What is this garbage in my coffee cup?

Well, it's official. I'm back. Mna.

The reality of being home hit me in the form of a bad cup of coffee this morning. The same coffee I once adored.

I woke up this morning, checked the floor for cochroaches, slipped into my sandals and emerged Krystal and Javier's new house, walking down the dirt road to Javier's parents' place. As I approached, I waved at the people staring at me, some having never before seen a white person. I waved to them and shouted, "Ola, commo estas?" and they smiled and replied, "Bien, es tu?" What else could I reply but "Moy bien, gracias."

As I approached their casa, Javier's sweet little grandmother emerged her own house (next door to my destination) and handed me a cup of the most incredible coffee.

And I know coffee.

I cradled the short brown mug in my hands and savoured the aroma for a moment before sipping, as I do with a delicate single malt whiskey.

Then, the moment arrives - the moment I've been anticipating since the barking dogs and crowing roosters pulled me from my sleep. I take a sip.

And gag. The scene disolves and I realize I'm no longer in Guisquiliapa, but back in my apartment in Calgary. The sandles I slipped on were actually my slippers, the barking dogs and crowing roosters were actually passing cars and beeping construction vehicles. The dirt road was my hallway, desperately in need of sweeping. Javier's grandmother was actually my mini coffee pot.

Enter the post-traveling blues.

I've just finished uploading the almost three hundred photos I took over the last six days. God I love digital. Aside from being all but anally probed in Houston on the way back (I'm not STAYING in the US, I'm just passing through the airport to catch a connecting flight which I've now missed because you took so @!#$ing long adjusting your rubber gloves!) the trip was wonderful. Next time we'll fly through Costa Rica. And everyone warned me about the Nicaraguan immigration. @!#$ whatever. Sorry American friends... I'm not exactly impressed with Homeland Security right now, who turned four Canadian citizens' six hour return flight into an 18 hour ordeal while refusing to tell us while we were being held (which, I believe, is a human rights violation, but I'm no expert...) and separating us. Bastards. We still don't know why we were being held.

I'll post a bunch of pictures over the next few days, as well as some more Nicaraguan tidbits. Here's one... Blogger won't let me do any more today for some reason.




This is me in front of the sign at the entrance to Guisquiliapa, where we stayed, where Javier's family lives and where Krystal and Javier bought the house.
When we returned home last night, I checked the mail to find my SASE from my first query submission. Naturally, it was a rejection. I'm actually quite happy about it. They were quick to reply, which means I can now try somewhere else, rather than sitting around up to six months just to get rejected. Besides, it's not like I really expected my first query to lead to a book deal for Mending Resolute. Well, maybe a little tiny part of me - that unrealistic part of my brain that still believes world peace is possible.

I have to unpack, clean the apartment and pick up my drycleaning. It's not really that cold here - very warm for the end of January in Canada, but it's still too freakin' cold compared to Central America.

Oh well, at least I still have my sunburn and bug bites, which I adore right now as much as the bamboo bracelet Javier's mom gave me as a welcome present.