I am sitting here writing this in total darkness. The power went out about two hours ago,
because of the storm, and hasn’t come back on yet.
Sunsets are early and regular in this country. And during this season, so are the
storms.
This is the fifth full day we’ve been in Nicaragua, and the
third storm we’ve experienced. This one
feels worse, but it might just be because of the intensity of the rains, how
fast we were soaked, or the waves crashing on the beach in full view of the open,
Pacific Ocean.
We came here to relax, after two days spent hiking three
active volcanoes. We have blisters on
our feet, and our legs were tired.
Our trek was great.
Léon was great. The people of
Léon love Léon, and all the many and varied expats of Léon love Léon. Nica peoples seem to be a culture of
passion. It is a hard life here for
most, and they take pride in it.
Our last (and technically, extra) days in Léon were great,
if not hot. I thought a few days ago,
that it was the most I’ve ever sweat in my life – I was wrong, it turned
out. We went to our favourite coffee
place, Libelula a few times (and got the iced coffee, double shot espresso –
every time!). We walked to the
Cathedral, and the central market (centró Mercado). The Cathedral was beautiful – it’s the
largest cathedral in Central America, though small by European standards. For 85 cords each, we were allowed to climb
on the roof of the cathedral, and we could see the whole string of volcanoes in
the area. The cathedral is in the middle
of a restoration project, to turn it back to its original colour – pure
white. As such, we had to take our shoes
off when we climbed on the roof, and the concrete was hot. We danced our feet along the shadows as much
as we could – it reminded me of being a kid and walking barefoot to the
store. I used to have to hop from shadow
to shadow and walk the lines of paint like a balancing beam. Walking on the roof was a lot like that.
The central market was neat, too. Dozens upon dozens of shops crammed into a
small block space, lined with raw meats (and a lot of them), sitting baking in
the sun (which is apparently sanitary, but neither one of us was willing to try
it…) – fresh iguanas! By fresh, I mean, still alive. It’s a delicacy. You eat the iguana raw, while it is still
alive. I asked the woman selling them if
I could take a photo. She smiled and
said something I didn’t understand back and made the universal gesture of “go
ahead”.
We found a French bakery, which might have been my favourite
part, because Nica food is not exactly something exquisite. We ate fresh baguette sandwiches, and
palmiers for dessert, with fresh papaya and fresh pineapple juice. I bought a bracelet from a street vendor, and
we spoke to each other in a broken jumble of three languages – English,
Spanish, and French, depending on when and where our words failed us. We told him we were from Canada – he asked us
if we speak French – I replied in French, and then Spanish, in case he couldn’t
understand. We told him his country was
lovely, but too hot for us, and I made my purchase, and we walked away.
On Friday morning, we left our Airbnb place quietly,
arriving at the trekking place just before 7am.
We prepped our gear and had a quick breakfast of eggs and potatoes they
cooked up. I say we, but I mean Alan and
the others who were trekking with us. I
have been suffering from a minor UTI (and an allergy to the toilet paper, which
is scented, by the way – who scents toilet paper? The entire country, it turns out) …and in
embarrassingly broken Spanish, we spent part of the previous day at a farmacia,
trying to ask for cranberry pills, or something which would help. After being given (just GIVEN – at 4 cords
per pill) a pile of Cloroproxin (or something) – no prescription – the woman wasn’t even a
doctor. Anyways, I took one that night,
and one the morning of trekking, and I was sick to my stomach. The thought of breakfast was too much for me. I actually didn’t eat a thing until we came
down from our first volcano.
We hopped in the back of a large pickup truck style bus
(read: overglorified pick-up truck with seats in the back) and it drove us a 45
minute drive out of Léon, out into the farmlands and the wilderness of the
jungle, and towards Cerro Negro, where the first part of our morning was to be
spent volcano boarding.
Cerro Negro first erupted from a farmer’s field in 1850 in a
spew of molten rock and ash, and has been growing ever since. Now, at last measurement, it stands a whole
728m high, and is still very active. We
departed the bus, grabbed our boarding gear, and our boards, and hiked up
through the steep black detritus, all the way to the top, stopping periodically
for water breaks, and photo opportunities.
