Nicaragua Day 12: San Juan Del Sur (Turtle Tour!)


Day 12 was nearing the end of our time in San Juan Del Sur, and although we enjoyed more time at the beach and another plate of tostones con queso, it was also time to buckle down on the bucket-list opportunities we did not want to miss! If we ever get back to San Juan Del Sur I definitely want to try zip-lining, and it would be cool to try surfing, but I am so, so happy that this time around we did a turtle tour. 

Sea turtles nest at only a handful of beaches in the world, and one of those is located a short drive outside of San Juan, called La Flor. This beach is a protected nature reserve, and large tours can range in cost from $25-40 USD which includes the cost of admission to the reserve ($8 each for foreigners). This price is extremely reasonable compared to the cost of turtle tours in neighboring Costa Rica where you can easily spend over $100 per person to see turtles. We lucked out with a smaller tour organized by a French ex-pat and his Nicaraguan wife for $15 each, admission not included, and the whole experience was phenomenal. Matt talked to Sam and Jamie, and they brought two other guys they’d met (a huge perk of backpacking vs staying in hotels is how easily you connect with people!), and we all loaded into a pickup truck about an hour before the sun went down.

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Home (born here, not from here)

DSCN5121I am a British Columbian at heart, a Vancouver Islander in my bones.

To be fair, my Ontario roots go just as deep – generations of my people on both sides of my family were born on this Great Canadian Shield scraped level by ancient glaciers, fertile with farms and highways and the dreams of new immigrants. I was born in Toronto, but I grew up in Victoria, and perhaps my return to this city should have felt more like a homecoming.DSCN4901

My Grandma drove me around her town the summer before I started university and told my stories from my Dad’s growing up years – the places they lived and the schools he attended, and I walked up a stranger’s side yard to see a black cross emblazoned in concrete that marked the death of a pet bird. The people who live there now don’t know what that cross means, but I do. And a few months later, my Great Uncle drove me around his hometown and showed me the river my Grandpa used to fish, and the old post office that was a corner store for a few years, and we bought cheese curds at Reid’s Dairy because Grandpa always missed squeaky cheese after he moved out West with my Prairie-born Grandma. I have a rich heritage with deep roots in the earth, but my heart is hungry for a changing tide, for the smell of salt and moss and cherry blossoms, and smoke on the shore rising up to bright stars.

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IMG_20150410_213159We had a white Easter this year, drove home through falling snow from our family dinner Saturday night. Sometimes seasons don’t come as you expect.

And the bus transfer I received this morning says it is the 100th day of the year, which got me thinking how many different ways we measure days and count seasons, 100 days into 2015, 10 days into April, 5 days into Easter, 20 days into Spring although like I said, Winter has been taunting us on its way out the door. Today I am 26 months into motherhood, which seems both completely normal and utterly impossible, and I am realizing more and more how motherhood is a whole genre of seasons unto itself.

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