Salt, Wind & Stars

Popoyo is a small town on Nicaragua's Pacific coast, known among surfers but invisible to almost everyone else. What makes it special isn't the beach — though the beach is striking — but the wind. It blows steadily and predictably from November through April, in patterns local fishermen read better than any weather app.

José is one of those fishermen. He learned to read the wind from his father, who learned from his. Ten years ago he started teaching kitesurfing — first friends, then travellers who asked, now small groups of four at most.

The experience begins with breakfast at José's house, on a table facing the sea. He explains what the wind will do that day, what that means for what you'll do, what the plan is. If you've never kited before, it doesn't matter. Most guests haven't. The first hour is on sand, learning to fly the kite without water. By the time you enter the sea, you know enough.

You fly for two or three hours — with breaks, with falls, with laughter. José is with you. He's patient the way only fishermen are. When the wind starts to drop, you stop. There's a picnic on the black-sand beach: fresh fish, rice, fruit, cold beer.

Staying for the stars is optional, but almost no one leaves. Popoyo is three hours from the nearest artificial light. When the sky opens, it opens completely. You lie on the sand that's still warm and don't talk much.