Nicaragua: Part II and Beyond

So, we are back in Jaco after spending 5 nights in Nicaragua. How many people do I know have been to Nicaragua? What does one think of when one says the name of this country? I had thought danger, danger and danger. Having heard such awesome things about it, we decided to head there on our visa run instead of Panama. I haven’t visited Panama, and looks like I won’t be going there anytime soon, but I do know that whatever vision I had previously had of Nicaragua was totally dispelled. The city of Granada is beautiful. It has none of the dirt and filth and smell and shantiness that San Jose has. It seems as though the people are actually proud to take care of their city. Nicaragua as a whole is very Spain-influenced, with several cities named the same as those in Spain. I truly enjoyed this city. We ended up staying 3 nights in Granada before heading out to a little island called Isla Ometepe.

To get to this island, you have to obviously take a ferry. OR, you can take what is known as a “barf boat.” This is a tiny boat, holding about 80 people and as much cargo as possible, including about 50 bags of fertilizer, a refrigerator and a mattress. Since the next ferry wasn’t due for over an hour, Kurt, Gunny (Kurt’s friend, whose real name is Clint, who is traveling through Central America right now), and Ezra (a guy Gunny had met down in Quepos, also from Fort Collins, where I lived in CO, and where Kurt and Gunny are from) and I got on a barf boat. One would think a lake would be calm, but not Lake Nicaragua. It had more whitecaps than the average ocean. I never thought lakes had currents or tides or whatever, but this one does. So we get on (oh, by the way, we had to sign our names on this sheet with ages and where we were from cuz one of these boats sunk about a month ago, just in case we would need to be identified as being a passenger), and yes, it was rocky. I thanked my lucky stars that my stomach is on the stronger side. We got in a taxi for an hour ride to this Finca (a farm house) that had been recommended to us that was at the base of the volcano we planned to climb. Lemme reinforce this to you. Me. Going to stay on a farm. To climb a volcano. Yes. Ladies and Gents, your eyes are not deceiving you. I was going to stay at a farm house to climb a volcano.

So we get there, and the place is like this. You sign your name, and basically run a tab of everything you do there. Room, food, drinks, even the guide up the volcano. Then you pay when you check out. Kinda cool, especially since the rooms were only $2.50 per night per person. YES. TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS. Can you even buy a Coke for that is the US anymore? But lemme explain the rooms. We were 4, and said we would do a “colectivo”. A dorm room. Okay, having done these in several places, including Granada where we had just come from, I was okay. She shows us the room, and I about fainted. Cots. Yes. Our beds were not bunk beds like other dorms. They were cots. In a farm house, converted now to a fully functioning “hostel”. Grossed out but not wanting to be the girlie complainer, we set our stuff down, got a gigantic beer, and proceeded to drink and play cards.

How many people do you know that have climbed a volcano?

Not many. Well, I don’t know anyone, at least.

Now, how many people do you know have climbed a volcano------hung over?!??!?! Yes, while trying to keep up with the boys, I had about 1 liter too many of beers, and felt like crap for about the first 2 kilometers.

Out of a 5 kilometer hike. Up 5 km. Down 5 km. To a full ascent of the equivalent of about 4000 feet. Straight up, not zigzagging back and forth. Straight up. Hung over the first 2km.

I AM A CHAMPION!!!!

And did I mention the mud? It got really muddy somewhere in the 3rd kilometer. Unavoidable, slippery, suck-your-shoes-off type of mud. On my white running shoes. Bummer.

But we did make it, and made it to the lake that is a crater inside of the volcano.

Kurt’s analysis was this: “Guys. We are sitting at a lake, in the middle of a volcano, on an island, in the middle of the 10th largest lake in the world, in the 2nd poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.” Wow.

Let’s ponder that one for a moment.

The hike back down was a little better, but my knees were crying and we still had 2.5 kilometers to go. All in all, the hike took about 7.5 hours. But it was worth it. I haven’t run a marathon, I only did my first 5K in October, but I have climbed a 1400 meter (~4000 feet) volcano. It was a big accomplishment, and I couldn’t be prouder of myself. And I have the bruises to prove it! And the pain in my legs was enough to make anyone cry.

We had a very long day of travel back to San Jose the day after the hike. From the Finca, we had the taxi ride (the window burst when the driver was opening it. CRASH! Just busted into shreds. Freak accident. Just another adventure), then the ferry ride, then another taxi, then an 8 hour bus ride (where border crossing was 2 hour excursion. For what reason we are still confused), then another taxi to a hostel, a walk to find food at 11:30pm on a Friday night in a huge city where nothing was open, and then finally, bed. At last.

We got back to Jaco on Saturday afternoon, just in time for the big rush of Semana Santa. Every Catholic country celebrates the week before Easter as Holy Week. Which means lots of people, lots of traffic, and lots of crowds. Thankfully, we live far enough out of the town center to be completely immune to these crowds.

Alyssa (my sister) is coming to visit on Thursday. We are going to a few of the same places as when Kurt’s mom was here, but that is okay. Maybe I won’t almost die on the zip lines this time.