It took about an hour. Close to
the top, we dropped our gear and headed for the top. We had to wait for the volcano to be clear
(there was a group ahead of us). Our
guide took some photos of us at the top, and we felt the ground, which was
producing so much heat that one of the people in the group with us lost the
soles of her shoes – they came unglued.
I found several more sets of soles on the way up the mountain, too. In the wind, Alan lost his hat. Some poor Nica farmer now has Alan’s
favourite First Air hat. When it came to
be our turn, we geared up (a pair of gloves, a pair of goggles, and a full body
denim suit tied at our wrists and ankles) and got the pep talk and the safety
talk, and waited in line to board down the volcano. While we were waiting, we saw one guy go down
standing up with a helmet and arm and leg gear in his shorts and t-shirt – it
didn’t end well.
The whole way up, I had been talking about how I miss
snowboarding, and I was so excited to try this standing up. Well…that volcano is steep. Too steep. I went very quickly from Ms. Adventurous, to
Dear-God-Why-Did-I-Sign-Up-For-This-I-Am-Going-To-Die. We all went down on our bums on the boards,
which is how you’re supposed to do it anyways.
We were shown how to turn, how to go fast or go slow, and what to do if
you spin out of control. Determined not
to be the first person, or the last one down, I wiggled my way to the middle of
the group (about six of us, by the way), and waited my turn. Alan went right before me, and wiped out
partway down. He is missing flesh from
his elbow. One guy from Texas went down
craaaaazy fast, and when I talked to him at the bottom he said he couldn’t
figure out how to stop. When it came to
my turn, I wasn’t ready. I did it anyways.
I got on the board, and immediately regretted my decision. I thought I could control my speed, but I
wasn’t doing a very good job of it. And
that steep slope, well…it got steeper about halfway down. At one point, I reached warp-speed and started
wobbling out of control. I moved my arms
behind me, I dug my feet into the mountain, and I prayed to the volcano gods,
please, please don’t let me die up here.
It’s too hot for me to die in this country.
Somehow, I slowed myself down, and reached the bottom no
problems. Minus the shaking, and general
terror, I suppose. I’d do it again, in
retrospect. It was fun.
After that, and some snacks, we said goodbye to our volcano
boarding guide, and the two people who were only there for the boarding (the
Texan and the girl who lost her soles) and started the hard part of our trek. Volcano number two. El Hoyo – in Spanish, it means “the hole” and
is named such because of an unexplainable sinkhole at the top. The country’s best scientists can’t figure it
out, and neither could I, when I finally saw it. There’s no reason for it, really. El Hoyo is also active. Both Cerro Negro and El Hoyo have active
sulphur vents (which were equal parts cool and scary, especially in light of
the fact that the largest volcano in the chain, Mombotombo, gave off a 5.4
earthquake last week, and we were very nearby it).
El Hoyo started out with a solid hour (or hour and a half,
if you are me) uphill. Straight uphill. In the heat of the day. Without shade. I thought I was going to die. I wasted $69USD. I wasted two days of my life. I was going to die on this hike.
I have never sweat so much in my life. Ever.
Never ever. Within 10 minutes, my
wet headband was dry, and the rest of my body was wet. I had sweat dripping from my forehead,
dripping from my lips, into my mouth, dripping down my spine and down my
breasts, and down my legs into my socks.
I was so wet with sweat it looked like I was wearing a drenched t-shirt
and I had wet myself.
And the worst part? I
felt like I was going to vomit. With
every increasing step. One guide stayed
behind with me, while the rest of the group and the other guide forged on
ahead. Fred, my French guide (and former
chef, who left his job to travel the world, because he didn’t like to do what
the world wanted him to) stayed behind with me, as I started, and stopped, and
crouched in a ball, and drank water, and tried not to vomit, and started
again. He was very kind, and agreed with
me that yes, you are in decent shape, no, this mountain does this to 50% of the
people who hike it, yes, it is fine, no, you are just not accustomed to the
heat…
(While writing this in the dark, I felt something land on my
knee, and I instinctively slapped it.
Upon inspection, it was a firefly, and I killed it. I have killed a firefly. I am a monster.)
And I made it. That
first part was over. At one point, Alan
waited for me, and gave me some electrolytes.
