicaragua)

[baddykee]

Daily commute #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure

[baddykee]

Surfing til sunset at Maderas 😍 #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure #sunset #surfsunset (at Playa Maderas, Nicaragua)

[baddykee]

Looking at this place through rose tinted glasses 😍 #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure (at Playa Maderas, Nicaragua)

[baddykee]

Outta me waaaaay! #Nicaragua #centralamerica #travel #trip #traveler #travelstagram #surf #surfing #surfer #surfculture #surfingpleasure #adventure (at Playa Maderas, Nicaragua)

[baddykee]

First ever clear view of the #milkyway 🙌😳🙄 (at Playa Hermosa San Juan del Sur.)

[baddykee]

The chicken bus

Leaving my family home bleary-eyed at around 6:30 from Skerries Dublin I was pretty nervous, I was running late for my flight, I had 2 connecting flights and I was landing in Managua city at midnight. The kind of city, from what I hear you don’t want to hang around in for too long.

I’d booked Backpackers Inn hostel, who would not confirm whether my 1am check in was possible. The thought of having nowhere to stay at midnight in Managua was slightly unnerving.

It had dawned on me. I was heading back to South America. It was time to let go. Time to stop expecting things to make sense. Just go with it. I should have realised this after getting advice from my friend about San Juan del Sur. She said “Go to San Juan, don’t book, just turn up. Ask for the surfers beach, hitch a ride there, then find the guy with the gold teeth, he’ll sort you out”. What could possibly go wrong?

Another thing had dawned on me. My Spanish is “Mucho Merde”, which means very shit. Luckily once I arrived, I met an Australian girl who helped me get to the bus station. According to the guy at the bus station, we got the wrong information. She was at the right bus station, I wasn’t. At that point I was surrounded by taxi drivers competing for my money. I said goodbye to my last English speaking friend, and put my faith in the hands of a driver and my very ‘poca’ Spanish skills.

We drove hurriedly through streets of single story houses, made of wooden frames, plaster board and corrugated tin roofing. Every house had bars on the windows and doors. Each one was individual in build material, shape and size, but they were united in beautiful, multicoloured dilapidation. Litter, chickens, dogs and people rolled, pecked, sniffed and shuffled around. The driver took a USB out of his top pocket, jammed it into a slot on the radio and stuck on some local traditional music as if to complete the scene. I wondered if it had an “atmospheric music for gringos” label on it.

We arrived at the bus station, which could only be described as a chaotic marketplace heaving with sellers of fruit, newspapers, snacks and bag lifting. The latter of which thrust his head through the passenger side window, identifying himself officially by pointing to a badge of a bus sown into his t-shirt. I asked for the bus to San Juan del Sur, directo. He said 'Ci’ and grabbed my bag while I stuffed 200 cordobas onto my driver’s hand.

I ran after him through the crowd, at around 65 years plus he made easy work of my 40 litre bag balanced on his head. He pushed his way through the queue of locals, as if under special authority by order of the tourist, nobody kicked up a fuss. Onto the bus he went and put my bag into a space above a sleeping woman. I sat down beside her and he requested a dollar from me, it was a tip not a charge. Another passenger got on and was shoved into my two seater seat to share with me and the large women. Every seat was crammed, every inch of aisle was taken and every window was opened. Various traders came aboard for the preliminary selling of snacks and food for the impending 2.5 hour trip on what was dubbed 'The Chicken Bus’.

The chicken bus is the predominant form of public transport in the country. An armada of 30 or 40 year-old retired American school busses. Most of these buses made their way South over the years by being bought and sold down the economic pecking order as they racked up mileage.

Most of them are privately owned by self-employed drivers and baggage handlers, or local groups and are the used to move people and goods around the country. As a result of this, they are filled as full as possible to maximise profit. Many of them have been repainted in their chosen multicolored banner for identification, some with religious overtones. Their colour based individualism seems to be a recurring theme throughout the country. Even today I drove past a multicolored graveyard.

Everything about my bus was old, repaired, battered and resuscitated. The engine started with a rattle, and shuddered through the gears, clawing its way up to fifth and onto the highway towards San Juan del Sur. As I sat there surrounded by people I had little, to no understanding of, I thought “what am I doing here?” with a smile on my face and the wind in my hair.