The only thing to fear is fear itself, well that and death.

After being overwhelmed with What Not To Do in Ometepe, I was a little unsure of what to do on our first day. I used this blog as an excuse and spent the morning doing another update. Despite the remote location of the Hacienda, the owner had awesome internet and wifi. But after relaxing in Leon and Granada, I was feeling a little stir crazy.

One of the things we hadn’t seen in a while was a waterfall. We weren’t interested in the three hour hike though. So we decided to take bikes out to the beginning of the path to the waterfalls. We were given helmets and heavy duty mountain bikes. It seemed a bit excessive for a trip down the road. Until we started our ride. The road was even worse than I thought it was. What seemed like gravel when we were on the bus was actually large stones. And those deep ruts? Well when going down the hills they were like ramps that sent the bikes airbourne. I kept picturing one of us hitting a large rock or deep rut and going flying over the handlebars. We got about 15 minutes into the 25 minute ride and I said “No more”.

We returned to the hacienda and traded our bikes for kayaks so we could go visit those “vicious” monkeys on monkey island about 250 metres off shore. There were two islands each home to a different type of rescued monkey. On one live some spider monkeys and on the other, capuchins. Both supposedly liked to bite but we figured we’d stay well away from them.

Weary after our last attempt at kayaking, Adrian and I started slow but soon discovered we were pretty good this time. There was limited fighting and we were making good progress. But then we came around the point and into the exposed part of the lake just 50 metres from the offshore islands. Just then the wind picked up and the kayak was turned 180 degrees. The waves began to swamp the kayak and it became apparent that we weren’t going to make it to the monkeys. We turned back and decided to stay on shore with the wifi and the wonderful view of the sunset (photo above). Sure we may have wimped out but we didn’t want to become another waning in the hacienda’s activity book.

Same old same old.

85 days on the road in Central America and we were starting to get Central America fatigue. It’s not that we weren’t enjoying ourselves but it was becoming harder to find new experiences to get excited about. Instead it felt like we were repeating things we had already seen. Granada was like Leon which was like Antigua which was like San Cristobal, etc. Poor Nicaragua was the victim of our fatigue.

We considered moving on to Costa Rica but one of the must see things was Isla de Ometepe, an island in the middle of the biggest lake in Central America. It was made up of two volcanoes and it was supposed to be beautiful. We spent Sunday hanging out at the hostel looking up places to stay and how to get there. And with a reservation secured at a place at the far end of the island, we set out Monday morning after exchanging contact info with Stefania who was on her way to a beach in Costa Rica (Hi, Stefania!).

The owner of the place on Ometepe had given us step by step instructions on how to get out to Merida. The first was catching the bus to Rivas. It left 20 minutes late which left us very little time to catch the 1pm ferry to the island. And we were forced to take a taxi. The driver knew we were pressed for time so we had no leverage when it came to bargaining. Luckily another girl wanted to split the cab with us so that helped to offset the price.

At the ferry docks, we bought our tickets filled out our swine flu health forms and then attempted to get on the boat. But we were stopped at the gate and told we had to pay a tax. The girl suspiciously asked if it the tax was for locals too and the attendant shoke her head and said of course not. That’s not a tax – that’s a fine. And the crime? Being foreigners. Oh well at least she was honest.

We weren’t actually taking the ferry but a lancha. Normally this means a 12-14 seat motorboat, like we’d become all too familiar with in Belize and Guatemala. So I was pleasantly surprised to see it was a double decker ship. However, I wasn’t so happy to see the condition of it. It was a little worse for wear and from our seats down below I got a good look at (and wet feet from) the bilge pump. Well, I think that’s what the guy was operating. Using a stick the guy would force the water out of a pipe and all over the floor of the boat. But despite this, we made it across safely and relatively quickly.

The next leg of our journey involved a 3 hour ride around the island. I didn’t know why a 30 km journey was going to take so long. But I’ve learned that it happens a lot especially when the road became a deeply rutted dirt track 20 minutes after we started. It was a long ride. Luckily the scenery was gorgeous. Volcan Concepcion loomed over us for the first half and after we crossed a beachy isthmus it was replaced by Volcan Maderas.

At the end of the line in a very small town? village? hamlet, we got off and walked straight ahead through the gates of Hacienda Merida, a lodge located right on the lake.