I shakingly accepted, and started sipping electrolyte water instead. At the lunch spot, which I was very late in
arriving to, we all sat down and had some delicious sandwiches, with curried
zucchini, and roasted carrots, and fresh homemade pesto, because Fred the chef
still loves to cook.
After food, and three litres of water, I felt a lot
better. A whole lot better, in
fact. So much so, that the rest of the
two days was fine. The rest of the day
went well – we carried on our hike, stopping for water breaks or interesting
sights, or to ask – what’s that? – to every plant and animal I saw. I saw a dung beetle digging a hole in some
poo, and I saw a few little lizards, and I saw a plant with red berries that
might have been coffee, and a tree that had a cactus growing on it, and I saw
the national tree of Nicaragua, and the national tree of Guatemala, and the
national bird of Nicaragua, and I tried really hard to see the boa constrictors
that were supposed to live in the jungle, but I never did. I also tried really hard not to see the boa
constrictors that were supposed to live in the jungle.
At the edge of the jungle, close to our campsite, we
collected firewood, and I found two blue tail feathers from the national bird
of Nicaragua. When we reached the
campsite, the landscape opened up into a large plain, with a few horses
grazing, and we set up our tents. After
8 grueling kilometres in the +30 heat, we made it.
Only to discover that my sandals, which were strapped to the
outside of my bag, weren’t there anymore.
I had lost them, because my bag had broken somewhere along the way. I didn’t think that was possible, it is a
sturdy backpack, and I have never had a problem before. But it did.
It broke.
And with it, went my
sandals. The volcano gods stole my sandals. Fred and I ran the trail back, convinced it
must have been in the dense forest when we were collecting wood, but we didn’t
find them there. He told me to walk back
to camp (about 15 minutes away), and he would carry on to the crater where we
had our last water stop. I headed back
to camp, looking extra hard for my sandals, but to no avail. When Fred returned, he said he ran the trail
all the way back to lunch, and didn’t see any shoes, and neither did the set of
trekkers he passed, either.
So those shoes, that I ordered online, and tried so hard to
get to me before I left for my trip? Yeah.
Those shoes. I lost them four
days into Nicaragua. Stole off my bag by
some malovent volcano god, or more plausibly, by an asshole tree branch at some
point. By the way, now I have to
warranty my bag. Because my main side
strap is busted.
Bummed out, and getting chilly, now that several litres
worth of sweat was cooling on me, we hiked up to the lip of the hole, and
checked out the sulphur vent. I threw a
rock at it and down it. Take that,
volcano god. Our only Canadian companion, Melissa, threw up near it. Take that, volcano god. (she was recovering from some bad street
food, and apparently wasn’t over it – she’s fine now).
Dinner was a delicious campfire version of risotto, and a
smuggled bottle of wine shared between six people (our two guides, Fred and
Natasha – also French, and Judith from Belgium, Melissa from Edmonton, and
ourselves), and then we took ourselves to bed, just in time for the lightning
storm. At the ripe time of 7:20pm.
My favourite part of the night were the fireflies
though. After sunset, the volcano
erupted in a cloud of fireflies. They
were everywhere, and I loved it. I love
fireflies. I just sat there, not facing
the fire, but facing the darkness, and watching and watching their little
lights zip in and out of existence. I
still feel bad about the one I accidently killed earlier while writing
this. I even apologized to it and then
willed it back to life. I watched his
little firefly light go out, and it made me really sad.
At 4:45am the next morning, we rose for the sunrise, which
admittedly, was beautiful now that the storm was over. I had slept poorly, so I snapped a few
photos, and crawled back into the tent until I could smell food. After some porridge, we packed up, and
started hiking down. The hike down from
El Hoyo was steep, and buggy. We entered
the jungle pretty quickly, and a lot of the plants had thorns. My legs are currently a war-zone, as I was in
shorts (like everyone else). It didn’t
take long before I was sweating profusely.
Except for the day before, I’m pretty sure I have never sweat so much in
my life. One of the plants we had to avoid at all costs. I forget the name, but it had fine thin
thorns all over it, and apparently if touched, it produces a painful red rash
that doesn’t go away for some weeks. I
think I have escaped touching it, but I did get a thorny vine caught in my
hair, which was both embarrassing and painful.
