My, how quickly a month does fly! As most of you are aware, I am now back in the States, recovering from the usual holiday overindulgence and prepping myself for what may be a long, exhausting job search ahead. It feels strange to be contributing to this blog from my parents' living room, but since I couldn't seem to muster enough enthusiasm to post at the end of my trip and not wanting to leave the blog unfinished, I thought I'd add one more post in an effort to tie up the loose ends.
So, I last wrote from Boquete. My time there wrapped up nicely but with no major events to report. For my second week, I took group Spanish lessons and got to meet a nice couple from the States who are working as dance instructors for a cruise line and recently decided to make Boquete their home. Turns out they live in the aforementioned Valle Escondido, and while I secretly hoped they might invite me to dinner one night so that I could see one of the mysterious giant houses from the inside, the invite never materialized.
For my last day in Boquete, Hilda and I went to a fundraiser put on by a group of expat gringos, a giant book/plant/clothing/furniture sale complete with games for the kiddos, pictures with Santa, etc. I had hoped to pick up some new reading material but was fairly appalled by the offerings - only a handful of books resembled actual literature - and actually ended up donating two excellent books that I had recently completed. After that, I took Hilda out for lunch to thank her for being a good host mom and we had a lovely chat about life, family, being a woman and making one's own decisions, etc. - always good to hear another perspective on such issues! That evening, we visited with the neighbors and they fortified me with many hugs and good wishes for safe travels through the rest of my journey.
From Boquete, I traveled to Pedasi, a tiny fishing village on the Pacific coast of Panama, where I had planned to spend 3 or 4 days lounging on the beach and doing some snorkeling before heading to Panama City. The journey to Pedasi took most of a day and involved four bus changes, but luckily a kind older woman took me under her wing and helped me to navigate the slightly confusing local buses in the more rural areas. I arrived in Pedasi in the early evening and took a stroll around the town, which was even tinier than I had expected, although very quaint, and had a nice seafood dinner al fresco before crashing for the evening.
Unfortunately, on day 2 I discovered that days of relaxing on the beach were not in my future. Because of exceptionally strong winds, the placid beach scene that I had envisioned had been replaced by foaming, choppy white water and sand being whipped in all directions, which does not make for good lounging. The heavy winds meant that snorkeling was also out, so after a day, I decided to cut my losses and head for the mountains.
The next day, which happened to be Panamanian Mother's Day/my birthday, I hopped a bus to the little town of El Valle outside of Panama City and renowned for its beautiful scenery and impressive Artists' Market. I arrived in El Valle in the afternoon and checked into a beautiful B&B run by a Costa Rican family, and I spent the evening sipping wine and enjoying some delicious food prepared by the proprietor of the place.
The weather in El Valle turned out to be rather uncooperative as well, with lots of rain and heavy winds, but I still managed to enjoy some good hiking, a visit to the local zoo and a trip to the "Pozos Termales", some natural hot springs where I was able to treat myself to a natural clay mask followed by a nice soak. I also paid a visit to the famous market and was able to stock up on some crafty items to bring back as Christmas gifts.
From El Valle, it was on to the big city - Panama City, the final stop on my 16-week journey. It seems fitting that the trip ended there, as PC is a very modern city that, in many ways, feels like an American city. Hence, I was provided with a reminder of some of the things that I'd be returning to in the States, like dodging preoccupied drivers on busy streets and the uninspired landscape created by strings of fast-food chain restaurants. On the other hand, I let out an audible sigh of relief when I walked into the bathroom of a museum one day and discovered that it had flushing toilets, running water AND hand soap - what luxury!
I did enjoy my time in Panama City - highlights included the beautiful streets of the old city, Casco Viejo; seeing the amazing Panama Canal up close; seeing my first play in Spanish (and understanding it!); checking out the ruins of Panama Viejo; and picking up some beautiful items at the Mercado Nacional de Artesanias.
However, I must say that I was really, really happy to come home to the States! It was an incredible trip, but after nearly four months on the road, I was thrilled to be reunited with friends and family in the States, especially in time for the holidays. Now begins the next journey of searching for new employment and figuring out precisely where to settle next. I am definitely leaning towards Boston as I've got lots of friends in the area and think it's a great city with tons of fun and interesting things to do, so hopefully I'll be able to secure the right opportunity for myself in that area. I'm not really sure if and how my newly acquired language skills will assist me in the job search, but I do hope I'll be able to keep it up no matter what.
Thanks to all of you who followed the blog over these past few months; I know there was a lot to read at times and I appreciate all of the encouraging feedback I received. Hopefully, it was interesting for the most part! Mostly, though, I'm glad that I kept a record of my travels to which I'll be able to refer in the future and remember the details of this wonderful adventure. Thanks for coming along for the ride!
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Atlas, Slugged
I spent this past weekend celebrating Independence Day, Panamanian style. Actually, in many ways it was an American style celebration as well: I drank a bunch of beer, watched a parade and ate a bunch of junk food at the beach. It occurred to me this weekend that I've had the good fortune of marking three separate independence days this year: in the U.S., Nicaragua and Panama. It almost feels greedy, but then again I think that two extra independence days seems like a fair trade for missing Thanksgiving.
Anyway, Panama's official day of independence from Spain is November 28, and the day started innocently enough. I awoke to the most incredible smell filling my room, and stumbled out to the kitchen to find Hilda preparing filling for tamales. This delighted me, as I had heard people speak high praise of said tamales and had asked her if we might be able to squeeze in a cooking lesson before I left Boquete. Thus, I spent the next hour or so helping her chop veggies and stir up the gooey corn mixture and then, after breakfast, I was granted the important task of tying up the tamale mixture and banana leaves in neat little packages and dropping them into the giant pot of boiling water. Then, anticipating a later feast and thinking that remaining in the house with its tempting aromas would drive me insane, I decided to set out on a nice long walk through the hills.
I mentioned before that Boquete is set in a valley surrounded by green hills, and when the weather is nice, you can pretty much walk in any direction and take in some lovely scenery. My preferred route is a 5-6 mile loop that passes the river through the center of town, the fairgrounds, many coffee fincas, an indigenous neighborhood and lots of beautiful flowers. On this particular day, however, during my walk I felt my mood quickly sinking for reasons that I can't fully explain. I think that I may simply be at a point in my travels where living out of a backpack and starting over every few days has grown a little tiring, even though I've seen beautiful places and met many terrific people along the way. That combined with the fact of missing Thanksgiving at home and Hilda having several family members in town to celebrate the holiday may have pushed me over the edge, and I actually returned to the house feeling a little glum about having another 20 days or so on the road.
My mood lifted slightly when, upon arriving home, Hilda served me one of the aforementioned tamales and it was every bit as savory as I had hoped - seriously delicious. Still, I didn't know what I was going to do with myself for the rest of the afternoon, having finished my latest book the night before and therefore lacking even good reading material, when Hilda's son-in-law, Lucas, came in and said, "Leslie, nos vamos." I had no idea where we might be going but dutifully changed out of my house sandals and headed out the door with him and his wife, Marie. It turned out our destination was the bar around the corner from the house, where we grabbed some seats and a round of beers was quickly ordered. I recalled that Lucas had asked me earlier whether I drank beer and had then repeated this information to Marie, and now everything was coming full circle.
Similar to Nicaragua, the beer offerings consisted of multiple brands that tasted remarkably similar. Here, the options include Panama, Atlas, Soberana (not sure if that one's a joke?), and Balboa, the latter of which is supposedly much stronger than the others and thus generally consumed by men only. This being my first foray into the Panamanian brew, I opted to start with a Panama, which reminded me of many Tonas and Victorias consumed in Nica. After that, I took a cue from Lucas and Marie and switched to Atlas, which tasted...a lot like Panama. Hey, at least they are light beers and won't put you under the table after two or three. This proved especially helpful as, over time, rounds of beers started appearing at the table as friends of Lucas and Marie passed through the bar. Having drunk fairly little alcohol during this journey and certain that my tolerance was the worse for it, I was quite content with sipping away and letting the others forge ahead, but every few minutes or so, either Marie or Lucas would lift my bottle, inspect it for fullness and then nudge it in my direction, encouraging me to get a move on.