It reminded me of Hotelito Perdido (oops another comparison) but without the awesome hosts. Instead, we were presented with a binder of suggested activities and tours and left to ourselves. The activities seemed like a lot of work rather than a lot of fun. Made worse by the warnings posted all around the place and indexed in the binder. Interested in a 7 hour hike up Volcan Maderas? Well, you must take a guide or else you’ll die like these two hikers in 2006 whose decomposing bodies weren’t found for a month. Want to kayak to Monkey Island? The monkeys bite and the winds on the lake might take you out at any moment. Care to see the waterfall? You can hike there in three hours but make sure you have plenty of water so you don’t get sunstroke. Remember, this was the information that was trying to sell us on the area and tours. Something tells me that we’re going to be pressed to find things to do.

Friends in high places.

“So what are the Pueblos Blancos like?” I asked the Brits working at the hostel.
“Actually, we’ve never been. We started working as soon as we got here and haven’t had a chance to get out there.”
Adrian and I had consulted the things to do in Leon chart in the hostel once again and process of elimination (Markets? No too touristy. Hike to the volcano lake? Too athletic? Pueblos Blancos. Erm, um okay) had chosen to head to these small villages known for their pretty white stucco buildings. But considering we based our decision on what two folks who had never been there had written, we weren’t enthusiastic. So we decided to invite Stefania. If it’s going to be a wash out at least we’ll be in good company.

The three of us headed out to the market catch the local bus to Catarina. It was not only a Pueblo Blanco but it had a famous look out point. The ride was a long slow one as our driver couldn’t seem to (or didn’t want to) get out of first gear. But the route was a pretty one along the highway covered in a canopy of old trees. When the ayudante came to collect the fare (about 50 cents), Stefania attempted to ask about the bus back. He told her that the last bus was at 4:45. She again tried to ask how often the buses came and again he told her the last bus was at 4:45. And she spoke really great Spanish. I guess communication is more than just speaking the language.

We were let off on the side of the highway and pointed in the direction of the town. The town was cute but there was a problem – this pueblo blanco had not a single white stucco building. There were lots of garden centres and craft stores but not the namesake white buildings. Nada. Like every other Central American town they were painted in a variety of pastel colours.

So we walked up to the only other thing of note in Catarina, the Mirador. But first we had to pay to view. This had better be good. We walked by stalls of more tourist tack, waiters holding menus for their restaurants, cowboys offering their horses for rent. But we were the only gringos there. This was a tourist attraction for the Nicas and they were the ones the touts were really taking to. Finally we got to the viewing point. It was pretty spectacular (photo above). We were standing at the top of the collapsed volcano looking down on Laguna de Apoyo. There was the place we hung out at yesterday. And over there, Granada. And that under that haze of smog must be Managua.

The only problem with the view was after 20 minutes, we were done with it. And hungry. Stefania discovered a little place with reasonable prices. She ordered tostones con queso and it looked pretty tasty so I ordered a plate too. Tostones are fried plantains smashed and topped with fried queso blanco. And it was served with a simple salad dressed with lemon juice. Even meat and potatoes Adrian enjoyed it, although he would "not touch the lettuce with a ten foot barge pole". There’s wasn’t much else to do so we hung out there at the little open air comidor at the top of a collapsed crater before heading back to the highway to catch that bus (whenever the next one was).

Collapsing in a collapsed volcano.

Granada was like the playboy bunny of Central American towns – it was nice to look at but not much beneath the surface. I kept forgetting where we were and had called it Antigua by accident more than once. Leon had the Sandanistas but there was no edge in Granada and we had still yet to find the unique thing about the town. We consulted the hostel board of suggested activities.

One of the most popular appeared to be a day trip to Laguna de Apoyo. The hostel had a daily shuttle that took people to another hostel where for a small fee you could hang out and use their facilities. Apoyo was an old volcano but about 10,000 years ago it had collapsed and now it was a crystal clear lake where you could hang out, swim, kayak and explore. It seemed like fun so we put our names down for the 10am shuttle.

The ride was quick and beautiful as we climbed up the old volcano and then down to the crater’s edge that also happened to be the name of the hostel. It was a beautiful place that reminded me of Atitlan but without all the tourists or hotels. The water was crystal clear and just cool enough to be refreshing and just warm enough to be comfortable. Although it dropped off quite suddenly not too far from the shore – to the bottom of the volcano I guess. Adrian went out on a kayak while I sat and read. Adrian went out on the inner tube while I sat and read. Adrian read while I floated in the lake. Adrian swam out to the dock while I sat and read. You get the idea.

