Party Central

Nursing our hangovers with some beach time

I'm currently sitting metres away from the surf breaks of Playa Gigante, Nicaragua enjoying my first alcohol-free day in over a month. As Bob Marley croons "Every little thing gonna be alright" over the hostel speakers; it's occurred to me that yes, indeed, everything gonna be alright - so long as I stay the hell away from alcohol over the next few days.

Following my intoxicating month in Belize I hightailed it straight to Utila, the smallest of Honduras' Bay Islands nestled in the Caribbean Sea. I had grand notions of putting my party days behind me and instead focusing on obtaining my diving certification (Utila is renowned amongst the backpacking world for being one of the cheapest places to learn to dive in Latin America). And whilst I did indeed obtain my Open Water Certification and subsequently my Advanced Open Water; the reggae baselines thumping from the dance halls throughout town and the ridiculously cheap cost of rum proved too hard to ignore, so I instead found myself spending many a dive trying not to throw up into my regulator. 

Carnival de Utila happens at the end of July

It didn't help that I was there at the end of July, which is when the entire island celebrates Carnival de Utila. With street parades, concerts, beach parties, fireworks and various other festivities coercing the whole island into letting loose, it was all to easy to abandon my resolve and get caught up in all the fun. My last weekend there I attended Sun Jam, an annual electronic music beach party held at Water Cay off the southwestern tip of Utila. For twelve hours I danced nonstop, sitting down only briefly to watch the sun rise over the Caribbean… 

Whilst I left Utila somewhat worse for wear (and flaunting a spectacular bruise on my right thigh thanks to a late night tumble down some stairs), I'd had too much fun and made too many new friends to care. Somehow in the space of a few weeks, exploring the culture and the environment and getting to know the local customs in the countries I visited had been surpassed by the desire to keep the party going and to ensure that the fun never stopped. I suspect it had something to do with avoiding more pressing concerns, e.g. What was I going to do when I returned to Australia? When was I going to return to Australia? What did I want from my life? What was I going to do for a living? Etc etc. 

There was a lot of drinking and dancing...

Even facing small realities (my bank balance for instance, or responding to emails from my mother) proved too much hard work. It's not easy composing sentences or remembering your log-in details when you've had less than four hours sleep and you're nursing a ferocious hangover… 

So when a chance meeting with a group of Irish backpackers lead to a shared shuttle ride over the border into Nicaragua, after some rather subdued (although far from dry) days in León I found myself bound for another popular gringo destination: the once sleepy fishing village of San Juan Del Sur. 

A hub for exploring Nicaragua's southern Pacific beaches, San Juan Del Sur also boasts a robust nightlife and hosts the notorious 'Sunday Funday', dubbed "the biggest Pool Crawl in Central America!" A 'pool crawl' is - you guessed it - pretty much like a pub crawl but with swimming pools. Over several hours hundreds of backpackers are shuttled across town to three venues: Pelican Eyes Resort, The Naked Tiger Hostel and Pacha Mama Hostel, where copious amounts of drinking, dancing and depravity ensues. Those that are still standing at the end of the day will then descend upon the bars in town or head to the beach (not a good idea, as the regular robberies will attest) or collapse back in their beds… or someone else's. 

Over the course of my two week stay in San Juan Del Sur I ticked 'Sunday Funday' off my party bucket list not once but twice. Once again, I was seduced by the revelry and the companionship of newfound friends. Like members of some debaucherous cult we would drink ourselves silly in our matching 'Sunday Funday' singlets (included in the price of admission - a win for hobos like me who are running out of clothes) and forestall our inevitable hangovers by celebrating 'Manic Monday', 'Tequila Tuesday', 'Wet n' Wild Wednesday' and so forth. 

The picturesque Casa de Olas
in San Juan Del Sur

It didn't help that I stayed in the picturesque Casa de Olas in the northern slopes of San Juan Del Sur. With its infinity pool, spectacular sunsets and panoramic views it provided the perfect backdrop for a fortnight of shared degeneracy. Run by an Australian couple, Casa de Olas was also staffed by a cocky ensemble of Aussie males (the owners had a dislike of female staff apparently). Like proud peacocks they would strut around half naked, kings of their castle (in their minds at least) with their mutual Peter Pan Syndrome evident to all who stayed there. As the first ones to get the party started and the last ones standing, on most days the staff were too intoxicated to do their jobs properly. So it was inevitable in this environment of reckless abandonment that the hostel guests would follow suit…

However, as my second week came to a close I decided that I'd had enough. All around me I began to see evidence of the perils of too much partying: friendships that were easily formed but just as easily broken. Relationships that were clearly based on nothing more than alcohol-fuelled lust. Narcissism, greed and self-interest dominated. Values and morals were abandoned. Integrity and dignity lost… I realised the merry-go-round of ceaseless partying must grind to a halt, lest I lose myself completely in a booze-fuelled haze. 

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a party as much as anyone. And I had a ridiculous amount of fun and acquired some precious travel memories, e.g. hours spent hula hooping and dancing the night away; evenings of stargazing and chatting with travellers from all over the world; laughing until I cried (and fell off my seat…) But I'd also developed the cough of a pack-a-day smoker (even though I don't smoke), I was covered in scratches and cuts and bruises and I had completely lost my appetite (a sure sign that something was seriously wrong!) My body was undoubtedly telling me that enough was enough. 

The beautiful Isla de Ometepe, Nicaragua

I decided what I needed was a complete change of scene, so after an evening spent hibernating in my dorm watching Netflix I awoke early and got the hell outta San Juan Del Sur. I headed straight for the picturesque Isla de Ometepe and was immediately enchanted by its lush green vegetation, twin volcanic peaks and sweeping beaches. For a week I abandoned the relentless partying in favour of reading books, swimming in Lago de Nicaragua and cycling around the island. I even hiked up to a waterfall - the first real exercise (aside from dancing and hula hooping) I'd done in weeks.

Within days the cough subsided, my appetite returned and I was back to sleeping eight hours a night. Sure, there were plenty of nights spent conversing with fellow travellers over a beer. But the difference was, this did not take precedence over enjoying the many activities on offer on the island. Partying was secondary to other activities - it wasn't the primary activity. 

The truth is, traveling solo can sometimes get lonely - no matter how much you might enjoy your own company. It can even get boring at times. So when you finally start to make new friends, it's easy to abandon your plans in favour of a thirteen-drink bar 'challenge' with the reward of a free T-shirt. But it's about striking a balance. I didn't save for a year and a half to blow my budget on booze. As crazy and fun as those nights may be, I can do the same at home (albeit at a greater cost). And as much as I might bond with someone over a glass (or three) of rum punch, often those 'friendships' are as intense as they are short-lived...  

Fortunately, amidst all the bedlam of the past few weeks I did manage to meet some genuine characters. We've laughed, we've cried, we've danced, we've swam, we've hung in hammocks, we've hula hooped… both in and outside of happy hour. 

So to those precious few (you know who you are) I now raise a glass…. of water :)

"Here's to alcohol - the rose coloured glasses of life" - F. Scott Fitzgerald