As I mentioned, I think the weakness of the beer was my salvation, as I was able to more or less keep up with the others and still walk out the door hours later. I thought we would be heading home after that, but Lucas and Marie had other plans. Instead, we walked to a restaurant on Main Street called Bistro Boquete, a place owned by an American and usually filled with extranjeros, but today packed to the gills with Panamanians angling for a birds' eye view of the passing parade. We joined the masses on the second floor, ordered some food (thankfully) and grabbed spots on the balcony to watch the festivities. I am normally fairly crowd-averse, but in this case I was very glad to be among the masses because the parade was seriously entertaining. Bands from various parts of western Panama participated, each one more elaborate than the next in terms of size, variety of offerings and ostentatiousness of sound and presentation.
Watching the performers of the crowd, I was struck by the diversity of cultures in such a small country. Obviously, the Spanish influence is most prominent here in terms of the physical appearance of the people, architecture, music, etc. but the parade also featured several groups from Bocas del Toro, where the West African influence is much more prominent, and several families in the crowd were wearing the colorful dresses of the Ngobe-Bugle, a local indigenous population. Most of the Panamanians with whom I've spoken seem proud of this cultural diversity and the fact that each group/region offers its own distinct culture and traditions, all of which can be called Panamanian. Anywho, we spent several hours watching the festivities before returning home, finally, to rest.
The next morning, Hilda knocked on my door early as we had made plans to reunite with Lucas, Marie and a group of Hilda's former teaching colleagues to hit the beach. We had a quick coffee and headed out to board the bus to David, where we met up with the rest of the crew. We drove for over an hour on fairly deserted roads and finally arrived at what looked like a swamp with a rickety dock. My heart sank, but then I realized that from here, we had still to board a lancha in order to reach our final destination. This dock made the bridge across the Costa-Rica Panama border look like the Tappan Zee, and several times we thought for sure that some member of our crew was going to be plunged into the muck below, but we all managed to make it safely to the boat. We boarded the lancha and took a quick cruise to a large, sandy island covered in several thatch-roof ranchos, where we encountered some folks hanging out in hammocks and set up around a picnic table under one of the ranchos.
We spent the day lounging, chatting, drinking (rum with milk, anyone?), strolling the beach and watching the locals pull in their fishing nets (sadly, mostly empty on this particular day). I was able to keep up with some of the conversation, but several tipsy Panamanians telling stories excitedly is quite different from chatting with one person over coffee, and I'm sure a lot of it went right over my head. I did learn that in Panama, the expression "caballo muerto en la calle" - roughly, a dead horse in the road - refers to when a person doesn't show up somewhere and the suspected reason is that he/she is indisposed due to "quality time" with a significant other. I got a kick out of that, and my companions found great entertainment in explaining the significance to me and then asking me to translate the phrase into English.
At the end of our outing, Lucas insisted that I take some photos with a couple of recently caught fish, even though none of it was actually caught by me. He went so far as to insist that I get in the water with one of the nets and place a fish (fresh from the refrigerator) into the net so that it appeared that I was hauling in the day's catch. Unfortunately, I don't have the photo to post right now, but when you see it eventually, just know that it's a fabrication and remember that I never tried to deceive anyone. Actually, the whole scene was pretty funny, but I can't imagine what the man running the place must have thought, being asked to fetch cold fish so that I could use them as photo props. Loca gringa, I suppose.
At the end of the day, the lancha came to collect us and, at the request of some members of our group, the boat operator took us on a little tour of the inlets, including pointing out an area where duendes, or trolls, allegedly come to bathe at the midnight hour. I got a kick out of this little tidbit, but certain (admittedly tipsy) members of the group seemed remarkably fascinated and disturbed by the prospect of a bunch of trolls taking a bath in the river. At any rate, we did not return at midnight to test the validity of the claim.
After disboarding and re-tracing our steps along the dilapidated dock (which was seriously in markedly worse condition hours later) in the pouring rain, we jumped into the van and headed back to David, where Hilda and I then caught the bus back to Boquete and downed a couple of sandwiches and hot chocolates before collapsing in exhaustion. The weekend of revelry among friends was just what I needed to revive my enthusiasm for the trip, and this morning I find myself looking forward once again to my remaining days in Central America. I've got four more days of classes, we are reportedly hitting the beach again on Saturday, and then I'm planning to head to the town of Pedasi before hunkering down in Panama City for the last week or so of my trip.
As a side note, I recently learned that my birthday, December 8, is Mother's Day in Panama. It's considered a very important holiday and the country shuts down so that all citizens can spend the day with their moms. I'm not sure where I'll be on that day, but hopefully there will be some kind of festivities to mark the occasion!
Anyway, Panama's official day of independence from Spain is November 28, and the day started innocently enough. I awoke to the most incredible smell filling my room, and stumbled out to the kitchen to find Hilda preparing filling for tamales. This delighted me, as I had heard people speak high praise of said tamales and had asked her if we might be able to squeeze in a cooking lesson before I left Boquete. Thus, I spent the next hour or so helping her chop veggies and stir up the gooey corn mixture and then, after breakfast, I was granted the important task of tying up the tamale mixture and banana leaves in neat little packages and dropping them into the giant pot of boiling water. Then, anticipating a later feast and thinking that remaining in the house with its tempting aromas would drive me insane, I decided to set out on a nice long walk through the hills.
I mentioned before that Boquete is set in a valley surrounded by green hills, and when the weather is nice, you can pretty much walk in any direction and take in some lovely scenery. My preferred route is a 5-6 mile loop that passes the river through the center of town, the fairgrounds, many coffee fincas, an indigenous neighborhood and lots of beautiful flowers. On this particular day, however, during my walk I felt my mood quickly sinking for reasons that I can't fully explain. I think that I may simply be at a point in my travels where living out of a backpack and starting over every few days has grown a little tiring, even though I've seen beautiful places and met many terrific people along the way. That combined with the fact of missing Thanksgiving at home and Hilda having several family members in town to celebrate the holiday may have pushed me over the edge, and I actually returned to the house feeling a little glum about having another 20 days or so on the road.
My mood lifted slightly when, upon arriving home, Hilda served me one of the aforementioned tamales and it was every bit as savory as I had hoped - seriously delicious. Still, I didn't know what I was going to do with myself for the rest of the afternoon, having finished my latest book the night before and therefore lacking even good reading material, when Hilda's son-in-law, Lucas, came in and said, "Leslie, nos vamos." I had no idea where we might be going but dutifully changed out of my house sandals and headed out the door with him and his wife, Marie. It turned out our destination was the bar around the corner from the house, where we grabbed some seats and a round of beers was quickly ordered. I recalled that Lucas had asked me earlier whether I drank beer and had then repeated this information to Marie, and now everything was coming full circle.
Similar to Nicaragua, the beer offerings consisted of multiple brands that tasted remarkably similar. Here, the options include Panama, Atlas, Soberana (not sure if that one's a joke?), and Balboa, the latter of which is supposedly much stronger than the others and thus generally consumed by men only. This being my first foray into the Panamanian brew, I opted to start with a Panama, which reminded me of many Tonas and Victorias consumed in Nica. After that, I took a cue from Lucas and Marie and switched to Atlas, which tasted...a lot like Panama. Hey, at least they are light beers and won't put you under the table after two or three. This proved especially helpful as, over time, rounds of beers started appearing at the table as friends of Lucas and Marie passed through the bar. Having drunk fairly little alcohol during this journey and certain that my tolerance was the worse for it, I was quite content with sipping away and letting the others forge ahead, but every few minutes or so, either Marie or Lucas would lift my bottle, inspect it for fullness and then nudge it in my direction, encouraging me to get a move on.
As I mentioned, I think the weakness of the beer was my salvation, as I was able to more or less keep up with the others and still walk out the door hours later. I thought we would be heading home after that, but Lucas and Marie had other plans. Instead, we walked to a restaurant on Main Street called Bistro Boquete, a place owned by an American and usually filled with extranjeros, but today packed to the gills with Panamanians angling for a birds' eye view of the passing parade. We joined the masses on the second floor, ordered some food (thankfully) and grabbed spots on the balcony to watch the festivities. I am normally fairly crowd-averse, but in this case I was very glad to be among the masses because the parade was seriously entertaining. Bands from various parts of western Panama participated, each one more elaborate than the next in terms of size, variety of offerings and ostentatiousness of sound and presentation.
