My travels began with a rocky start...literally. After a tearful goodbyes with family and friends, including the most difficult goodbye at the airport with Brad; I am off to Managua, Nicaragua. My trip started with the worst flight of my life from Denver to Miami. With the tornadoes below our plane rocked from side to side. (Having had a bad feeling about leaving, I was starting to wonder why I had gotten on the plane in the first place). Following a few hour layover in Miami, I boarded my plane; full of emotion. Once on the plane I fall asleep again. When I woke up (finally due to heat rather than freezing airport air), I looked out my window and see clear blue...waves. Oh, this is real. Walking off the plane I quickly get lesson in hot and humid Nicaraguan air. I was not out of the airport before I started to sweat. Collecting my bag and a quick pass though customs (ten dollars please) and am off to find my ride. I find a man holding a sign with my name and hostel name, looking very official in a casual tee and faded jeans. We do not really talk at first but the questions begin when we step out into the Nicaragua sun. In Spanish he asks me, "do you like the sun," my response "si," next question, "really? Because you are a different color than me." I laugh during my response, "I know." (It was at this point I thought, " oh shit, why didn't I study more before I left? So many verbs, so many tenses, objects, and the other not so critical parts of speech that seem not to matter at this point). Instead of taking me to my hostel he takes me to a great museum across the street from la casa de Presidente. He gets me in at half price and walks me though. Between his Spanish, my broken Spanish, and a pictionary like attitude we make it through. Finally, after a Georgian like driving experience, we make it to my hostel. I check in and get situated. A little face wash here and solid amount of deodorant later...I feel like a new woman. Quick call to mi made and then a Skype chat with Brad, then I realize I am super hungry. Stumbling through my Spanish once again, I ask the very patient woman at my hostel, "Where can I find a good restaurant?" She tells me there is a mall not far. I vaguely remember from the drive in. So I walk my hungry self over and go in search of food. I finally find a food court. It is full of places I know, as well as, white American faces. I suddenly feel a sense of home. I decide on a place that has fajitas. Stereotypical I know. At least I didn't go to Mr. Lee's. That place just seemed blatantly racist and something about Chinese food in Managua didn't seem quite right. I order my fajitas and a lemonade. I get fajitas and Coke. (Nit sure what happened there but it tasted like home. I walk around a bit more looking for an ATM. When I found one I have to stand there doing currency conversions. I know I looked like I was talking to myself and probably not helping the American image much. So, after much walk around I headed back to my hostel for some much needed rest.