Do you ever get the feeling that whatever it is you're supposed to be taking away from a certain situation is not at all what you're taking away? I sometimes wonder about myself. For example, all I remember from 7th grade social studies class is that there was a boy behind me whose first name rhymed with his last name in iambic pentameter, and one day he pulled out every single eyelash on his left eye. Shouldn't I remember something more social-studies-ey than that? Shouldn't I be able to tell you the exact powers of the electors in the electoral college? Shouldn't I be able to expound upon the details of the Missouri Compromise? Nope. All I can tell you is that my 7th grade social studies teacher was rumored to be having a torrid affair with my homeroom teacher, who used entirely inappropriate amounts of hairspray. An embarrassing take-away for a student who did her homework diligently, but there you have it. I'm impressed by all the wrong things.
I have the slightly unsettling feeling that this might also be the case for my recent trip to the mountains with Moxita the Amazing Fifi Poodle and Varunski. You see, I know for a fact that we saw beautiful mountains, visited glorious coffee farms, explored cool places and met interesting people. But for the rest of my life I think I will only remember the yogurt.
"The yogurt?" you ask in patent disbelief. "Yes, the yogurt," I reply. You'd have to have seen it to believe it, but I have never had yogurt like this before, and I doubt I ever will. This was a magical and blessed yogurt. Just take a look at this:
I should probably say up front that if you're not a yogurt lover, the glories I am about to describe may be lost on you, in which case I apologize, and encourage you to scroll down to see boisterous photos of our Leap-a-Palooza. But for you yogurt lovers, I will rhapsodize intemperately. Have you ever had a yogurt like this? So light, so textured, grainy and yet smooth, tart and yet slightly sweet, with just the perfect amounts of fat to roll across your tongue; it was an experience that reduced us (only momentarily, I assure you) to stunned silence. Wildest of all, however, was the consistency. I have never in my life had a yogurt quite this sticky, though sticky seems an inappropriate word for it. Like taffy, when you picked up a spoonful, it stretched and maintained viscosity in a stunning and beautiful way. You could stretch it and curl it and whirl it around, and the yogurt wouldn't break, but somehow, magically, it still tasted light as a feather. I will never understand, but I will always remember. For the rest of my life when talking about this vacation I will tell a story that begins with "Oh, and this one time I had the greatest yogurt." Embarrassing, but true.
After Moxita and I had finished our first little bowls of Magic Yogurt, we stared disconsolately into the bottom of our bowls and contemplated crying. Then it struck us: we could order more! Oh, joy, oh bliss! Dance of Immoderate Joy! As the waiter approached with our new bowl of yogurt our fingertips tingled, and sparks flew from the haloes around our heads. My boisterous curls woke up from their Long Nicaraguan Siesta to bounce briefly upon my head. Then Moxita dipped her spoon in and we almost cried. It wasn't the same at all. Oh, it was still delicious and beautiful, but not stretchy, not so grainy and light. I was just your run-of-the-mill very excellent yogurt, and you'd have thought from our reaction that it was the worst thing ever in the history of the universe. What is this dreck?! Where is our Magic Yogurt?! BRING ME MY MAGIC YOGURT!!!!!!!
We hammed it up for a while, filmed a video, which hopefully I can someday put up on youtube cause it's hilarious, and took loads of hilarious pictures like the following one. I love this picture for two reasons. One, Moxita really does feel as bummed out as she looks, and two, LOOK AT MY FACE.
So let me sum up by saying that the rest of the vacation really was wonderful. We cruised around the mountains, then headed out to the lake, and enjoyed a peaceful few last days together in my favorite place in the world. Let me recommend, for any who travel this way, the Crater's Edge, a small hotel/hostel on the edge of the Laguna de Apoyo. Absolutely charming, both in terms of the location, the owner, and the food. I could've died happy there, but it was not to be, thank goodness, and now I'm with my dear sister Umulu on wonderful adventures of our own, which I'll tell you about shortly. Travel Divas strike again. Love to you all, my poppets. I'll end with some fabulous pictures of leaping, because I'm sure you haven't seen enough of those yet. :)
And just for shits and giggles, these two, which I love: