The long trip across the border to Costa Rica

I couldn't face another night in the mosquito infested dump and exhausted from a sleepless night thanks to the 2 Canadian girls and their Rasta lover next door, I launched off in the chicken bus to the intersection on the main road to Rivas (La Virgen; everything is to do with her) and was vexed that rather than the promised wait of 10 minutes by the roadside, it was fully 1 1/2 hours before a bus deigned to stop. It was already packed to the rafters, but they crammed another 5 of us in. I was the last one in and the only thing that kept me falling out of the back of the bus onto the road outside was the line of my shoulders wedged against the top of the opening of the rear door, which was flapping uselessly behind us. It was very tiring keeping my body rigid so that the pressure of the other bodies didn't expell me from the careering vehicle, and it was a miracle that I managed to keep hold of the guitar and that I wasn't pickpocketed in my helpless state, but then nobody else was able to move either. We got to the Nicaraguan border, and there was chaotic queuing for another 1 1/2 hours before getting an exit stamp, before trudging about 500m to the Costa Rican border post. Now this was supposed to be organised, but we were compelled to stand in a serpentine line in the sun (no toilets, no food) for another 3 hours before we were processed. By this time it was late, and as the earlier bus was sold out, I chose not to take the bus all the way to San Jose, not wanting to arrive in a Central American city late at night at the mercy of an unscrupulous taxi driver who might or might not have led me into a trap. Instead, I went to Barranca, and the decent taxi driver who took me on to Punta Arenas delivered me to a simple. clean and friendly little hotel and he was a mine of information. I had decided that my time for Central America had all but run out, so was determined to cross Costa Rica quickly. I had had enough of seeing volcanoes in the rain, so thought it wasn't worth risking time for Arenal, and that there may be another time to explore the Caribbean side, especially as everyone raves about Caihute and crossing by land into Panama to go to the beaches and islands of Bocas del Toro. It sounds like a destination that Jessica would really love, beautiful beaches and simple restaurants and bars and many beautiful people... I believe the diving's really good too. So I hope to see it sometime.

The serpentine queue waiting for immigration on the Costa Rican side.

Home sweet home, my simple room in Hotel Cabeza which was so luxurious compared to where I had been staying in San Juan

San Juan del Sur

After a long hiatus, during which I have crossed Costa Rica and Panama, I am now sitting in an internet cafe in Cartagena, Colombia facing the task of trying to get this neglected blog up to date. I arrived in San Juan del Sur on the day after my birthday and the next few days were spent subsisting then retiring to my room or a hammock where I would doze and be bitten by the hordes of mosquitoes that infested our little hotel. Even smothering myself with 50% DEET repellant didn't stop it amd I resorted to burning repellant coils almost continuosly in the room. The mosquito net I had bought in Mexico City was ineffective as it was for a single bed, so all in all it was pretty miserable. An Argentinian woman next door to me had just spent the last 10 days recovering from dengue fever ( a mosquito borne virus), so the situation was far from encouraging.

However it was a good opportunity to make a start with Charles Darwin's Journal of the Voyage on the Beagle. The only reason I allowed myself to read it was because it's good preparation should I get to visit the Galapagos Islands in Ecuador. Otherwise, I have a personal ban on reading books in English as it doesn't help my Spanish. It was awe inspiring to read his rigorous descriptions of flora and fauna as well as read of his amazing exploits and explorations into the interior, relishing the physical hardship as well as being fearlessly inquisitive. A real inspiration. On top of it all, he was able to recognise the import of what he was seeing, even though it was probably only later that he was able to interpret it. Even more astonishing is the fact that he was only 22 years old when he set out and Captain Fitzroy not much older, and both approached their tasks with huge maturity and responsibility.