Watching the performers of the crowd, I was struck by the diversity of cultures in such a small country. Obviously, the Spanish influence is most prominent here in terms of the physical appearance of the people, architecture, music, etc. but the parade also featured several groups from Bocas del Toro, where the West African influence is much more prominent, and several families in the crowd were wearing the colorful dresses of the Ngobe-Bugle, a local indigenous population. Most of the Panamanians with whom I've spoken seem proud of this cultural diversity and the fact that each group/region offers its own distinct culture and traditions, all of which can be called Panamanian. Anywho, we spent several hours watching the festivities before returning home, finally, to rest.
The next morning, Hilda knocked on my door early as we had made plans to reunite with Lucas, Marie and a group of Hilda's former teaching colleagues to hit the beach. We had a quick coffee and headed out to board the bus to David, where we met up with the rest of the crew. We drove for over an hour on fairly deserted roads and finally arrived at what looked like a swamp with a rickety dock. My heart sank, but then I realized that from here, we had still to board a lancha in order to reach our final destination. This dock made the bridge across the Costa-Rica Panama border look like the Tappan Zee, and several times we thought for sure that some member of our crew was going to be plunged into the muck below, but we all managed to make it safely to the boat. We boarded the lancha and took a quick cruise to a large, sandy island covered in several thatch-roof ranchos, where we encountered some folks hanging out in hammocks and set up around a picnic table under one of the ranchos.
We spent the day lounging, chatting, drinking (rum with milk, anyone?), strolling the beach and watching the locals pull in their fishing nets (sadly, mostly empty on this particular day). I was able to keep up with some of the conversation, but several tipsy Panamanians telling stories excitedly is quite different from chatting with one person over coffee, and I'm sure a lot of it went right over my head. I did learn that in Panama, the expression "caballo muerto en la calle" - roughly, a dead horse in the road - refers to when a person doesn't show up somewhere and the suspected reason is that he/she is indisposed due to "quality time" with a significant other. I got a kick out of that, and my companions found great entertainment in explaining the significance to me and then asking me to translate the phrase into English.
At the end of our outing, Lucas insisted that I take some photos with a couple of recently caught fish, even though none of it was actually caught by me. He went so far as to insist that I get in the water with one of the nets and place a fish (fresh from the refrigerator) into the net so that it appeared that I was hauling in the day's catch. Unfortunately, I don't have the photo to post right now, but when you see it eventually, just know that it's a fabrication and remember that I never tried to deceive anyone. Actually, the whole scene was pretty funny, but I can't imagine what the man running the place must have thought, being asked to fetch cold fish so that I could use them as photo props. Loca gringa, I suppose.
At the end of the day, the lancha came to collect us and, at the request of some members of our group, the boat operator took us on a little tour of the inlets, including pointing out an area where duendes, or trolls, allegedly come to bathe at the midnight hour. I got a kick out of this little tidbit, but certain (admittedly tipsy) members of the group seemed remarkably fascinated and disturbed by the prospect of a bunch of trolls taking a bath in the river. At any rate, we did not return at midnight to test the validity of the claim.
After disboarding and re-tracing our steps along the dilapidated dock (which was seriously in markedly worse condition hours later) in the pouring rain, we jumped into the van and headed back to David, where Hilda and I then caught the bus back to Boquete and downed a couple of sandwiches and hot chocolates before collapsing in exhaustion. The weekend of revelry among friends was just what I needed to revive my enthusiasm for the trip, and this morning I find myself looking forward once again to my remaining days in Central America. I've got four more days of classes, we are reportedly hitting the beach again on Saturday, and then I'm planning to head to the town of Pedasi before hunkering down in Panama City for the last week or so of my trip.
As a side note, I recently learned that my birthday, December 8, is Mother's Day in Panama. It's considered a very important holiday and the country shuts down so that all citizens can spend the day with their moms. I'm not sure where I'll be on that day, but hopefully there will be some kind of festivities to mark the occasion!
Friday, November 26, 2010
Pa-na-ma!
(In case it's not obvious, I was trying to channel Van Halen circa 1984 with the title of this post.)
Another border crossing, another country, another Spanish school. Today, the day after Thanksgiving, I find myself in the town of Boquete, a community of about 20,000 located in a mountainous region of eastern Panama. As far as I can gather, Boquete is most well-known for two primary reasons: its reputation for producing and exporting some of the world’s best coffee, and its more recent status as a mecca for retirees – or “jubilados” en espanol - from the United States.
I arrived in Boquete on Saturday after a long day of travel from Puerto Viejo. My last night in PV had consisted of a Caribbean feast at my hotel accompanied by some rather terrible live music provided by a local act; however, it was a very enjoyable last evening hanging out with my adopted posse. I had been feeling rather reluctant to leave the sun and sand of PV and was thus somewhat relieved to awake on Saturday morning to pouring rain and a chill in the air – definitely softened the blow of separation.
My journey consisted of a bus ride from PV to the border town of Sixaola, where I had my passport stamped in Costa Rica before walking across a bridge into Panama. The bridge, probably about 50 feet above water level, consisted of wooden planks laid across parallel tracks with gaping holes in the wood at various places. There was a cement walkway running alongside the planks, but the railing had collapsed into the walkway in several places, forcing pedestrians back onto the planks. And although this bridge featured a few cars crossing rather than trains, I couldn’t help but think of the bridge from the famous scene in ‘Stand By Me’, and was quite happy to step off onto the welcome pavement of Panama.
After a quick wait in line and payment of US $1 to a border official, I was in! I found out a bit later from a couple of Israeli tourists that I had completely bypassed the baggage search process but, since the official had been away from his post when I went through, they decided not to track me down and haul me back. Quite a nice gesture, I thought.
From the border town (the name of which I can’t recall), I caught a microbus to the town of Changuinola where, after a brief spat with the driver, I jumped into another microbus for the 5-hour slog to David, Panama. Actually, the ride was quite comfortable and the scenery lovely, but 5 hours in a bus is 5 hours in a bus. In David, I was met by a guide from the school who whisked me to Boquete, where my host mom had, it turns out, been anxiously awaiting my arrival all afternoon. I felt pretty bad since she mentioned several times that she had been expecting me in the morning – apparently some mix-up in communication with the school – but we got acquainted over a light dinner and then I settled into my new digs.
The house here is quite different from my homestay in Nica. For one thing, it’s quite large – I counted 5 bedrooms – and my bedroom is larger than the two bedrooms combined in my last house. Also, this place has concrete floors, running water, a shower – conveniences that I had lacked (although not particularly missed) in Nica. My new host family consists of 64-year old Hilda and her 92-year old mother-in-law – both very friendly and chatty, although it’s quite a different vibe from my last house. Also, I know it’s clichéd, but I swear my closet is full of mothballs! Anyway, Hilda has been helping me to get acquainted with Boquete by taking me around to meet all of her neighbors, which has been a great exercise in practicing my Spanish.
On Monday, I started Spanish classes at a school in Boquete called Habla Ya. I opted to take private classes and have been pretty happy with the level of instruction from my teacher, Yaira, although I’m kind of wishing I’d opted for group classes since it’s been a bit harder to meet other students here – I think it’s a combination of the fact that classes are scheduled at all different times, there isn’t really a common meeting space and the activities (e.g. tours, hiking, rafting) are all quite expensive, meaning that I can’t be out doing some fabulous activity every day as a means of making new friends. Still, I’ve done a couple of activities including a Panamanian dinner and a charity quiz at a local bar last night and have met a few people in the process.
On Wednesday, I took a tour of one of the coffee fincas in the hills surrounding Boquete, which was very interesting. Even though I’ve encountered lots of coffee on this trip, this was the first time that I’d had the process explained from start to finish, and I even had the opportunity to roast some beans myself. Also, this area has a very interesting history with regard to coffee production – since over a century ago, foreigners have been coming from all over the world to try their hand at producing coffee here, and some of the major producers are owned by extranjeros. Of course, lots of these places reserve the majority of their premium crop for exportation and sell only the lower grade coffee, sometimes mixed with grains of corn and/or other substances, locally.
Regarding the jubilados – they are all over the place! Apparently, the Panamanian government has a program whereby retirees from most other countries who receive a pension of a certain amount (I think it’s about $1k per month) are granted a visa to come and live here. They have to spend a certain amount on a property and hire Panamanians if they decide to start a business, and if those conditions are met, they are welcome to enjoy 20 years of tax-free living. Not sure what happens after that but, as one American near-retiree I met last night expressed, 20 years is enough of a guarantee for him at this point in his life.
