On Running Home To Ourselves
Words by María Belén Alemán
Image by Lili Breton
I arrived blurry eyed and slightly delirious from lack of sleep after taking the red eye from San Francisco to Managua, with a short layover in El Salvador. My black leggings, white long sleeved shirt, gray sweatshirt, and black faux leather jacket were rendered useless –and quite ridiculous– the moment I walked out of the airport through the sliding double doors. The heat wrapped around me like a warm hug, welcoming me, inviting me to relax and be present.
I spotted two women next to the car that would take us to the hotel as my driver wheeled my bag down a path and a set of steps on the outskirts of the outdoor parking lot. The moment they saw me, their mouths erupted into the widest, most genuine smiles I had seen in hours. They introduced themselves as Jennifer and Kelton, former work colleagues turned close friends. I felt instantly at peace, and that’s how I knew that I had arrived in the right place.
The hour and a half car ride to the small fishing village of El Tránsito on Nicaragua’s Pacific coast was spent chatting about our lives and livelihoods, and how we had come to find out about Trust & Travel. I used the natural lulls in the conversation to peek out my window and catch a glimpse of Managua as it sped by. It was a lively mess of people, motorcycles, cars, vans, noise, trash, signs, billboards, vendors, men and women on horseback, and cops with machine guns stationed every few blocks. This last part took me by surprise, but it would turn out to be an anomaly compared with how people in this beautiful country truly live, as I’d come to learn days later.
Thirty minutes before arriving at the hotel, we turned off of the manicured highway and onto a wide dirt road that ondulated and curved above and around several hills. By then, Jennifer and Kelton had surrendered to their exhaustion, but I resisted, my eyes peeled, waiting for the moment that I knew would eventually come when, off in the distance, the dirt road would break and reveal the ocean on the horizon. When my expectation finally met reality, it did not disappoint. The Pacific came into view with its rich blue tones sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight. A sense of excitement and anticipation grew steadily within me.
Our driver zig-zagged his way through the small town and turned up a stone driveway into Mandla, our hotel. Katie, one of the owners, and Pepe, our bartender and soon-to-be favorite staff member, greeted us at the entrance of a large palapa with white cement walls, a straw roof, and jaw dropping views of the ocean. Pepe offered us fresh coconut water straight from a coconut, one for each. After being taken to our impeccable rooms, I hurried to shed my many layers of clothing so that I could melt into the lovely late-February summer weather and get some food in me. Oh, what a treat we were all in for! Katie, who is an intuitive chef that cooks with her senses and not with measurements, blew us all away the entire week with her decadent, healthy, locally sourced, and fresh creations – true masterpieces.
That first afternoon went by slowly as our group of gorgeous women (witches, if you will) grew by the hour until it was complete. The stars of the show were Jade (pronounced “Jaji” – $2 in the jar if you get it wrong), co-founder of Trust & Travel and a travel writing queen, and Sara, retreat co-host, yoga instructor, and breathwork magician. The rest of the goddesses were named Shasta, Sophia, Lila, Gala, Lili, Xylia, Mischka, and Jennifer and Kelton, whom I had met at the airport.
I can’t pretend to know with what intentions each of us arrived in Nicaragua. However, mine were clear to me: to relax, to write, and to disconnect from the world in order to reconnect with myself. What none of us could predict was that a war would break out the night before our first day together. The tremendous privilege of being able to travel, practice yoga, meditate, process our wounds and our traumas through powerful breathwork, eat heartily, get to know each other, spend time lounging by the pool, take walks on the beach, pet the many animals at the hotel, dance, laugh, cry, hug, give and receive love, and be safe, was not lost on any of us. The contrast between what we were there to do and experience and what was happening on the other side of the planet was too stark to ignore.
So what did we do? We folded humanity’s grief into our stories, into our own divine existences. We took time to write, and write, and write some more, and then we made ourselves vulnerable so that we could share our words. Twelve perfect strangers became sisters during five magical days through shedding tears of joy and sadness; through listening and connecting deeply, whole-heartedly; and through holding space for each other. We made it a point to be present, to “be here now,” to exalt one another’s greatness and beauty, and to admire and cherish our surroundings and our gracious hosts –Katie, her partner Damien, the nine staff members, and all of the animals– who immediately made us feel like we were a part of the family.
“Retreats are a running away, but they are also a running home,” wrote Kelton. And so it was. The 12 of us ran home to ourselves during this trip –not knowing that it was exactly what we needed until it was what was happening–, with new friends in tow and a treasure trove of experiences that I know we will share with others for many years to come. Writing retreats may not be able to save humanity from it’s own madness, but it did save me from mine, and I have each one of these women, and our writing, to thank.