We weren’t the only ones enjoying doing nothing. Joining us on the shuttle were two other travelers: she was from Birmingham and he was from Croatia and they’d met while traveling through Brazil or Argentina – they were headed in the opposite direction as us so we exchanged tips and recos. Their next stop was Honduras. I warned them that the earthquake had knocked out a major bridge so they should double check bus schedules. And they recommended Colombia as a great place to go especially the boat trip from Panama. So that makes Colombia reco number… I can’t even count any more. We’ll have to seriously look at going.

Although it was overcast it was a perfect do nothing day. I had lathered up on the sunscreen but Adrian hadn’t and was feeling the effects of too much time out in the sun. He was grumpy and whacked and immediately went to lie down when we got back to the hostel. But I had company. Stefania had just arrived from her time on the pacific coast. So we chatted for a couple of hours until I was finally able to drag Adrian out to get something to eat.

We were too late to get barbeque in the park so it was back to the main tourist drag which was heaving with people, street performers and locals cruising down the strip in their fancy (i.e. souped up stereos) cars.

Accidental tourist.

There’s nothing worse than turning on your computer and instead of the familiar startup noise and smiley face (yup I’m talking about a mac here) you get a giant question mark and silence. My baby. My lifeline to the outside world. Come back to me. Considering that the extended warranty had just expired, I shouldn’t have been surprised. I spent the morning using my assortment of repair and start up disks to get its heart going again. Snoresfest when it comes to blogging action but full on panic at my end. Although it caught the attention of an English guy working at the hostel.
“Oh that doesn’t look good”
I then found out that before he came to Nicaragua to learn about running a hostel, he had been some IT honcho.
“Oh great. Any tips?”
“No clue. I don’t know anything about Macs”
Nor did it appear did any places in Nicaragua. The nearest Apple centre was located in Costa Rica. I resorted to reinstalling my OS and that seemed to work. But just in case I had better back up more often.

Meanwhile, Adrian had done some investigating and discovered that there was now an air conditioned room with a shared bath available in the hostel. And it cost $12 less. Since the hostel was spotless and our stomachs no longer required a private bathroom, it was a no-brainer. I considered it an upgrade in the heat and humidity of Granada. So we quickly moved our stuff into our tiny new room. It was still cool at noon even though the AC hadn’t been on for 4 hours and with that little piece of heaven waiting for us, we decided to brave the sun and head out to explore something else in Granada.

The hostel had great listings of stuff to see and how to get there as well as a couple of tour options. We decided on the free one – a short-ish walk to the old fort that supposedly had a museum and great view of the city according to our guide book. We followed the shade the 10 blocks to the fort and knocked on the door for the caretaker to let us in. It was now a pretty garden – the museum long since moved to another unknown location. Although there were some random fort like object around – a cannon or two and barrels of what Adrian assumed was beer but I’m pretty sure was supposed to be gun power. When we were done walking around the guard motioned to a door to one of the turrets. Inside there was a rickety ladder up. Adrian immediately clambered up. I was a little more reserved – okay I was chicken – and merely popped my head through the trapdoor without going all the way up.

“Come up and see the city,” Adrian called to me.
“I have a better idea. How about I pass you the camera and you can take pictures of it for me.”
So you’re seeing these views the same way I did.

Adrian spied a blue church from up above so on our way back to the hostel we took a different route so he could look at it. The church was blue and a church and that was about it. So we continued walking. Just then I noticed an unassuming cigar factory (photo above). I pointed it out to Adrian and before I could ask him if he’d like to check it out he was across the street and peering through the front door.

A man let is inside. The front room was an old fashioned cigar smoking and sales room full of old cases containing cigar boxes. But the man took us into the interior courtyard where a handful of men and women were rolling cigars. Then the man sat down and went back to work. It was kinda weird. We were just standing there watching them roll cigars, I wasn’t sure if we should stay or go when a woman came out to give us a tour. In English she started to explain the history of the cigar factory. It was started by her husband’s grandfather about 100 years ago. But it was her father-in-law and his wife who had made Doña Elba a name. They make only a handful of cigars. And she was quick to point out that they sell in the Canada for $40 each – most of which is tax. But which could be bought here for a tenth of the price.

