Nicaragua Jolts My Imagination

And later, my heart..

Rumbling through 2 miles of lush jungle road to the stunning setting of Playa Hermosa, I told visiting friends just a few weeks ago about my Nicaraguan origin story..at least the part that “sealed it” for me. Back in 2017 I did that same exhilarating drive with a group of workers I had befriended in an Escamequita hotel I stayed in for 6 glorious days. Sunset surf in lovely waist-high waves, a baby turtle release, delectable margaritas, bonfire and music. Are you kidding me?? I’m IN. Honestly, I was already teetering heavily.

That drift began before I set foot in the country. Blind instinct is truly a remarkable sensation. It urged me to create a trip to a new place based on a wild assumption; that this would be the spot. The spot to do something different and bold, to soak in deeper, with an eye towards my future. After all, I felt the itch. I’ve felt its electricity before, I have a history of making dramatic changes in the direction of adventure and travel, and am eternally grateful, to myself, for scratching that itch.

So before getting on a plane I did good digging, got connected, and stayed in places that might be fitting to buy a house. The area I desired only had land, and right behind it, a newly opened eco-resort called TreeCasa. So I did the unforeseen and uncomfortable thing and decided to build a house. No rush, after all.

In April 2018 I had the paperwork in hand, ready to sign. That fateful week, Nicaragua exploded into dreadful human violence and upheaval. I paused, with the world..wide-eyed and sad. Slept on it. The next day, I signed the contract. Raw intuition, again, told me “do not hesitate, negotiate, or alternate.” Forward amigo. My orbit of loved ones was deeply confused, wtf are you doing Jeff??

11 months later Casa Landi was born, in July 2019. I experienced the best two weeks EVER with my father, setting the house up and exploring the treasures of San Juan del Sur. We hunted days for everyday goods you could find in one or two stores here, we fished and succeeded savagely, barreled over shitty muddy roads to dazzling beaches, delighted in fresh inexpensive food, and celebrated the effervescent beauty and breezes around the house in the heart of Nicaragua’s rainy season. My dad has been three times and loves it dearly. Life stories, like fish stories, tend to get bigger and brighter over time and we reflect often. My dad has become an unwavering ambassador to Nicaragua, nearly always to an audience of peers cemented in frightful and abhorrent perspectives of the country.

But Why? Why Nicaragua, they ask?? To this, I prefer to brush off complex lifealytics and stick to the simple truth: it was a gut call.