The mountains surrounding Boquete are covered in houses, many of them enormous, and I’m told that the majority belong to extranjeros. There are a number of gated communities around here, most notably Valle Escondido, a community started about 10 years ago by an American developer who bizarrely refers to himself as John Galt (the mysterious character from Atlas Shrugged) in his introductory letter to prospective inhabitants (http://www.valleescondido.biz/our-story-a-safe-haven.html). I walked around Valle Escondido the other night and it felt kind of surreal: deathly quiet at 7 p.m. with the exception of an older American man who, whizzing by in a golf cart, stopped to offer me a ride. The houses were huge and beautiful, there was a golf course and a country club and even a hotel on the property for visitors. I was in Panama but with few visible signs of being in Panama – the guards at the gate, I suppose.
So, that’s the news from here. This weekend will be marked by big celebrations across the country as Sunday is Panama’s Independence Day, when control of the country was officially relinquished by Spain. If the weather holds (it has been raining buckets here), it promises to be a great time.
I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving yesterday. I was sad to miss turkey and fixings with my family but was treated to a very special dinner including sopa de frijoles and vegetarian stuffed peppers – not traditional, but delicious!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Beach Bummin'
Warning: if you are currently a) stuck in an office somewhere, bored out of your mind and wishing you were relaxing on a beach somewhere, b) living in a place where cooler temperatures/early snow are depressing you and making you wish you were relaxing on a beach somewhere or c) both of the above, you may not want to read any further. That said...
I am currently in Puerto Viejo, on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica. Today's weather is about 80 degrees and sunny with a light breeze, and while I'm not actually relaxing on the beach at this very moment, I am relaxing on the shaded patio with a frozen tropical drink, taking in a gorgeous view of the beach and listening to the waves lapping the sand. Life is good. My original travel plans for CR had not included Puerto Viejo, but after several reports that the Osa Peninsula has recently been drenched in rain causing road closures, knee-deep mud on walking trails and the temporary shutdown of Corcovado National Park, I decided that I could be flexible and detour North, saving the Osa for a future visit to CR. And while the Caribbean coast can be a little iffy in terms of weather at this time of year, my 4 days here have been marked by glorious weather. Sigh.
I'm getting ahead of myself, though. I last posted from the Rio San Juan, on my last night in Nica, and was anticipating a big day of travel including two boat rides, a border crossing and a 5-hour bus ride. I'm happy to report that I made all of my connections and got to San Jose, despite a rather inauspicious start to the day. I had asked the staff at the hotel in El Castillo to provide a 5 a.m. wake-up call so that I could catch the 5:30 a.m. express boat to San Carlos; however, the wake-up call was delivered at 5:28 a.m. and I was still frantically tossing belongings into my backpack when I glanced out the window to see the boat pulling out of the dock. To be certain that that was indeed my boat and possibly in a dramatic effort to make a point, I ran down the stairs and hurriedly asked the woman at the desk if the express boat had just left, to which she replied with a flat 'yes'. When I then tried to explain in Spanish that I had requested a 5 a.m. wake-up call that had arrived 28 minutes late, thus causing me to miss my boat, I was greeted with a blank stare, at which point I decided to cut my losses and simply turn around and walk back upstairs to properly pack. I fumed about the incident for the next couple of hours, but ultimately I still arrived in San Carlos (barely) in time to catch the boat across the border, although my status as the absolute last passenger to board the boat guaranteed that I spent the ride perched on the corner of a bench with someone's knees resting on my back.
Despite my positioning, the boat ride down the Rio Frio was pleasant enough and took only about an hour. When we crossed over from Nica to CR, the Nicaraguan flag was taken down and replaced with that of Costa Rica. Entering Costa Rica was a breeze and involved only a brief bag search and a bit of paperwork, although the town of Los Chiles leaves much to be desired. Having arrived with about 3 hours to spare before my bus to San Jose, I took the opportunity to explore the town and quickly realized that I had way too much time on my hands. Roughly 3 blocks by 4 blocks, the town consists of a small park, a couple of hotels, a few tiendas and supermarkets, and the bus stop. I was doubly glad that I had not missed the boat from San Carlos, as a night in Los Chiles would have been a joyless endeavor, I feel certain. I did enjoy some yummy empanadas at the little soda next to the bus station, and although I was horrified minutes later when I went to use the facilities and found them to be the most disgusting I had encountered in years, it appears that I escaped without contracting giardia (knock on wood).
The bus ride to San Jose was uneventful and I easily caught a taxi to my hotel, where I enjoyed what felt like the most luxurious, decadent experience I had had in weeks: a hot shower. I would almost recommend that you forgo a hot shower for a week or two so that, upon having one, you can experience the feeling of utter bliss that I experienced in that moment. Que rico! The next morning, I chilled in San Jose for a bit before catching a bus to Monteverde, despite some a**hole taxi driver's efforts to convince me that I had missed the last bus of the day. Honestly, I'm not sure what his intentions were - did he think I would pay him a fortune to drive me 4 hours north? - but it's a moot point, anyway. The bus ride was smooth except for the last hour or so where we climbed a bumpy road at a snail's pace, and I made it to my hotel without incident.
The next morning, I headed out for some ziplining! Zipping above the treeline was a blast and I even tried the 'Tarzan Swing' at the end, which involved jumping off a platform and swinging freely from the harness, although the guides did have to give me a little push off the platform at the last minute. I also met a new friend thru ziplining who turned out to be my travel companion for the next 2 days, a woman from Colorado named Allison. We went out to a terrific dinner that night including mojitos and seafood chimichangas and then hiked to a gorgeous waterfall the next day. Also, it turned out that we both needed to pass through San Jose on Sunday, so we traveled from Monteverde together and spent an afternoon together in the city. We both commented on how glad we were for the company because San Jose, while not known for having a lot to offer the tourist crowd on a regular day, is absolutely dead on Sunday! We were actually hard pressed to find an open restaurant where we could enjoy a nice dinner. We ultimately found a place that served great food although we felt a little underdressed in jeans and casual tops in a restaurant where the servers were wearing suits and the server:customer ratio appeared to be about 2:1.
As a general observation, I'll say that Costa Rica lived up to a lot of the expectations that I had based on conversations with travelers I met in Nica. It's beautiful, expensive and lots of people speak English. On the one hand, I'm enjoying the access to more amenities and the fact that businesses (e.g. hotels, restaurants, outfitters) seem much more attuned to the needs/desires of tourists, but I also find myself falling back on English, which I had hoped to avoid. Hopefully, I'll be able to pick up again quickly once I get to Panama.
For Monday, I had made arrangements to go whitewater rafting while en route from San Jose to Puerto Viejo. A local tour outfitter offers an outing where they will pick you up at your hotel in San Jose, take you to the Pacuare River to raft, and then deliver you to your hotel in Puerto Viejo. Surprisingly enough, having grown up in Maine, I had never been whitewater rafting before this. So, I made arrangements with the hotel staff in San Jose for a 5:45 a.m. wake-up call...and it never came. Fortunately (or unfortunately), I had had a fitful night's sleep and was awake anyway, but when I mentioned to the front desk that I had requested a wake-up call that didn't come...blank stare. I'm beginning to think that the attitude here is, if you're so foolish as to want to subject yourself to the constraints of a fixed schedule, you shouldn't be surprised if you don't find a willing partner in places as laid back as Costa Rica or Nicaragua. And while I could appreciate the sentiment behind such an attitude, surely it gets a little touchy when people have flights to catch...?
Whitewater rafting was awesome! I got knocked around quite a bit by the waves and managed to fall out of the boat once, and loved every minute. Our guide was a Costa Rican guy named Ricky who kept referring to himself as "Ricky Bobby" and saying things like "Shake 'n Bake", which I suppose I would get if I had made it through more than the first 10 minutes of Talladega Nights. Anywho, after a great day on the river, I jumped the bus to Puerto Viejo where I've been relaxing ever since. I'm staying at a beautiful hotel called the Banana Azul where my accommodations include a little cabina with French doors that open to a balcony where I have a hammock and a birds' eye view of the beach. Not too shabby.