At the moment, the women were rolling only two types of cigar – a light coloured one and a dark coloured one. The men were pressing them and then the best roller was finishing them. Adrian was given one right from the finished pile and then taught how to smoke it by the woman. We then sat there for an hour while he finished it, torturing me with bad Scarface and dictator impressions. No really, they were atrocious. I assumed myself by reading the back issues of Cigar Afficianado (really a whole magazine about cigars). And I tried to look up the cigar factory in the guide books or tourist brochures but I couldn’t find it. Perhaps that was why it was still free.

After escaping the tourist trail all day we threw ourselves into it for dinner. We walked down to the main drag of Granada to partake in some Mexican food. It was really good. The plethora of kids trying to sell us cashews, sweets, palm frond sculptures, or just asking for money was something we could have done without. Funny how the cigar factory tour, the most touristy thing we did that day, was also the least touristy.

A capital move.

“So what’s in Granada,” Adrian asked me as we were packing up our stuff this morning.
“Um, I don’t know. More of the same it sounds like.”
That wasn’t just a flippant reply. It was kinda the truth. Way before the revolution, Leon and Granada had gone to war for the right to be the capital of Nicaragua. So they both claimed to have the prettiest churches, old colonial buildings and lots of stuff to see. Finally someone in power got sick of changing the government stationary every year and named Managua, a city smack dab in the middle of the two, as capital. And it had stuck. Now Leon and Granada just fought for tourism dollars. Today we were going to see all three.

We caught a minibus from the bus station (really just a field/parking lot near the stadium). And for about $2.50 each we were headed to Managua. It would have been a pleasant ride except that Nicaraguans seem to have a problem with open windows. And as we were sitting at the back of the van far away from the windows, the sweat just poured off of us. Eventually, as we hit the Managua city limits, the van started to clear out giving us access to the windows and an opportunity to cool off. It also gave us a chance to check out the city we were just passing through. From the highway it appeared that every other building was brand new and a hotel/casino. Everywhere there were more of those big American brand names in neon. It made me glad we had decided to skip it. Especially when we were greeted at the bus station by their taxi drivers.

Before we’d gotten off the bus, drivers were pounding on the windows to get my attention. Not Adrian’s window of course. Even with the darkest tan I’ve ever had I still screamed gringa from miles away. Oblivious to my plight, Adrian abandoned me on bus while I wrestled with the luggage and the three taxi drivers who were trying to steer me into their cabs. As we pulled into the bus station I saw a Granada bus waiting there and knew we didn’t have to change stations. I tried to ignore them, repeatedly saying “no gracias, no gracias, no gracias”. Although I did remember to say gracias when one of them helped me free the backpack I had been wrestling with.

Once I finally got off the bus and into the crowd of over eager taxi drivers, I finally spotted Adrian smoking and chatting to another driver. He was telling the driver that we needed to go to Granada which the taxi driver immediately took as an invite to drive us there for an exorbenent amount. So to put an end to that I told Adrian to shut up and get on the bus two feet away. I know, excessive but I was mad at him for abandoning me to smoke leaving me to the wolves. One driver than decided to tell me that I shouldn’t be so angry which made me angrier, especially since two other drivers were physically pushing me on to the bus. (I wish I were making this up). On the bus, I look behind me and Adrian has disappeared again. The bus began to pull away. I tell them to stop because I’m waiting for my husband. When they asked me where he wass, I had no clue until one of the drivers told me that he was in the bano. I swear, I’m going to kill him.

When Adrian does get on, I decided to do the mature thing and not speak to him for the rest of the ride, after I inform him that from now on he can do all the Spanish talking and I’ll disappear whenever I feel like it. He got the hint and after an hour of blessed silence we were in Granada. The buses were both very comfortable minibuses and we traveled about 200 km for $4 each. I like Nicaragua, well the bus prices, but not the taxi drivers of Managua. But I figure they must be Honduran.

This time we headed straight to the nicest hostel with one of the larger price tags. After 5 days of sharing a grotty bathroom in Leon, Adrian decided it was time to upgrade to a private bathroom but at almost double the price. But we didn’t splurge for the air conditioning. However, since the pool was being re-grouted while we were there it was going to be a hot stay.