The other guests in the hostel were very friendly even though I had about as much energy as a soggy handkerchief, but most notable were Manuel and Ana. He was from Managua and she from the Asturias region in Spain. They had somehow got together in Managua, and were apparently definitively and avowedly in love. Even though they had known eachother for less than 6 weeks they had got married on an impulse. Manuel swore that his grandmother had a failsafe remedy for colds... 12 oranges, 2 large heads of garlic and 2 bottles of honey, the juice of the oranges mixed with the crushed garlic and the honey, to be left to infuse in the air (ferment?) for a day then downed in one draught after an all night fast. The miracle was that it didn't ferment in the foetid heat, I think the garlic was such a powerful antibiotic, and when it came to downing it, I could only manage to drink one litre and not the full litre and a half. I thought I was going to vomit it was so sweet and the garlic and onion so pungent. The next day I was starting to recover and Manuel claimed it was due to his medical prowess. I put it down to lots of fluid, vitamin tabs and rest the previous 4 days, but didn't have the heart to say that. He made another concotion for a Spanish surfer with 3 heads of garlic as a stomach purge. I hate to think what that was like! Manuel was trying so hard to please, cooking and doing the laundry for them both as well as them inviting me to eat whatever they were having. It was very sweet, but tinged with desperation. I couldn't help the feeling that she was very secure and from an affluent country and he was hoping for a ticket out of Nicaragua with all his soul. Managua is a very rough place. I met 3 people who were robbed there on 2 separate occasions and heard of several other cases. The favourite method is to sit next to foreigner on a bus, befriend them, offer to accompany them in a taxi as only they know who and what is safe, and make sure that they get into a car with an accomplice, The unfortunate victim is then driven around cashpoint machines at gunpoint or knifepoint, emptying the account to the limit, then they steal clothes and cameras and generally let them go unharmed, often with the now exhausted card. Unemployment and poverty is so rife, that many of them see this form of crime as a career.

The next day I felt well enough to go to the beach with them, we made an incongroud group, but it was great to have company and practise my Spanish. Towards the end of the afternoon, Manuel was totally drunk and I left them to their devices, ate at the market and started to practise the guitar. At which point, Manuel in floods of tears found me and beseeched me to come and play for him and Ana in their room, she had told him it was over and he was thoroughly distraught. I declined to serenade them, but wound up in a counselling role as she came downstairs to tell me that they were just too different to be together and she was pretty cool and collected. He was very emotional, regaling every guest he could find with his tale of woe, that he was off to Managua, he didn't know what to do etc. to cut a long story short, they were still together in the morning.....

The Spanish surfer dude, Mauel and Ana, with the 2 bottles of muti on the table

The beach at sunset

The very odd trio at the beach before Manuel lost his mind

A picture of true love.....

the next day, I still didn't have the energy to leave although feeling much better, so decided to go out on a fishing expedition in the afternoon just to get out of the fleapit. Oddly enough, this coincided with the Virgin of Carmen's special day, as she is the patron of fishermen in this neck of the woods, they dress her up, parade her through the town on a float and then take her on a boat out to sea.

Now the sea that day was particularly rough and we had the comic spectacle of our boat captain on his cellphone telling the Virgin's boat not to leave the bay, in case they lost her overboard! You'd think with all that divine power she'd be capable of looking out for herself.... Still she smiled on me, because I caught a 1 1/2 kg mackerel, and just as I got it into the boat, the captain was shouting "Ballena! Ballena!" There were 2 orca whales playing in the waves, it was very special. One even jumped up vertically. That night the American family and I dined on the fish we caught (they caught a tuna), and later on I saw some awesome electric guitar improvisation. A fitting farewell to San Juan.

The Virgen del Carmen leaving church

The rough seas, looking across to Madera beach

All dressed up and ready to go on her float (which might not have)

Isla de Ometepe

It was a hot muggy day leaving Granada last Friday, and while I expected the usual afternoon shower, I wasn't prepared for the torrential downpour as the boat pulled into the ferry terminal in Moyagalpa. So we were thoroughly soaked by the time we boarded the chicken bus to Balgues. The next day was rainy as well, and as I was not planning to spend too much time there chose to walk up Volcan Madera in the rain. It was a physical slog which took 7 hours or so, and there was not even the luxury of the view. Just another thorough soaking and being covered in mud. The next day the weather improved and that gave me a time to look at some of the ancient petroglyphs, which are reputed to be up to 3000 years old, It was very beautiful to spend time with them on my own in the company of Curaca birds and Howler monkeys. It really gave me a sense of occasion on my birthday. The day was crowned by beautiful views of Volcan Concepcion from the verandah of the finca where I was staying. The down side is that now I'm trying to recover from an atrocious cold and have not been able to do anything in San Juan del Sur, where I am currently, except sneeze and lie dazed in a hammock. So far no surfing, and not even swimming in the sea which I always love.