Here's a quick synopsis of the past few days in PV:
Day 1 - Lounged on the beach, swam for hours in the luxurious Caribbean waters, strolled to town long enough to get an ice cream cone and stroll back to my beach chair. Knocked out one whole book.
Day 2 - Took my first surfing lesson ever. Awesome, although my whole upper body is still sore 2 days later. I managed to stand up on the board and ride a couple of waves and rode several other waves on my knees. Had a blast, felt ultra cool with a leash around my ankle, slightly less cool falling a hundred times with my limbs splayed in every direction, and definitely want to try it again once I've gotten into a regular routine of push-ups. Spent the afternoon recovering, alternating between floating on the surface of the water and reading/dozing in a hammock. Met some really cool folks at dinner and made plans to hang out the next day.
Day 3 - Spent the morning hanging out with my new friend Meghan. Drove to Punta Uva, a nearby beach that was basically deserted except for some local fishermen, and then went to the Animal Rescue Center, where we saw lots of monkeys (including the little one that took a nap on my head), toucans, two types of sloth, caimans, a hawk, two spectacle owls, a marguay (wildcat) and more snakes than I'd care to recall. The center takes in all kinds of injured animals and cares for them, releasing as many as possible back into the wild. For those of you who missed this photo on Facebook:
Spent another afternoon chillin' on the beach and then went out to dinner with my new group of buddies, including the aforementioned Meghan from Washington state, two guys from NYC and a newlywed couple from L.A. We had a marvelous dinner of sea bass and good wine followed by a nightcap(s) at the bungalow where the newlyweds are staying, and voila! I have my first hangover of this trip. Three months is a pretty good stretch, though...
Day 4 - today. Despite headache, awoke at 7:30 since I am apparently no longer able to sleep past that hour. Fortified myself with awesome hotel breakfast and have spent the morning/early afternoon in a chaise longue reading a semi-trashy crime novel. Thinking about motivating to take a little stroll on the beach after I post this, but not ready to commit to anything yet.
Believe it or not, my time in Costa Rica ends tomorrow! In what promises to be a fairly long day of travel, I'll take a bus in the morning to the border town of Sixaola, from where I walk across a bridge into Panama, catch a taxi to Changuinola and then a 4-hour bus to David, where I'll be picked up by someone from the Spanish school where I'll be taking classes for a couple of weeks. From David, I'll be whisked to Boquete to meet my new host family and hopefully have a little time to check out the town.
So that's the scoop! I feel like I've skipped over lots of little details in this post, but that's what I get for going 10 days without writing. Will be back in the States in just under 4 weeks now, in time to go wedding dress shopping with one of my favorite people in the world - actually, a few of my favorite people, although only one is looking for a dress...
OK, back to the beach!
I am currently in Puerto Viejo, on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica. Today's weather is about 80 degrees and sunny with a light breeze, and while I'm not actually relaxing on the beach at this very moment, I am relaxing on the shaded patio with a frozen tropical drink, taking in a gorgeous view of the beach and listening to the waves lapping the sand. Life is good. My original travel plans for CR had not included Puerto Viejo, but after several reports that the Osa Peninsula has recently been drenched in rain causing road closures, knee-deep mud on walking trails and the temporary shutdown of Corcovado National Park, I decided that I could be flexible and detour North, saving the Osa for a future visit to CR. And while the Caribbean coast can be a little iffy in terms of weather at this time of year, my 4 days here have been marked by glorious weather. Sigh.
I'm getting ahead of myself, though. I last posted from the Rio San Juan, on my last night in Nica, and was anticipating a big day of travel including two boat rides, a border crossing and a 5-hour bus ride. I'm happy to report that I made all of my connections and got to San Jose, despite a rather inauspicious start to the day. I had asked the staff at the hotel in El Castillo to provide a 5 a.m. wake-up call so that I could catch the 5:30 a.m. express boat to San Carlos; however, the wake-up call was delivered at 5:28 a.m. and I was still frantically tossing belongings into my backpack when I glanced out the window to see the boat pulling out of the dock. To be certain that that was indeed my boat and possibly in a dramatic effort to make a point, I ran down the stairs and hurriedly asked the woman at the desk if the express boat had just left, to which she replied with a flat 'yes'. When I then tried to explain in Spanish that I had requested a 5 a.m. wake-up call that had arrived 28 minutes late, thus causing me to miss my boat, I was greeted with a blank stare, at which point I decided to cut my losses and simply turn around and walk back upstairs to properly pack. I fumed about the incident for the next couple of hours, but ultimately I still arrived in San Carlos (barely) in time to catch the boat across the border, although my status as the absolute last passenger to board the boat guaranteed that I spent the ride perched on the corner of a bench with someone's knees resting on my back.
Despite my positioning, the boat ride down the Rio Frio was pleasant enough and took only about an hour. When we crossed over from Nica to CR, the Nicaraguan flag was taken down and replaced with that of Costa Rica. Entering Costa Rica was a breeze and involved only a brief bag search and a bit of paperwork, although the town of Los Chiles leaves much to be desired. Having arrived with about 3 hours to spare before my bus to San Jose, I took the opportunity to explore the town and quickly realized that I had way too much time on my hands. Roughly 3 blocks by 4 blocks, the town consists of a small park, a couple of hotels, a few tiendas and supermarkets, and the bus stop. I was doubly glad that I had not missed the boat from San Carlos, as a night in Los Chiles would have been a joyless endeavor, I feel certain. I did enjoy some yummy empanadas at the little soda next to the bus station, and although I was horrified minutes later when I went to use the facilities and found them to be the most disgusting I had encountered in years, it appears that I escaped without contracting giardia (knock on wood).
The bus ride to San Jose was uneventful and I easily caught a taxi to my hotel, where I enjoyed what felt like the most luxurious, decadent experience I had had in weeks: a hot shower. I would almost recommend that you forgo a hot shower for a week or two so that, upon having one, you can experience the feeling of utter bliss that I experienced in that moment. Que rico! The next morning, I chilled in San Jose for a bit before catching a bus to Monteverde, despite some a**hole taxi driver's efforts to convince me that I had missed the last bus of the day. Honestly, I'm not sure what his intentions were - did he think I would pay him a fortune to drive me 4 hours north? - but it's a moot point, anyway. The bus ride was smooth except for the last hour or so where we climbed a bumpy road at a snail's pace, and I made it to my hotel without incident.
The next morning, I headed out for some ziplining! Zipping above the treeline was a blast and I even tried the 'Tarzan Swing' at the end, which involved jumping off a platform and swinging freely from the harness, although the guides did have to give me a little push off the platform at the last minute. I also met a new friend thru ziplining who turned out to be my travel companion for the next 2 days, a woman from Colorado named Allison. We went out to a terrific dinner that night including mojitos and seafood chimichangas and then hiked to a gorgeous waterfall the next day. Also, it turned out that we both needed to pass through San Jose on Sunday, so we traveled from Monteverde together and spent an afternoon together in the city. We both commented on how glad we were for the company because San Jose, while not known for having a lot to offer the tourist crowd on a regular day, is absolutely dead on Sunday! We were actually hard pressed to find an open restaurant where we could enjoy a nice dinner. We ultimately found a place that served great food although we felt a little underdressed in jeans and casual tops in a restaurant where the servers were wearing suits and the server:customer ratio appeared to be about 2:1.
As a general observation, I'll say that Costa Rica lived up to a lot of the expectations that I had based on conversations with travelers I met in Nica. It's beautiful, expensive and lots of people speak English. On the one hand, I'm enjoying the access to more amenities and the fact that businesses (e.g. hotels, restaurants, outfitters) seem much more attuned to the needs/desires of tourists, but I also find myself falling back on English, which I had hoped to avoid. Hopefully, I'll be able to pick up again quickly once I get to Panama.
For Monday, I had made arrangements to go whitewater rafting while en route from San Jose to Puerto Viejo. A local tour outfitter offers an outing where they will pick you up at your hotel in San Jose, take you to the Pacuare River to raft, and then deliver you to your hotel in Puerto Viejo. Surprisingly enough, having grown up in Maine, I had never been whitewater rafting before this. So, I made arrangements with the hotel staff in San Jose for a 5:45 a.m. wake-up call...and it never came. Fortunately (or unfortunately), I had had a fitful night's sleep and was awake anyway, but when I mentioned to the front desk that I had requested a wake-up call that didn't come...blank stare. I'm beginning to think that the attitude here is, if you're so foolish as to want to subject yourself to the constraints of a fixed schedule, you shouldn't be surprised if you don't find a willing partner in places as laid back as Costa Rica or Nicaragua. And while I could appreciate the sentiment behind such an attitude, surely it gets a little touchy when people have flights to catch...?