It was still relatively early in the day so we went out to compare Leon and Granada. Starting at the central park with its cathedral, bishop's palace, city hall and other beautiful buildings. Actually, Granada wins hands down for prettiest town in Nicaragua. But that means it attracts a lot of tourists and a lot of touts. Like mosquitos to Liz. We bypassed all the waiters trying to lure us into the tourist restaurants (Mexican, Thai, Irish Pub, etc) and settled for a hot dog in the park. We needed our cordobas to pay for the room. While we were sitting there, a tour guide approached us and tried to sell us one of his many tours on the lake and around town. I will say he was very nice about it so we took his name and number and if we did decide to go on a boat tour it would be with him.

After it was time to check out some of the museums. The Casa de Leones was an art centre with no art. Then the old convent which was now a pre-columbian art museum. And of course lots of old buildings and beautiful churches. And some not so old. If it had been up to me, I think I would have chosen Granada as the capital. But don’t tell the Managuans they’ve already hassled me enough.

The legend of Montezuma.

One of the legends we learned about at the museum yesterday was Montezuma or Moctezuma as it’s often spelt in these parts. Around here, Montezuma is famous for his gold which the Spanish tried to steal. But back home, Montezuma is more famous for his revenge – the dreaded traveller’s diarrhea with which Montezuma supposedly cursed all visitors in revenge. And we thought we were free and clear but the legend of Montezuma revisited us in the middle of the night. After more than a week it was no obvious that this was something more than a bad meal. And it was time to go to the doctor.

We got up and told Stefania the bad news. The Pacific would have to wait for us. We asked at the desk about finding an English-speaking doctor and were told that finding one in Leon would be difficult but maybe in Managua. Managua was an hour away and with out any clue where to go in the city, it seemed daunting. However, Gemma recommended that we go to the pharmacy down the street and they should be able to give us some drugs. We decided to weigh our options while checking out the museums that were closed yesterday. I know, I know but we’d lived with Montezuma for almost 10 days so what was a few more hours going to do.

The first stop was the Centro de Arte (photo above) – an impressive building, actually two buildings, that covered two blocks behind the central park. But once again no pictures were allowed inside so you’ll just have to take my word for it. The gallery was impressive, including art from all over Central America. From religious colonial art right up to present day artists. It even had a small room of numbered prints from Picasso, Chagall, Matisse and Tanguay. This time a guard followed us from room to room, turning off the lights when we left. At one point I lost Adrian inside and had to go back into rooms, and the guard ran after me to turn the lights on and off. I guess they hadn’t heard of motion detectors in Central America.

When we finally finished up at the Centro de Arte, we popped into the Ruben Dario museum next door. We didn’t know anything about him but he was Nicaragua’s most famous writer. A poet famous for his numerous books of poetry. The small museum didn’t help us learn much more either but we did find out that he was tricked into marrying one of his wives when he was drunk and caught in bed with her, which made him suddenly much more interesting. But since neither us could appreciate Spanish poetry that was it for the museum.

I had mentally prepared myself for a conversation in Spanish about our medical condition so off to the pharmacy it was. The first one we hit was joined to the hospital but after waiting in line for half an hour they told us they couldn’t help us. They were only dispensing prescriptions. But they sent us around the corner to another one. There the super patient pharmacist listened to my horrible Spanish description of our symptoms and asked super clear and simple questions before then giving us some antibiotics. I asked her to repeat the directions probably four times just to make sure that I got it right. She wished us well and reminded us to drink lots of gaterade and stay hydrated. We crossed our fingers and hoped whatever horse pills she gave us would kill whatever was in our stomachs. And then we mourned the end of $1.50 mojitos. Unfortunately, alcohol and antibiotics don’t mix.

Back at the hostel, Stefania had already left for the beach. But we talked to the other old fart there, a criminology professor from Memphis who was in Nicaragua for two weeks of research on the justice system. It was nice to have conversation about something other than travel even if it was about crime and the recession. He told us in Memphis 20% of homes are in foreclosure and the university he works at is cutting down money by taking every other lightbulb out. But he admitted it was nothing compared to the poverty in Central America. He actually got angry when talking about what he called bums – foreign kids that come down and don’t think twice about begging for food or money or rides from the locals who earn less in a year than the kids have in their pockets. This was actually the first place we’d seen that on our trip. I wondered if it had anything to do with the growing number of beach bums we were seeing the further south we were heading. I guess we’d find out tomorrow as we had decided to head further inland to Leon.