Another Fine Mess

Hola!

It's been a little while since I last checked in, been really busy with all sorts of stuff, but finally I now have a chance to catch breath cos my boat out of here doesn't come in for another hour or so ...

I've so far resisted the temptation to break out into a rendition of 'Row, row, row the boat'

The island of Isla De Ometepe is a lovely little place where not much happens and life conducts itself very slowly and calmly. Located in the huge Lake Nicaragua, its two volcanoes and its many beaches are its key tourist draws. One of the main reasons I'd gone to the island was to do a hike climbing up one of the volcanoes - the inactive Volcan Maderas. Speaking to the guide the night before he kept telling me that the hike was "muy muy humedo" (very very humid) but I figured I'd cope with that and went anyway, setting out from the hotel at early the following morning.

There's no other way I can put this - this 5 km hike was a bloody (actually make that 'muddy') nightmare. Despite not being far from the main towns of Ometepe, it operates on a totally different weather system altogether - it was windy, rainy and cold. This I wouldn't have minded so much, but after the initial pleasant 1.5 kms of dry forest terrain, the 'trail' just turned into an endless uphill slog through often ankle-deep slippery liquid mud, pure bogland. They could have re-enacted the Somme here. With no flat or dry parts of the trail from this point on, it was difficult to enjoy the hike when you had to concentrate on your footing so hard so you didn't slip and do a superman. By about 3.5 km I half-wanted to turn back but if you've come this far you might as well see it through. The prospect of a good view from the summit spurred me on as I waded through the mud (I was caked by this point).  Reaching the top, I was totally deflated when all there was was a lagoon where the crater used to be, and you could only see about 2 metres of the lagoon anyway because there was so much mist and cloud. There was absolutely no view whatsoever, and after taking in the scenery for all of 5 minutes, I psyched myself up for the inevitable.

Thankfully I had my trusty HellzWindStaff (well okay a metre-long stick I'd found, but allow me a little artistic license!) to aid my balance as I faced the wretched prospect of the descent down the treacherous path. It proved its worth many times over as you often just went on an uncontrolled slide through the soggy mud. I hadn't seen any other gringos on this trail today and I beagn to wonder if I was the only one stupid enough to do this hike? Fear not. Along the way I bumped into an American couple, looking as traumatised and fed-up as I must've ...

"How much further is it to the top?"

"Oh not much, only another 10 minutes from here."

"Is it a nice view from up there?"

[I didn't have the heart to tell them straight] "It's um, yeah ... kinda mystical"

The one redeeming factor about that horrible hike was the incredible high that I got when I finally got back down onto solid land. Bliss. I had more fun getting back to the hotel, as my guide, Sylvio, negotiated rides on several pickup trucks until we were nearby. He'd spent all of his 53 years on Ometepe and that seems to be how it works on the island - people get so accustomed to the relaxed way of island life that they never leave. He knew everyone and everything on Ometepe and was a good guide to have. Back at the hotel, I looked up the word 'humedo' (which Sylvio kept saying to me the night before the hike) and found out it actually doesn't mean 'humid', it means ... 'wet'. Major D'Oh on my part!

When it came time to leave Ometepe, another elderly local man drove me to the port, where a police officer guarded a locked gate, saying that only pedestrians were allowed beyond this point and his pick-up could get no nearer. The driver then said "es non-negociable" (which I'm sure I don't need to translate) and the gate was opened up! The cops in Nicaragua certainly don't seem to get too much respect - in a park I saw cops trying to enforce a one-way system so that bicycles, upon reaching a certain point, could only go right (and around the park) not left. But then in the space of 10 minutes at least 5 bikes had gone left, despite the policeman's remonstrations, using excuses like "Oh but it's so far to go that way, I'm tired".

Arriving at the tiny port, our ferry hadn't turned up yet. There was only a small boat, no longer than 15 metres long at the very most, being loaded up with giant sacks of bananas, coconuts and livestock.

"So when does the ferry to Granada get in?"

"You're looking at it right here."

