By Land, By Sea, By Schu

The girl could not decide what to do. Boat tour. City tour? But the girl chose kayaking. She spent the morning flirting with a big green parrot named ZsaZsa and eating massive portions of eggs, bacon and hash. And as an afterthought swallowed a reluctant ginger pill in preparation for a hopefully idyllic river wander?

The girl then boarded the van with the other more animated and plucky adventurers and all eyes widened at the white wake on the water. The lake wasn't calm and the girl grew afraid that she had once again chosen folly over a wiser course. With trepidation she left her bag in the van and was one of the last to launch in the gritty sludge and reeds of the bank.

With a deep breath she took to the paddle and asked where they were going. Martin replied, follow the guide. Yes well, but where are we going?! So massive the lake, so deep the swells. The girl did not want to be lost forever at sea and the kayak itself, yellow, fiber glass and the rim closed in, though sea worthy did not seem the best at capsizing gracefully. She could only hope to hit calmer water and closer banks soon.

The girl remembered to keep the balance in her core and later shifted her legs back and forth with not too much anxiety. Still, prayers were muttered, and her friends now clearly keened in to her motion sick self, are you ok? Are you enjoying it? How are you doing? Good. Bueno, the girl smiled and nodded, quietly, possibly with an air of reserve that disaster at any moment could befall her. She wasn't concerned about anyone but herself, as it now seemed a concurrent running theme.

And then they hit the quiet channels of the lake buffeted by island baracades. Trees dipped low into the water and her kayak guided quietly over lily pads, near roots dangling from trees. The girl glanced out into the open and through the tall grasses and parrot screeching. A boy cast a net and dove in the water to anchor it to the bottom of the bank. Dogs barked from the saftey of homes, and rowboats passed with the look of, so, you odd bunch in the small boats, what do you think you're doing here exactly? The guide asked if she kayaked before. An inditement or? No, a compliment. You look good. You professional. And the girl glowed with pride. She would take this little bit and carry it home with her. Snd then rolled her eyes now at the reprecusions of looking like she knew what she was doing. No panic. Only grace. Smoothe, fluid movements. A cool head. The form and move, just right. Nothing goes wrong when you know what you're doing.

But the calm only lasted in the moments where she was protected and with each island came a treacherous inlet to be crossed, where she had to dig her paddle deep, and think about conserving energy for the trip back. Mercifully they came to a restaurant on the water with fresh coconuts and club soda. So the girl disembarked, keeping low to the rocks, thankful at not capsizing with each breath. There was the unpleasant smell of burning rubbish. A popular thing to do apparently, even in a wouldbe paradise. But the spray of the water and the fizz of her drink kept the thoughts of the return trip at bay. Lunch would be small then and made up of bird things.

And when the wind had calmed they came to a small island with monkeys that could not escape it. Water locked they were and fed by tourists. She had seen worse cages but there was the one monkey who had no tail- that had tried to cross the phone lines draping suspect and high above the water. The lines felt like home even over water against the blue sky, but she could not help but be sad for the monkeys. And then the horse carts that keep the colonial charm but seem far too skinny...

And then the girl thought, ok, just a bit more to go and back, but they stopped at a fort. And the girl grew impatient and thought, again, I have to get out again!? She tumbled onto the high launch, straining the guides balancing skills and made her way to the fort and climbed the steep high stairs to the top, to the idyllic view of some volcano rimmed with clouds and the sparkling water and the trees bowing at the breeze. Pirates, ok. Yes. Spanish. English. There's the canon. Then the guide gave all the girls these things that looked like sticks but when you opened them were beautiful flowers. Had a gorgeous fragrance. There were pictures taken. Her adventure hat raked to the side- dashing. And now it was back to the water, sleepy from the sun and hungry. She could not even regret the dancing all night in her last night in Leon- a rum shot, mojito, something, something and silly dance tunes, the motion of that compartively calmer than all those waves and moving water.

But the wind had died down on the surface of the water and her kayak tired and logged down with a passanger of dubious merriment, trudged with one stroke after the next, trailing everyone. The girl sighed loudly, let her hands trail in the water. Where are we going exactly? Is there some point? Is that the shack? Is this the way? And the girl made it to land and smiled.

Only to be pushed onto a chicken bus several hours later on a return trip from a decent but small artisan market which left her walking blocks and blocks following speedy gonzalez. She did at one point help a man at the back of the bus from tumbling out of it, as the emergency door was open and the man- manning the back had gone up to the top as they roared down the road. It was entertaining, and the capsizing was different. The negotation of people and things around her moving instead of she. And she got to watch and hear the whistles and calls and the baskets flying and the people hailing as she leaned and bumped against on solid rattling high speed moving ground.

The chicken curry she had for dinner and the fireworks exploding all around her seemed tame in comparison.