La Piedra Magnifica, the most ornate and largest of the stones I saw

This didn't have an arbitrary title, but my guess is that it must have been some sort of altar. I loved the way the moss showed off the carved patterns

A fern in the cloud forest

"Lusano" worms. These are not larvae, but live and die in this form. they live in the recesses of niches of tree bark and are very sensitive to proximity of hands, handclaps etc, and are wave vigorously when threatend. They have been known to give nasty bites. They grow extremely fast and live approximately 3 weeks or so. These were 7 - 10 cm in length

A Howler monkey with big cojones

The crater lake at the top. As you can see, it's mostly obscured by mist. We couldn't even see the sides of the crater rim towering above us.

A more user friendly section of the muddy trail

Approaching Isla de Ometepe on the ferry, Concepcion on the left and Madera on the right

Concepcion wreathed in cloud

Concepcion after the cloud had cleared

Saying goodbye to Volcan Madera from the back of the pickup truck collectivo on which we rode back to Moyogalpa. Wish I had had weather like this for the climb, I might even have swum in the lake at the top......

Granada

Granada is a very pretty touristic city, and although the locals are very proud of it and insist that it's more beautiful than the one in Andalucia, it doesn't come close. It has charm though and "La Calzada which is the main street that goes to the side of the lake has many restaurants jewelry sellers, and alternative people wielding flaming devil sticks, break dancing or busking with drums. The museum was a bit of a disappointment, housing a few early post conquest catholic icons and a collection of badly eroded precolombian sculptures mostly from Isla Zapata in the lake, I believe. I further learned that Granada was subject to the swashbuckling waves of pirates and was razed to the ground in 1856 by William Walker and his band; rebuilding started in 1859. There are very pretty colonial style buildings with large internal patios and lovely wooden columns and beams. The only live music I saw was "NicaBrass" at the Casa de Cultura, unsurprisingly a collaberation with the Germans. It was only marginally not cringe worthy, but I couldn't bring myself to walk out as there were only 8 in the audience. Likewise I couldn't bring myself to sit as the others gave tham a standing ovation. There was an operatic duo a very fleshy soprano and much more dimunitive tenor who sang accompanied by the brass quintet and as far as I was concerned, only the Sole Mio worked. (But then I am not an opera fan)

Initially I stayed in Hotel Oasis, but it was too foreigner orientated for me, so I moved next door to a family run place, more ramshackle but with more soul. They liked my guitar playing so much, that they insisted on giving me a free breakfast every day.

View of La Xalteva (pink) church from La Merced

The vegetable section of the market under the brooding clouds

Giant vats of "Piquante" for sale, to be decanted into plastic bags

A woman in a comedor preparing lunch

La Merced from where there were spectacular views form the bell tower. The most moving thing about it was the book of petitions for prayers during mass. People with tumours and other ailments, worrying about the children after they would be gone, people just praying for their children and occasionally those with more mundane money worries.

The West side of the Parque Centrale

Beautiful textured walls

The inner courtyard of a shishi art gallery

Masaya

Masaya has a reputation for being the arts and crafts centre of Nicaragua and I was told that it is possible to pick up particularly cheap and fine guitars there, so thought it worth taking a look. I arrived pretty late, after a chicken bus and collectivo out of Leon. I was dropped off at the Parque Central and caught a cab to the hotel of choice, only to be given a hostile reception (we don't ant your sort here) and to the taxi driver "don't ever let me see you here again!" I was totally non-plussed. tried again to be told that were full and found myself in seedy Hotel Monte Carlo across the street. It was run by 2 cousins who were very friendly and hospitable, leaked and smelled of damp and was frequented mainly by Nicaraguans. As far as I was concerned it was a bonus as I got to speak Spanish rather than the English of the backpacker circuit.

I walked around and then did a tour in a cab, trying to locate a museum and the guitar makers. The arts and crafts are nothing to write home about and as for the guitars, there were none at the luthiers (Guitarras Zepeda) with any strings on, so I have no idea about how they might sound... I just felt my UKL80 beginner's guitar looked prettier too.

The best place to eat in Masaya. Natural fresh juices and interesting salads and ceviches in the Parque Central. A real find and so healthy!

A church on the walk to Mercado Municipal (Parroquia la Asuncion)

Horse drawn carts and taxis are ubiquitous and still commonly used alongside motor vehicles. i.e. they are not just for the tourists.

A particularly powerful communications store, apparently you get unblocked by the Almighty in 10 minutes: much cheaper and far more efficient than any therapy!