Whitewater rafting was awesome! I got knocked around quite a bit by the waves and managed to fall out of the boat once, and loved every minute. Our guide was a Costa Rican guy named Ricky who kept referring to himself as "Ricky Bobby" and saying things like "Shake 'n Bake", which I suppose I would get if I had made it through more than the first 10 minutes of Talladega Nights. Anywho, after a great day on the river, I jumped the bus to Puerto Viejo where I've been relaxing ever since. I'm staying at a beautiful hotel called the Banana Azul where my accommodations include a little cabina with French doors that open to a balcony where I have a hammock and a birds' eye view of the beach. Not too shabby.
Here's a quick synopsis of the past few days in PV:
Day 1 - Lounged on the beach, swam for hours in the luxurious Caribbean waters, strolled to town long enough to get an ice cream cone and stroll back to my beach chair. Knocked out one whole book.
Day 2 - Took my first surfing lesson ever. Awesome, although my whole upper body is still sore 2 days later. I managed to stand up on the board and ride a couple of waves and rode several other waves on my knees. Had a blast, felt ultra cool with a leash around my ankle, slightly less cool falling a hundred times with my limbs splayed in every direction, and definitely want to try it again once I've gotten into a regular routine of push-ups. Spent the afternoon recovering, alternating between floating on the surface of the water and reading/dozing in a hammock. Met some really cool folks at dinner and made plans to hang out the next day.
Day 3 - Spent the morning hanging out with my new friend Meghan. Drove to Punta Uva, a nearby beach that was basically deserted except for some local fishermen, and then went to the Animal Rescue Center, where we saw lots of monkeys (including the little one that took a nap on my head), toucans, two types of sloth, caimans, a hawk, two spectacle owls, a marguay (wildcat) and more snakes than I'd care to recall. The center takes in all kinds of injured animals and cares for them, releasing as many as possible back into the wild. For those of you who missed this photo on Facebook:
Spent another afternoon chillin' on the beach and then went out to dinner with my new group of buddies, including the aforementioned Meghan from Washington state, two guys from NYC and a newlywed couple from L.A. We had a marvelous dinner of sea bass and good wine followed by a nightcap(s) at the bungalow where the newlyweds are staying, and voila! I have my first hangover of this trip. Three months is a pretty good stretch, though...
Day 4 - today. Despite headache, awoke at 7:30 since I am apparently no longer able to sleep past that hour. Fortified myself with awesome hotel breakfast and have spent the morning/early afternoon in a chaise longue reading a semi-trashy crime novel. Thinking about motivating to take a little stroll on the beach after I post this, but not ready to commit to anything yet.
Believe it or not, my time in Costa Rica ends tomorrow! In what promises to be a fairly long day of travel, I'll take a bus in the morning to the border town of Sixaola, from where I walk across a bridge into Panama, catch a taxi to Changuinola and then a 4-hour bus to David, where I'll be picked up by someone from the Spanish school where I'll be taking classes for a couple of weeks. From David, I'll be whisked to Boquete to meet my new host family and hopefully have a little time to check out the town.
So that's the scoop! I feel like I've skipped over lots of little details in this post, but that's what I get for going 10 days without writing. Will be back in the States in just under 4 weeks now, in time to go wedding dress shopping with one of my favorite people in the world - actually, a few of my favorite people, although only one is looking for a dress...
OK, back to the beach!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
From the Rio
I'm writing this from a fairly remote corner of Nicaragua, although not so remote as to not have internet access, as I had originally suspected. Having pretty thoroughly explored my surroundings and feeling quite exhausted from several days of travel and organized activities, I figured this would be a good time to take a breather and write about my last few days in Nica - tomorrow, Costa Rica beckons!
I last wrote from San Carlos, where Tom and I killed a few hours before boarding a boat to the Islas Solentiname, a cluster of islands on the east side of Lake Nicaragua that are home to a population of about 800, many of whom are artists or craftspeople. The abridged recent history of Solentiname involves the arrival of a Catholic priest and former Sandinista leader named Ernesto Cardenal in the 1960s, who came to the island to start a church based on the principles of liberation theology in which he strongly believed. In lieu of Sunday Mass, Cardenal would gather with the campesinos who inhabited the islands to discuss the Gospels, ultimately providing the basis for what came to be known as La Misa Campesina Nicaraguense, or Nicaraguan Peasants' Mass. If you're so inclined, you can find passages online where Cardenal speaks eloquently about why he was compelled to form this type of church and his feelings about how the simple words of the peasants reflected a theology as profound as anything in the Bible. In addition to forming the church, Cardenal encouraged the people to pursue artistic avenues of expression, the influence of which is alive and well today - a great number of Solentiname's residents are painters and/or sculptors in a primitive style distinctive of the islands.
Tom and I had a chance to visit the little church founded by Cardenal all those years ago and we were both quite moved by the simple, colorful beauty of the place. Instead of somber fixtures and scenes depicting the life and death of Christ, this is what we saw:
I last wrote from San Carlos, where Tom and I killed a few hours before boarding a boat to the Islas Solentiname, a cluster of islands on the east side of Lake Nicaragua that are home to a population of about 800, many of whom are artists or craftspeople. The abridged recent history of Solentiname involves the arrival of a Catholic priest and former Sandinista leader named Ernesto Cardenal in the 1960s, who came to the island to start a church based on the principles of liberation theology in which he strongly believed. In lieu of Sunday Mass, Cardenal would gather with the campesinos who inhabited the islands to discuss the Gospels, ultimately providing the basis for what came to be known as La Misa Campesina Nicaraguense, or Nicaraguan Peasants' Mass. If you're so inclined, you can find passages online where Cardenal speaks eloquently about why he was compelled to form this type of church and his feelings about how the simple words of the peasants reflected a theology as profound as anything in the Bible. In addition to forming the church, Cardenal encouraged the people to pursue artistic avenues of expression, the influence of which is alive and well today - a great number of Solentiname's residents are painters and/or sculptors in a primitive style distinctive of the islands.
Tom and I had a chance to visit the little church founded by Cardenal all those years ago and we were both quite moved by the simple, colorful beauty of the place. Instead of somber fixtures and scenes depicting the life and death of Christ, this is what we saw:
I must admit, I was a bit saddened to learn that the Sunday gatherings are a thing of the past. Although Cardenal no longer lives in Solentiname, it would seem that the type of mass that he encouraged could continue in his absence. However, I was informed that mass is now rarely celebrated - only when a priest from another community is able to come and officiate, and then a traditional Catholic mass is performed. Ah well. Back to the rest of our stay in Solentiname...
We opted to stay at a place called the Albergue Celentiname on the second-most populous island of San Fernando. We spent our first afternoon strolling around to visit with various artists (many of whom work in their homes and will invite you in to watch them work and/or purchase art), including a woman who was painting a giant canvas on her front porch and whom I originally walked right past without noticing; fortunately, Tom was a bit more attentive than I. We ended up chatting with her for quite a while about her work, life on the island and the efforts of an American man and his family to assist the island, including providing support for the development of a library and an artists' cooperative.
When we returned to our hotel, we were surprised to discover a couple of other guests, two Nicaraguan bankers who were planning to go out exploring for potential investment opportunities the next day. After dinner, they invited us to join them and our hosts in sipping some Flor de Cana rum and told us about the places all over Nicaragua that they've had occasion to visit through their work. At one point, the conversation turned to the history of the island and our host, Daniel, talked about the people of the island taking up arms in the struggle for independence including Maria, the owner of the hotel. Maria spoke briefly about her involvement in the war and her acquaintance with Eden Pastora, a former Sandinista who later left the party to become a commander for the Contras and still re-surfaces from time to time in Nicaraguan politics. Javier, one of the bankers, told us about how his father was taken by Somoza's forces while his mother was pregnant with him in 1979. She believed him to be dead, but several months later he resurfaced, having been subjected to numerous tortures including broken ribs, electric shocks through his wrists and having cigarettes extinguished in his ears. These stories of the revolution never cease to amaze and horrify me.