Having arrived there on a mid-sized air-conditioned ferry with a cafeteria, this was quite a shock I thought to myself, as a local man carried a Pigbag onboard - literally a squealing pig inside a sack, with only its head popping out of the top, with a string lead tied around its neck. This would be a 'different' ride to say the least. After all the fruit was loaded on-board, 15 passengers shared about 3 square metres of floor-space on the boat, sat on life-jackets as we bobbed along to the colonial city of Granada. A quick mention for the on-board toilet - a tiny cubicle with a wooden seat, with a hole in the middle which led straight through to the passing ocean!

Granada was a charming city with a very colonial feel - the first city I'd actually planned to spend any time at and this didn't let me down, although I never find the cities as interesting as the rural areas so I won't give them so much time here.

One thing I will tell you is that I went into the church of 'La Merced' and climbed up the tower, which offered Granada's best aerial view of the city. Staying up there and taking in the sunset, when I made my way back down the dark stairway, I couldn't belive it when the iron gate at the bottom was locked shut. Through the grills you could see the church - abandoned! Shoot, now if I hadn't paid for a hotel already this might not have been too bad a deal (!) but I didn't really wanna spend a night in a spooky old church so I started eyeing up the leftover pieces of scaffolding structures to see if I could find a way over this iron gate. Fortunately it didn't come to that - I spotted someone in the distance and started rattling the gate ... I know, it doesn't feel right to make such a racket in a place of worship but sometimes u gotta do what u gotta do.

80s music. They really love their 80s music in Granada. At first I thought they just put it on for the tourists but you see loads of locals bobbing their heads, lapping it up. I was sat in a restaurant when a local remix of Glenn Madeiros' "Nothing's Gonna Change My Love For You" came on. The majority of the buses here are old American yellow school-buses (I've so far resisted the temptation to break out into a rendition of "Row, row, row the boat"), with names stickered onto the front of them the same was as boats are usually named. When I went to take a bus to Masaya the yellow bluebird was blazing out thumping Reggaeton, which I thought was quite fitting the place and scene, but then as soon as we set off the driver switched the channel and pushed the volume even further ... "It's the Final Countdown"! Fantastic

Masaya is most famous for its handicraft market but having packed my backpack very ruthlessly I reckon I'm down to about 10 kgs now (with the daypack inside) and I'm loathe to give that up by buying souvenirs this early on, so I rushed through the market with little interest. The main reason I'd come was to visit the volcano of Masaya. I know I know - some people never learn, right? But this volcano you can actually take a cab because there's a paved road all the way to the top. It was quality because Carlos, my cabbie, had never visited the volcano before even though he lives in the town. So when we drove up there he was just as excited as I was and walked around too instead of just waiting in the car. Now if Maderas had a disappointing view, this one more than made up for it - I'd never seen a crater this large and the amount of smoke and sulphur fumes coming out made it seem alarmingly active.

I then made visits to the cowboy city of Boaco (nice scenery but the town itself is little to write home about) and the former capital Leon, where I met an interesting American traveller who goes by the name of Rance and takes his little guitar everywhere he goes. Having retired at the age of 44 having made his money in real-estate, he has spent much of the last 15 years travelling the world on open-ended trips and is amazingly well-travelled - anyone who's visited Aruba must have run out of other places to go, surely?

I'd originally intended to go to the Corn Islands - 2 little-developed islands on Nicaragua's Carribean coast, boasting fantastic unspoilt beaches. However, by this point I'd spent the best part of a week at beach places already in Costa Rica and decided it was time to do something different. As it would take either 2 days (on boats and buses) or $150 (by plane) to get there, I figure I can put those days to better use further down the line and have made plans for how to use them later.

So instead I sacked off the Corn Islands and headed north into Honduras instead. I'd hoped to tell you about Honduras here as well but I'm running out of time and can't afford to miss my boat to the Bay Islands, so I'd best be off now. Fill you in next time.

PS: Since Costa Rica, not many internet cafes are hooked up with the USB, hence the lack of photos. I'll upload some if I get the chance later down the line.

Jase