Our lunch spot on the second day was Laguna Asososca, a
lagoon to one side of Volcan Asososca, our third volcano. We all brought swimwear for the occasion, and
it was delightful to remove our shoes, inspect our growing blisters, and jump
into the warm water in an attempt to wash off some, but sadly not all, of the
grime. We stayed there for a while,
before redressing in our now disgusting clothing, and finishing the last hour
of the hike. Once we left the volcano,
we had to walk 45 minutes through farmer’s fields to catch the bus back into
town. By that point, I had a pronounced
limp, thanks to a blood blister on the bottom of my left foot, and no sandals
to air it out with.
Once we got to the road, I exhaustingly ordered a pop (el
gaseosas) from the food stall nearby, and we sunk to the ground to wait. The bus took us from wherever it was we were,
to La Paz, a local town we needed to transfer busses in.
That bus ride might be the most enjoyable thing I’ve ever
done. Nicaragua’s local transit system
is a large series of old American school buses that were driven down to central
America and left here. The locals then decorated them in brash colours,
installed loud speakers in them, and use them as local transport. They’re called chicken buses. This one had a
television screen at the front playing a very loud, very upbeat Coombia song,
and ribbons and streamers hung off the rafters.
Our knees all touched the seats in front of us, as these buses were
meant for schoolchildren, and it made stops wherever there was someone in need
of a bus.
In La Paz, we changed buses, and took a slightly less
enjoyable bus (thanks to the heat, my growing discomfort, and the number of
stops we made in said heat), and got back to Léon. That was yesterday. Or, yesterday as I write this. By the time I get power back, this might be
two days ago.
Tired, and in pain, and hungry, and grumpy about my feet and
lack of footwear outside of boots, we took a taxi all the way to our current
location, Las Peñitas. It cost 300
cords, or about $10USD, which is ridiculous here, but we were tired, and I had
the money, and I just didn’t care.
We’re staying in a party hostel, but it’s pretty empty. Just a bunch of chill surfer brah’s and their
surfer chicks, and the drinks are cheap.
After a shower, we drowned our pains (Alan didn’t escape unscathed
either – his shoulders got really burnt and he has some foot blisters too) in
mojitos made with local rum, and went to sleep at 8.
Today has just been spent existing. I’ve found probably 100 seashells, and all of
them are beautiful, and I don’t know how I’m going to bring them all home. I played the wave game, where you run in
during the break, try to pick up a shell, and then run out before the crest
swells and the riptide pulls you away. It’s a fun game. Although I got splashed in the face and
almost knocked over once today. But the
shell I got was worth it. I’m going to
make a necklace from it.
Mostly, we’ve been eating and resting in hammocks. While walking on the beach earlier today, I
got stung by something on my toe. It
hurt really badly, and we were 30 minutes from my epipen, because we were just
in bathing suits, and what are wasps doing on the beach anyhow? Suntanning?
So we rushed back to our little hostel, and I cleaned my
feet of sand and laid on the bed, and drank some water, and Alan got my epipen
out and handy just in case, and we just waited.
I was shaking and having trouble breathing, but I wasn’t getting hives,
or splotchy, or any real throat swelling, so we were just waiting. After an hour and a half, I was fine, and we
decided it wasn’t a wasp I was allergic to (aka the yellow jacket or a hornet). After a bunch of googling, we decided it was
maybe a spider wasp (do NOT google this if you are afraid of wasps or spiders,
it’s terrifying – I threw Alan’s phone on the bed when I looked it up). Anyways, not allergic, just incredibly
painful. Tossed some polysporin and a
bandaid on it, but now I really am having trouble walking on my already torn up
feet.
I bought some overpriced (way overpriced) flipflops at the
beach today this afternoon, and for dinner, we found a local fish joint. I ate a whole fried fish, which
aesthetically, I was having a moral quandary about, but taste-wise was the best
tasting thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.
We’re going back tomorrow.
We are only supposed to stay until tomorrow, but I think we
will stay another day. It’s cooler here
by the sea (only 30, not 34 and humid), and I like the ocean, and there’s still
twelve hundred seashells for me to collect.
I’m on the hunt for the best one.
***This is now a full two days later, and I just barely have
internet access. So…no final draft for
you! Here’s the rough draft without
photos or videos. More to come if I ever
get reliable internet service again.***
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