Tom and I spent our one full day in Solentiname visiting the great little museum on San Fernando and the artists' cooperative, where a bought a small painting that caught my eye. We had decided to check out the neighboring island of Mancarron in the afternoon, and Daniel offered up a canoe for us to row over there. However, when the canoe was brought around, we realized that it was a heavy, boxy, old style canoe with one paddle and one set of oars, quite different from the type of canoe to which I'm accustomed. We set out with good intentions, but soon realized that not only did we lack any ability whatsoever to steer the thing - in fact, the whole process seemed completely counterintuitive - we also realized that the only progress we had made in moving toward the island was the result of the current. I alternated between being seriously frustrated and laughing at the absurdity of the situation, but ultimately we threw in the towel and slowly managed to make our way back to where we started, after which we promptly tracked down Ramon, who had a boat to take us to Mancarron. Although we loved seeing the church, Mancarron seemed to lack the same friendly vibe of San Fernando and the artisans that we visited were basically all selling the same items, so we didn't stay too long before heading back to San Fernando, where we made our arrangements for the next day's travel.
Sunday morning, we said goodbye to Daniel and hopped a boat bound for San Carlos, where we would catch another boat down the Rio San Juan to the town of El Castillo. The boat was packed with people, most of whom appeared to be Nicaraguan, and we managed to wedge ourselves and our bags into two tiny seats for what we thought would be about an hour's ride, but turned out to be closer to 4 hours! I think we somehow took a slow boat rather than the express that we had intended to catch, but we didn't really mind because the ride down the river was absolutely beautiful. Picture a wide, glassy river flanked by lush greenery on either side, birds flying everywhere and a few tiny cottages dotting the landscape, with a light breeze off the river to keep the temperature just right. It was lovely! Still, we were happy to finally see El Castillo come into view, including the beautiful 17th century fort for which the town is named. We checked into a beautiful hotel with a view of the river and popped into a restaurant on the water for a couple of beers and a dinner of giant river shrimp that looked more like small lobsters.
The next day, we were met at 8 a.m. by our two guides, Pina - his nickname - and Gilbert, to take a boat ride further down the river and hike through the nature reserve of Aguas Frescas. Again, the boat ride was amazingly relaxing and scenic, and between the trip up and down the river, we saw caimans, turtles, giant iguanas lounging in trees along the side of the river, tons of birds, monkeys and a crazy, bright green lizard that ran past us across the surface of the water! When we stopped at an army post outside the reserve to check in, we saw a tiny black and green "camouflage" frog, and in the reserve we saw an even tinier red and blue frog, as well as lots more spider and howler monkeys at close range.
Tom and I warily nibbled at a leaf known for its anesthetic properties, offered to us by Gilbert, and I know I was relieved when I experienced only a brief numbing sensation in a corner of my mouth rather than having my entire tongue go limp, as I had feared might happen. We both declined, however, when, passing a giant termite nest, Gilbert explained how termites had been eaten by indigenous peoples for sustenance and demonstrated by popping a few in his mouth, pronouncing them as tasting like 'wood'. Mm, I think I'll just hold out for lunch...
That afternoon, we visited the giant fort built by the Spanish in the 1600s and recently restored with funds from the Spanish government, and all I can say is that it is seriously beautiful and the view is breathtaking! The fort has an interesting history which, frankly, I don't have the energy to go into now, but it's worth checking out if you have the inclination.
This morning, we took a little excursion on horseback, which was enjoyable for the most part except for when my horse ran a little too close to the trees (yes, it was deja vu), and in addition to taking some scratches, I tore my shirt and was nearly pulled off the horse when I got caught in some branches. On a positive note, when we passed under a giant almond tree, I asked our guide to slice open one of the giant pods laying on the ground and got to see this:
Maybe it's just me, but I was really struck by the beauty of this almond. Maybe it was the fact that it took our guide about a dozen whacks with his machete to get the thing open, or the fact that such an elaborate system of packaging surrounds such a small nut, but I was once again reminded of the beautiful design that exists in nature and the joy that comes from knowing a little bit more about where our food comes from and what it takes to get it to us.
I am now sitting in my hotel room, listening to the river and going over a hundred details of my travel for the next few days. The plan is to catch a boat up the river to San Carlos at 5:30 a.m., after which I'll take another boat down the Rio Frio (love that name) into Los Chiles, Costa Rica, where I'll board a five-hour bus to San Jose. I should be in San Jose just long enough for a decent night's sleep before heading to Monteverde on Thursday for some rainforest action. Still can't believe I will be leaving Nicaragua tomorrow, but I'm also excited to see Costa Rica and whether it's truly as different from Nica as everyone says it is. OK, time to pack. I'll leave you with this glimpse of the view from where I'm currently perched.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Changing Course
OK, so I`ve turned into a complete blogging slacker, but the good news is that my days have been quite eventful of late and so I haven`t had much time to write. At this moment, I`m sitting in a cyber cafe in the little port town of San Carlos in Nica and have a few hours to kill before I need to catch a boat, so I thought I`d attempt to capture some details of the past several days before I forget them all.
I last wrote from Matagalpa, and spent my last night in the north camping with a friend in a tiny village called Santa Emilia located not far from Matagalpa. There is a decent-sized coffee plantation there that comprises most of the town, and the owners have constructed housing, communal areas, school facilities, etc. for the workers that live there. It was a beautiful spot and very interesting to learn a bit more about the processing and exportation of coffee.
From Matagalpa, I caught a bus to Granada via Masaya, and while I enjoyed a couple of days of bumming around Granada, strolling through the city, market, churches, etc., I don`t have much to report in the way of big events or activities. I stayed at a lovely hospedaje run by a Nica-French couple and was delighted to discover that I was able to converse with a couple of guests there from Spain, considering the different accent and the accelerated pace at which they were speaking. Also, I got a good laugh when, sipping my coffee across from the park one afternoon, I noticed a carriage driver (male) wearing a "World`s Greatest Mom" t-shirt. I suppose it may have been ironic, but I didn`t ask so I guess I`ll never know.
From Granada, I made my way back to La Concha to spend a few days catching up with my host family and folks from La Mariposa. Again, nothing earth-shattering happened during this time, but I had a wonderful time hanging out with my family, meeting the new crop of students at La Mariposa (of which there are many) and chatting with all of the workers there. I said goodbye to my host family on Monday morning, which was really sad since we all knew I wouldn´t be coming back through again anytime soon, but ultimately I left La Concha fortified by many, many hugs and well wishes, and armed with several e-mail addresses of native Spanish speakers with whom I can practice my correspondence in Spanish, especially once I`m back in the States.
Monday morning, Tom and I headed out with our backpacks bound for the Isla de Ometepe. The trip involved a microbus, school bus, taxi and ferry, but was actually quite enjoyable and most definitely worth it. Ometepe is an island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua containing two volcanoes, one active and one dormant, and is spectacularly beautiful. The ferry ride over from the mainland took about an hour and a half, and I spent most of that time standing on the bow watching the two volcanoes get closer and closer. There are several myths about the origins of the island but all seem to agree that the two volcanoes represent a woman`s breasts, however asymmetrical they may be.
We arrived in the port of Moyogalpa, which was bustling with people, and jumped in a taxi to our hotel on the other side of the island. On the drive, we chatted with our driver, Jorge, who gave us lots of good info about the history of the island, activities, flora and fauna, etc. Our hotel turned out to be 1.5 km off the main road, a long, steep slog uphill, which made us glad we had opted for the taxi option. Also, we arrived just in time to catch an absolutely spectatcular sunset over Volcan Concepcion and the lake - truly, one of the most memorable sunsets of my life. After a long day of travel, we were psyched to relax with a couple of drinks (mojitos!) on the patio before crashing.
Tuesday morning, Jorge returned to shuttle us to another part of the island so that we could hike up to a waterfall at San Ramon. The hike, reportedly 3 km but more like 5, we suspect, was lovely and the waterfall was huge and gorgeous! We spent an hour or so chilling at the bottom, chatting with a few other folks up there and enjoying the cool mist coming off the water. One of the folks we met was a tour guide, and when we mentioned that we had begun discussing the possibilility of adjusting our travel plans to visit the Rio San Juan, he assured us that this area is "super bonito". Hmmm.