The Mercado Municipal

A view from a horse drawn taxi

A fit of revolutionary dyslexia.. should read Patria Libre o Morir

The museum dedicated to Camilo Ortega, Daniel's (the President) brother who died here in a firefight with 3 other comrades. This was the only museum I managed to locate and even so, it was just this one room with someone living in it, several dogs chained to a tree outside and a few framed pictures, posters and articles on the walls and a couple of glass cases containing the shirts of the dead revolutionaries.

León

The rain pured down as I travelled to Nicaragua from Tegucicalpa. Although the final destination was Mangua, I asked to be set down in León , reputed to be a charming old colonial city, with historic significance for the revolution and a university. First impressions of Nicaragua were of a thriving farming sector. We passed many large farms with centre pivot irrigation, it seemed well organised although some fields were under water. The feel on the Nicaraguan side was somehow more friendly as well. Around León there were small holdings, with simple board dwellings, with fields being ploughed with oxen, and transport using horse and cart. It very much reminded me of Zim, but seemed far more productive.

Lazybones was the hostel of choice, a lovely old colonial house with a huge courtyard, an interesting mural and a small swimming pool out the back, as well as internet and a pool table. I elected to stay in the dormitory, partly because it was a huge high ceilinged room with well crafted hand made wooden bunk beds, but also to engage more socially. Whether this is fun or not depends on large measure who the roommates are, and as people are always coming and going it does not take long to change the atmosphere. By and large though, there was a really good bunch there. I thought that here was an opportunity to get the blog up to date for the first time ever and just enjoy being there after Tegucicalpa.

I only visited one museum; the Museum of Legends and Traditions set somewhat bizarrely in a former Somoza prison (the so called proson of the 21st) and torture centre. León has immaculate revolutionary credentials; from the poet Ruben Lopez Perez who donned a waiter's uniform and shot the first dictator Somoza in 1956, before being killed himself by the bodyguards to the 4 students who were shot in 1959 by the army during a protest against he Somoza regime. The sad thing is that the narrative of the revolution is a very thin veil over the corrupt practices of the current regime,the daily La Prensa carries frequent stories about the paranoia of the government and the state of quasi dictatorship and patronage that exists here. This seems to be the sad development of most popular movements as they become hijacked by the powerful personalities that once harnessed their passion.

The mural at Lazybones Hostel

A view from a hammock at Lazybones, the bright doorway in the background leads to the pool

The ornate woodwork of the ceiling in an old colonial era house, currently the home of Quetzaltrekkers, a voluntary organisation,where volunteers lead hikes and activities for tourists and all profits go to help street kids and social projects, like the installation of rural latrines etc. They were the organisation with which I went sand boarding down Cerro Negro.

A square to the north of the city

The main square in front of the cathedral. Horse and cart is still in frequent use.

Mural showing the demon serpent emerging from the CIA. I knew at least 2 ex-Rhodesian airforce pilots who worked for them in the contra years and who subsequently flew for MK. The people are so friendly that it makes me sad to think that foreigners could have become involved in prolonging the violence here.

A mural outside the university just off the main square depicting the killing of the 4 during the demonstration.

The Museum of Legends and Traditions. The bizarre murals are depictions of the lives and travails of the inmates. The mannequins represent Indian and Nicaraguan legendary figures and witches. Sadly local students nicked the explanations, so I cannot tell you the stories.

More of the juxtaposition of the daily life of prisoners and legends

A selection of local witches and goblins, who bring bad luck and "Toma tu Tété" who entices the young men with her ample breast

The café almost opposite Lazybones where Somoza the first was assassinated. Currently undergoing renovation apparently.

Cerro Negro, one of, if not the newest volcano in the region created from a green field in 1991 and last erupted in 1999and due to erupt again soon. The local wheeze is to toboggan down the side.

The contrast between the volcanic rock and the surrounding verdant countryside

The crater from the most recent eruption, still smoking...

The view from the top of the "piste"

Another view from the rim of the crater. On scraping back a layer of stones to a depth of a couple of inches, the rock is boiling hot

The long hot slog up

The group all dressed up

Before the run. Apparently people have been clocked going down in excess of 80km/hr.So I was a bit apprehensive.

Starting the run. After realising that it was all very manageable,and that the challenge is to keep speed rather than losing control I went down very conventionally. Some tried to surf down, but couldn't stay upright for long. I wiped out about 3 times on the first run down, the 2nd time though I managed to get up some pace without a spill. Eat your hearts out Ant and Lawrence!

The view from the bottom.It was exciting to see the dust trails and hear the whooshing rasp`of the board. The slope is in excess of 40 degrees inclination

Veterans before the 2nd run