This is our ten-dollar-a-night missing link between hotel room and doghouse
The quirks of an elderly, seemingly vindictive, guidebook had us searching for a backpacker resort that no longer existed, and we ended up staying in a cute, but overpriced mini-cell. A beach lay nearby, which apparently had the best waves in Southern Nicaragua. It turned out to be one of the most dangerous places to surf I have ever been, not because of any natural hazards but because every American or European who wants to learn to surf splashes around there on insanely sharp boards. As I narrowly avoided losing an eye for the second time in one session, I decided to go in early.
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