The Small Stuff Isn’t Worth Swearing At

The Pacific Ocean crashes on rocky crags beyond the infinity pool and below the balcony where I sit writing this, its horizon melting into a blur of pink-and-blue dawn sky. Somewhere off in between, maybe a third of the way closer to shore, two men navigate a panga, casting off nets. I am in Nicaragua, at a point closer to Costa Rica than to El Salvador, a promontory separating me from the beach where a one-time lawyer and rogue William Walker landed a century and a half ago in an ambitious but ill-fated attempt to conquer this strip of Central America. Read on.

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