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Nelly’s Cali Roots 2024 Photo Gallery

As we entered week two of our Central American getaway, I couldn’t help but feel a little restless. Our daily routine of eating, reading, sun-bathing, and swimming had begun to lose its luster. Our home base, the quaint surf village of Popoyo, had plenty of rustic charm, however was relatively lacking in things to do to pass the time.  It wasn’t long before we had seen and tasted basically all there was to offer. Ana had been able to break up the days with long beach walks and daily surf sessions, but with a frustratingly pronounced flare up of my back and hip pain, I was really beginning to feel the monotony wear on my happiness.
Luckily, we’d been able to hitch a ride to a series of spectacular warm-water tide pools a mile or so up the coast, where we collected precious seashells and marveled at a variety of cute aquatic creatures, but that was about it. Without a car or the ability to confidently operate a motorbike, we were, for all intents and purposes, “stuck like Chuck.”

Salvation came in the way of a Facebook message from my old pal “Nica Greg.” “Hey brother, Hary, Joe and I are taking a boat trip tomorrow to look for some waves up the coast to celebrate my birthday,” it read. “Let me know if you and Ana would like to join.” Within seconds of receiving the invite, I’d already drafted a hasty reply. “Count us in! Let me know the plan, hermano!” For the next hour, I was on the edge of my seat, awaiting further instructions.
When I finally heard the “ping” from my phone about an hour later, I was excited to learn that he’d be by bright and early, at 5:30 AM, to pick us up. Because of the draining sun rays and general lack of post-dusk activities available to us, this posed no problem. Like a married couple of 40+ years, we were generally tucked in before 9PM anyways. In preparation for our adventure, we raided the nearby corner store to pick up some snacks and iced coffee. That was the plan, anyway.

At 4:45 AM, my alarm blared. Groggily, we arose from bed and began preparations for our excursion. While I practiced some yoga to stretch my locked up muscles, Ana made her way to the kitchen we shared with the other guest at the Club Surf Popoyo to secure some food, and most importantly, caffeine.
Less than a minute later, she returned with a horrified look on her face—it turns out the kitchen was locked until 7:15AM! I tried to conceal my despair, assuring my love that there was sure to be somewhere along the way to our boat where we could find something to fill our bellies and jump start our nervous systems. Whether or not she actually believed me or not, Ana took it in stride. What a trooper, I thought.
At 5:30AM, Greg rocked up in his Nicaraguan-ready Toyota 4-Runner. After parking, he strode up our driveway with a coffee mug in hand and a bright smile on his face. For a brief moment, I eyed his java supply with barely concealed envy. “Buenos dias amigos,” he said cheerfully, his Spanish tinged with a native Georgian twang. “Ready to find some waves?” After we exchanged pleasantries, I made it a point to wish the stocky, sun-leathered retired Army Ranger a Happy Birthday. “Feliz cumpleaños! How ya feelin’ today?”

He brushed strands of greying locks from his stony, yet handsome face and replied. “About as good as a 62 year-old can, although I got quite an unexpected wake-up call this morning!” He then went on to tell us how his Nicaraguan girlfriend had hired a full-piece Mariachi band to enter their home at 3:45AM for a very early, and very Nicaraguan, birthday surprise. 
We all chuckled as Greg began to load our boards onto the roof. Before I opened to door to get in the car, I noticed a crude depiction of a penis and testicles drawn by finger in the dirt covering the window. Must be Hary’s handiwork, I thought with amusement.
And there he sat, in the backseat, all ninety-five pounds of him. The 13 year-old Nicaraguan ripper had a painfully sleepy look on his face, as though he’d just been administered 100mgs of medical grade Ketamine—a far cry from the mischievous hellion I’d met the previous summer. “Que pasa Hary?! Psyched for the mission?” He grunted and directed his gaze back to his Instagram feed, where Italo Ferreira was flying through another acrobatic full-rotation air reverse onscreen.

In the front passenger seat sat Joe Taylor, an expat kneeboarder from Newport Beach who’d moved to Nicaragua three years prior with his wife. On the 15 minute drive to the beach where we were to launch the boat, we all, save Hary, chatted excitedly about the day ahead. The plan was to scope out a couple nearby waves that were likely to have some swell, but with the hellacious Nicaraguan Spring winds, there would be no guarantees.
Speaking of guarantees, my promises of caffeinated deliverance failed miserably when we found every corner store along the way to be shuttered. It looked like we would have to go without, but luckily, our excitement for the mission at hand trumped our disappointment. We pulled up a dirt road that led to a picturesque beach littered with brightly colored boats and mangy beach mutts fighting in the sand. We were greeted by our captain while a handful of his helpful assistants loaded our boards into the boat. At this point, the stiff offshore breeze began to howl, but there was no turning back now. “Vamanos,” said our guide, and we all piled in the modest panga.

As we motored past an offshore reef that was beginning to show it’s fangs, Hary, who had woken up a bit by now, wanted to let Greg know that he had a special birthday surprise in store for him. “For my present, Greg, I’m going to give you one big air-reverse! You will love it!” Greg just smiled and shook his head. The two have a very special relationship. Like most Nicaraguan boys his age, Hary is at a critical juncture in his young life. The allure of the party lifestyle that surrounds local children in touristy areas such as Popoyo can take kids like himself down the wrong path, and being the top rated competitive surfer in the country for his age, he has a lot to lose.

