It is 1857, Central America, and William Walker is a disappointed man. He had plans, he had visions, but his dreams were crumbling. A talented man, was our William, doctor, lawyer, writer, but it was in that part of his CV that reads “mercenary” where his ambitions really lay. And like a few other US Americans of the time, his plans were, well, to take over a chunk of Central America for himself.
A tough ask, you might think, but Walker had already gone some of the way by invading Nicaragua and pronouncing himself President in 1856. Once in power this steadfast believer in Manifest Destiny had a look at the woke radical left state’s most absurdly woke statute, their abolition of slavery in 1821, and promptly abolished the abolition. Freedom being slavery, as someone once wrote.
But Walker’s ambitions soon fell foul of other US business interests in the reason, as well as those pesky Central Americans. Soon his forces found themselves in a conflict with Nicaragua’s southern neighbour, who pulled in help from other nearby states. 1857 marked the end, a string of defeats. Walker returned to the States a hero to many, particularly in the southern slave states encouraged by his desire to expand this lovely idea to other parts of the hemisphere. Back he went in 1860, to Honduras, where this time he hacked off the British colonial interest, who handed him over to the Hondurans.
Anyway, back to 1857, when William Walker is merely disappointed – not yet propping up a wall in front of a Honduran firing squad. Nicaragua’s southern neighbour has a National Monument that depicts how humiliated he must have felt.
To the left, figures representing the five triumphant Central American nations who saw off Walker’s army – Nicaragua, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, and that southern neighbour at the heart of the resistance and in whose capital the monument proudly sits. And that scuttling figure to the right is, of course, Walker himself, on the run, head bowed, lesson learned. I’ve looked closely at his right hand and I think I can make out his backside, so kindly handed to him by the victors.
Lesson learned, indeed, for in the enlightened age of 2025 who could imagine the Shining City On A Hill producing another megalomaniac white-supremacist criminal threatening other peaceful Central American countries with invasion?
But I can feel a bit for the old scoundrel, as he runs for his life out over San Jose’s Parque Nacional. I think I know what he’s thinking, this time last year I was probably thinking the same thing:
I really shouldn’t have had anything to do with Costa Rica!
Alicante was fun. Even with a crutch. And I’m delighted to say that, over the weeks I’ve been able to say goodbye to it and the recovery has progressed. It’s not quite 100% but good enough for now and good enough for some more – careful – adventures.
But since I was wheeled home from Costa Rica last year, and once I started the long recovery process, the feeling grew that I had to go back when I was ready. Maybe to find some closure, maybe, but mainly to do things I was stopped from doing in this endlessly rewarding country. I don’t know what those things are yet, or how I’ll feel when I return to places where it all went wrong, but I do know it’s a scratch I would otherwise always have. And being able to fly home on two legs would be an accomplishment in itself. So here I am, near the rainforest bit of the southern Pacific coast (not feeling up to going into the canopy yet), enjoying being back in a better state than when I left, looking forward to seeing what happens this time, and I can’t wait to tell you all about it.
And one good thing: none of my plans involve enslavement or brutal conquest. Not yet anyway.
orwellianTwo 