Following a building swell north to El Salvador, we had a night in Managua before getting the 5am bus. Contrary to what Lonely Planet told us, Barrio Martha Quezada - the area around the bus terminal was a full on ghetto. I’d reserved us a night at a reputable hostel, only to have a street hustler direct us into his building telling us it was the same place. Out of pure laziness, even though we were pretty sketch on the place and the shady characters around it, we decided to stay the night - would allow us to get on the beers earlier.
By chance we stumbled upon a German bar on some random street, greeted by owner ‘David’. Telling us he only opens the doors when he feels like it, we followed him into his empty bar. Clearly drunk by his slurring and decision to wear Ray-Bans inside the dark room, he cracked open 4 Tonas and slid them across the bar. Proud of the fact his fridge was set at -7 degrees C, we got down to storytime. Our travel stories, his impressions of our personalities on face value, suicidal surfers, conspiracies of the world, his story (fighting for a rebel army, robbing banks, opening bars, his Nica family) and other general crap. After a whole heap of beers, dinner at a restaurant around the corner, then more beers at ‘David’, the man himself vanished into the darkness - his ex-wife who was looking after the bar had no idea where he was.
Next morning at 4am, we were stoked to awaken unharmed with all our gear untouched. For an 8 hour travel day including border crossings though Honduras and El Salvador, everything went relatively smooth. Eventually touching down in tiny coastal village Las Flores, we were all very impressed to see the place was sporting an epic right point break. Getting a place 50m to the water and next door Adam and Nick - 2 Americans we met in Popoyo, a fiesta was in order to celebrate new waves ahead. Who would have thought that beer, rum and a tazer gun could prove so much fun.
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