As we motored our way North, we passed a stunning cliffside reminiscent of Scott’s Creek, and a series of empty beaches that stretched for miles. While the scenery was pretty, the wind had turned ugly. Nevertheless, we were thrilled, twenty minutes later, to find a reasonably uncrowded cobblestone A-Frame break that, despite the wind, still offered some incredible rides. I was so stoked to finally get a chance to unload some pent-up aggression, and for the next couple hours we sunk our teeth into some extremely serviceable surf. I even scored a sweet tube-ride.

When all was said and done, we were all thoroughly licked. While the ride there was relatively smooth, our way home was against the ferocious wind. By the time we got back to the beach where we launched our boat, I felt like a drowned rat. Hary, on the other hand, had crawled into Greg’s spacious board bag, where he emerged, completely dry. After the captain beached the boat, we trudged wearily to a beachfront palapa for some traditional Nicaraguan lunch and finally, some coffee.

A Welcome Change of Scenery

“Never again,” I muttered under my breath as I clung to the rapidly fraying threads of composure that had been keeping me from bugging out, which I shouldn’t need to remind you, is a no-no on a commercial airline flight. The airline Ana, my girlfriend, and I had chosen to whisk us off to our tropical vacation in Nicaragua had seats that didn’t recline, extremely cramped aisles, and little to no leg room. They also seemingly regularly change flight times and dates weeks after their original purchase, which had put me in a foul mood before we even boarded the plane.
Our flight out of San Francisco departed around 1 AM, so both of us were excited at the prospect of being able to close our eyes in the United States and open them in Central America. As I mentioned  earlier, this is not how it played out. There was no comfort to be found in those seats, especially for me, with my chronic pain condition.

While Ana was able to find temporary solace in momentary slips into slumber, I wasn’t so lucky. A type of time dilation that rivaled the effects of a high dose psychedelic trip placed me in some kind of temporal purgatory. Every time I checked my watch, it seemed only minutes had passed. At some point, I stopped checking. At that very moment, a new development attached itself to my thoughts like a Facehugger from the movie Alien. Restless legs! I thrashed and stomped and massaged and even prayed to a host of Gods I don’t even believe in.
Luckily, before I found myself escorted off our grounded plane by burly security guards, I trained my thoughts on our final destination—the magical land of Nicaragua. A place where offshore winds groom waves to perfection and the beauty of the natural landscape paints a magical masterpiece. Where the food is delicious (and cheap) and the people and their pets are  quick to take you in. An inviting destination year-round, especially so now, at the tail end of a winter that truly kicked both of our asses.

These realizations stirred something inside me. I can make it! It’s totally worth it to endure this hell if Nicaragua was half the place I’d visited last July. Strength came in waves, and within five minutes, my frown had truly turned upside down. As my tension eased time began to work again the way it should, and before long, we were there!

As we walked across the tarmac after we landed, Ana and I traded weary, yet elated smiles. Traveling alone can be a fun adventure, but when you do it with someone you love, those all too common traveling mishaps become easier to navigate. Any couple that can consistently overcome such challenges have a great shot to make their partnership last.
Outside the terminal, Louie, our cab driver, was waiting patiently for our arrival, which was a blessing as our plane arrived about an hour late. Louie was talkative and friendly, which allowed me to iron out the kinks in my rusty Spanish. When we stopped for a bathroom break his eyes lit up when I told him to pick anything he wanted to eat from one of the vendors nearby. He came back with two bags of Chicharrones (pork rinds) and a coca-cola, a true product of his environment.

The drive was tranquil, and afforded Ana and I a good look at the countryside. Ramshackle businesses and crumbling residences highlighted the economic inequality in places like Nicaragua, but they were beautiful—brightly colored in pastel hues of green, yellow, and orange. The people we saw appeared to be happy, but you could tell that, for most Nicaraguans, life doesn’t come easy, a truth exemplified by the sight of an eighty-plus year-old farmworker carrying a back-breaking stack of wood on his shoulders.
When we finally arrived at our destination, <a href="https://www.clubdelsurf.com">Club Surf Popoyo</a>, we were greeted by our host, Filippo. He showed us around his cute surfing lodge and led us to our room. It was perfect! There was a peaceful patio just outside our quarters lined with rocking chairs and hammocks, and the trail to the sand stretched a mere twenty feet. We could literally see the ocean from inside our room! At that moment, we knew that we were in for a treat, one well worth the hell we endured on our flight.

After we unpacked our things, we decided to take a sunset stroll and warm water plunge. Stiff offshore winds, the kinds that Nicaragua is famous for, were creating perfect two-foot barrels that lit up in shimmering gold reflections thanks to the molten sun behind them. So enticing was the scene that we abandoned our walk and ran straight for the sea. All the hardship of travel washed right off us as we dove under those first few waves. After sharing a magical kiss I looked at Ana with a cheeky smile and said, “I think it was worth it!”

Nelly’s Cali Roots 2024 Photo Gallery

And a very irie bonus : Full set concerts of Ziggy & Tribal Seeds!

@nellysmagicmoments

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@nellysmagicmoments