Mala suerte...

In the morning we make a quick getaway from the island, declaring ourselves finished from its nonsense, and looking forward to a change in scenery. Part of me wants to stay on the island a little longer but the signs show that it's time to head out.

Because buses are already hard to come by on the island, and on Sundays only worse, we get ride in the back of an old man's pick up truck. He's reluctant to take all 3 of us because he doesn't have his tourism driver's license, but when we get stopped by the police, he just tells them that he's not charging us. Seems like a fine enough system to me.

We get to the ferry and for some reason the prices are twice as much and thus the robbery begins.

We toss our bags in the luggage area and climb straight up to the top level. The ferry is large, with several cars including a banana truck on board, and I am anxious to just sit in the sun and feel the breeze coming off the water as we glide back to San Jorge.

A few bus rides and hours later we arrive to the Hostal Albergue in Leon, yet unknowingly deceived by their clever and hip advertisement. We are exhausted, having traveled all day, and when the hostal worker asks for our passports, we move slowly. Even slower is our reaction to the fact that many of our things are missing. Most importantly, Abby's passport and my money, and then all of our jewelry and a number of smaller and more insignificant things, but silly things like my deodorant and contact solution. Disbelief, horror, and anger wash over us in waves as we figure out what to to do. The hostal employee is less than sympathetic and we realize we need a drink.

Drained and miserable, we head to a nearby bar, unable even to communicate properly or politely with the waitstaff. I neither want to sleep, nor wake up, nor be in Nicaragua anymore, nor leave the stop that I am sitting in ever. I haven't felt so bad in a really, really long time.

In the morning, after our "free breakfast" of white bread and butter (we didn't bother making the ancient-looking instant coffee), we find a new hostal a few blocks away. Lazy Bones offers us constant internet access, a pool, coffee and tea all day long, hammocks, and a pool table, and in the state that we're in, it seems perfect. Ok, I know I've said before that I don't care for the backpacker hostal atmosphere but honestly, after our bout of bad luck, it felt completely necessary and good to relax in the "luxuriousness" of this hostal.

In the morning, I realize that actually all of the rest of my money has been stolen and that hits me hard for a bit. But, it takes a lot to keep two gals like Abigail and I down, and soon we are relaxing and laughing over our misfortune. Today we will relax, tomorrow we'll take care of passport nonsense, and then we'll enjoy whatever days we have left in Nicaragua. But no more blaming, anger, sadness, or disappointment. As a dear friend, Vladmir, said to me afterwards, "Well, the most important things aren't the material things anyway, but rather the friendships and connections you'll make while traveling, and those are things that are far more valuable and which no one can ever steal from you."