Loose Moose

It’s 35 degrees and sunny; we’re going to the beach. The water is a lot nicer here than it was in Las Penitas. It’s got that mystifying teal blue colour, and is much calmer. I’m not a super strong swimmer, so I prefer this. It’s windy as hell on the beach. I am literally covered in sand. It probably doesn’t help that I’m wearing sunscreen, it really might as well be glue, but at least I won’t be burnt and sandy. 

We don’t stay long, it’s not exactly comfortable being pelted by mini sandstorms whenever the wind picks up. 

There’s a Canadian bar here called the Loose Moose and I kid you not it’s like the place to beeeeee. We go check it out because one of the guys we used to work with back in Toronto told us that his friend owns it….and I mean, it’s Canadian. Those kind of things are always more exciting when you’ve been away for a significant amount of time, but it’s still fun to see even when I’ve only been away a week. They serve poutine, caesars, and something they call Moose Juice. There’s a “Justin Beiber Assassination Fund” jar on the corner of the bar. (Which is hilarious but guys, all jokes aside, you can’t tell me Sorry isn’t your favourite song right now.) 

  
We meet a group of 5 obnoxiously rowdy Canadian guys who are here on vacation. One of them tries to convince me that Justin Trudeau is his brother because they share a last name. I don’t buy it, (they look absolutely nothing alike) but I can’t blame him, I’d do the same thing if my last name was Trudeau. Shortly after the same liar tells me his friend is a famous country star, which I also don’t buy, but eventually Google it for verification and it surprisingly turns out to be true. I’m not a country fan, but if you care, he’s Brandon Smith from Cold Creek County. We end up spending the rest of the day with these guys, who act more like stereotypical Americans than Canadians, but we get into some fun political debates so I’m happy. Ilona hates this, but present me with a Harper supporter and I just can’t help myself. 

One of them lives in Managua (I’ll never understand why anyone would want to live there) and has a truck. We drive to another beach away from the bar crawl main strip, which I’d never have found on my own. The roads that lead us there are bumpy, but when we arrive we’re the only people on the beach, aside from the owners of a small bamboo hut bar. The only building on the beach. The truck is a stick shift and I haven’t driven a manual in years, but he let’s me drive it anyway. I go “off roading” and it’s the best. God I miss driving. It’s just so unnecessary when you live in the city. 

The day turns into night and we go back to the main beach for some dinner. It’s an overall good day, but I am appalled that I hung out with solely Canadians. I’m in Nicaragua. I can hangout with Canadians at home. 

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