San Andres is a small resort island off the coast of Nicaragua. For the Colombians it's a nice little home away from home. For the Nicaraguans it's an annoyance because they think it should be theirs.

Our rather run-down beach-front hotel had an odd little rocky shoreline with some decent snorkeling on a not so far off reef. The beach was loud and busy; about ten kilometres from the town centre.

As Ellen walked along the beach a few metres in front of me, I yelled out a couple of times, "What a ritka." (Slovak word for bum.)

She either didn't hear me or chose not to respond. A Colombian gentleman walked up, tapped her on the shoulder and said "Ritka" then pointed to me as though I'd been calling her name.

An initial shocked stare at the man who'd uttered the hind-end word turned to cherry-red anger as Ellen whipped around and saw my silly smile. There'd be no ritka for me any time soon.