After the waterfall, we drove to the little town of Merida, and on the way Jorge stopped the van and had us get out so that he could point out a hive of African bees, which he told us are muy peligroso and could kill us if they stung us. Um, thanks. We made our way to a place called Caballito`s Mar, where we enjoyed a scrumptious lunch of freshly caught and grilled tilapia from the lake, after which we digested a bit before heading out in kayaks to explore the Rio Istiam. We kayaked for an hour or so on the lake to reach the entrance to the rio, at which point it was as though we had entered another world - flat, calm waters, lush greenery surrounding us (including on the surface of the water), an amazing array of birds and a terrific view of a volcano on each side. We even spotted a caiman at one point, and the fact that it took me quite a while to notice him even after the guide pointed him out - he looked THAT much like a log - makes me think that I will probably think twice before ever going near a river`s edge again. Also, when the caiman suddenly disappeared under the water with a dramatic thrashing, I froze in panic and waited for him to reappear and seize my arm in his mouth, but the guide just laughed and pronounced him "timido". Ah, yes, he`s just...shy.
Wednesday morning, we set off early on foot with yet another guide, Marlon, to hike to a lookout point about halfway up Volcan Maderas. The walk up was challenging but not too exhausting, and I was excited to walk through tons of coffee plants as well as some cacao trees. I`ve been asking about where I can find cacao because I know it´s the harvest season now and I was intrigued to see it in its natural state, so I was delighted when Marlon plucked a ripe fruit from the tree and sliced it open so that we could taste the pods, which were sweet, slightly acidic and tasted nothing like chocolate. Also, on the walk up we saw tons of howler and white-faced monkeys - really, they were practically everywhere we turned. Unfortunately, while my guidebook claims that the lookout offers the `money shot`of Volcan Concepcion, by the time we arrived, it was pouring rain and all we could see was a wall of mist. Ah well. We made our way back down and stopped to have lunch at a place called Finca Magdalena, a large coffee finca dating back 120 or so years where they produce some excellent coffee. We hiked around the property to take a look at some ancient petroglyphs before making our way back to the hotel for yet another magnificent sunset.
Back at the hotel, Tom and I decided that we needed to make a decision about the next leg of our trip. We had originally planned to catch the ferry back to San Jorge the next day and make our way down to the popular beach town of San Juan del Sur, but we were both intrigued by the possibility of checking out the much less-explored areas of the Isla de Solentiname and the Rio San Juan. Ultimately, the lure of adventure won out and we decided to go the latter route.
Thursday morning, we headed out to the Ojo de Agua, a spring-fed swimming hole on Ometepe where the mineral-rich waters supposedly take years off your life. I`m not sure about that, but the water was crystal clear and very refreshing, and it was a lovely way to spend our last few hours on the island. From there, we headed to the other port town of Altagracia to await the overnight ferry to San Carlos. While Moyogalpa is a decent-sized port town cluttered with hotels, restaurants, tourist offices, etc., the launching point at Altagracia consisted of a cluster of people, mostly Nicas, hanging out by a closed fence near a tiny ticket office. We bought our tickets and settled down with our packs to wait for the arrival of the ferry from Granada. There are actually two classes of seats on the ferry, but tourists are required to purchase first-class seats, still a bargain at about $7. When the ferry rolled in, we threw our bags down on one of the plastic cushioned benches on the upper level and watched as the workers loaded one bushel after another of plantains onto the boat.
As the ferry pulled out of Altagracia, I was amazed to note how relaxed I felt. With the two volcanoes disappearing behind us, a steady, refreshing breeze washing over us, the sky full of stars and the sound of the water churning below us, it truly felt like we were setting out on some magical journey. After a couple of hours, I moved inside and attempted to sleep on one of the benches, which actually worked out better than I thought considering that I was using a backpack full of books as a pillow and that the air-con in the cabin assured that I was freezing all night. The latter made me realize why many of the Nicas opt to pitch blankets - or even cardboard boxes - on the deck outside to sleep. Also, some of the Nicas and tourists alike opted to throw down mats on the floor underneath the rows of benches, which created a funny criss-cross pattern of people sleeping on floors and benches. I`m sure I would have felt claustrophobic nestled under several rows of low benches, but they seemed quite cozy down there!
This morning, we pulled into San Carlos at about 6 a.m., grabbed some gallo pinto and coffee for breakfast and are now making contact with the States for what will probably be the last time in a few days. In a couple of hours, we`ll catch a small boat out to the isle of Solentiname, a tiny cluster of islands inhabited by only 1,000 or so people, many of whom are artisans of one type or another. We plan to spend a couple of days there before passing back through San Carlos and heading down the Rio San Juan to the town of El Castillo. The Rio is supposed to be incredibly beautiful and rich in wildlife, although largely off the beaten path. At this point, my plan is to cross into Costa Rica by boat across the Rio Frio on Wednesday, but we`ll see if I get lured in some other direction.
Time is definitely flying here! I`ll probably next write from Costa Rica, hopefully with some exciting tales of adventure. Ciao for now...
I last wrote from Matagalpa, and spent my last night in the north camping with a friend in a tiny village called Santa Emilia located not far from Matagalpa. There is a decent-sized coffee plantation there that comprises most of the town, and the owners have constructed housing, communal areas, school facilities, etc. for the workers that live there. It was a beautiful spot and very interesting to learn a bit more about the processing and exportation of coffee.
From Matagalpa, I caught a bus to Granada via Masaya, and while I enjoyed a couple of days of bumming around Granada, strolling through the city, market, churches, etc., I don`t have much to report in the way of big events or activities. I stayed at a lovely hospedaje run by a Nica-French couple and was delighted to discover that I was able to converse with a couple of guests there from Spain, considering the different accent and the accelerated pace at which they were speaking. Also, I got a good laugh when, sipping my coffee across from the park one afternoon, I noticed a carriage driver (male) wearing a "World`s Greatest Mom" t-shirt. I suppose it may have been ironic, but I didn`t ask so I guess I`ll never know.
From Granada, I made my way back to La Concha to spend a few days catching up with my host family and folks from La Mariposa. Again, nothing earth-shattering happened during this time, but I had a wonderful time hanging out with my family, meeting the new crop of students at La Mariposa (of which there are many) and chatting with all of the workers there. I said goodbye to my host family on Monday morning, which was really sad since we all knew I wouldn´t be coming back through again anytime soon, but ultimately I left La Concha fortified by many, many hugs and well wishes, and armed with several e-mail addresses of native Spanish speakers with whom I can practice my correspondence in Spanish, especially once I`m back in the States.
Monday morning, Tom and I headed out with our backpacks bound for the Isla de Ometepe. The trip involved a microbus, school bus, taxi and ferry, but was actually quite enjoyable and most definitely worth it. Ometepe is an island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua containing two volcanoes, one active and one dormant, and is spectacularly beautiful. The ferry ride over from the mainland took about an hour and a half, and I spent most of that time standing on the bow watching the two volcanoes get closer and closer. There are several myths about the origins of the island but all seem to agree that the two volcanoes represent a woman`s breasts, however asymmetrical they may be.
We arrived in the port of Moyogalpa, which was bustling with people, and jumped in a taxi to our hotel on the other side of the island. On the drive, we chatted with our driver, Jorge, who gave us lots of good info about the history of the island, activities, flora and fauna, etc. Our hotel turned out to be 1.5 km off the main road, a long, steep slog uphill, which made us glad we had opted for the taxi option. Also, we arrived just in time to catch an absolutely spectatcular sunset over Volcan Concepcion and the lake - truly, one of the most memorable sunsets of my life. After a long day of travel, we were psyched to relax with a couple of drinks (mojitos!) on the patio before crashing.
Tuesday morning, Jorge returned to shuttle us to another part of the island so that we could hike up to a waterfall at San Ramon. The hike, reportedly 3 km but more like 5, we suspect, was lovely and the waterfall was huge and gorgeous! We spent an hour or so chilling at the bottom, chatting with a few other folks up there and enjoying the cool mist coming off the water. One of the folks we met was a tour guide, and when we mentioned that we had begun discussing the possibilility of adjusting our travel plans to visit the Rio San Juan, he assured us that this area is "super bonito". Hmmm.
After the waterfall, we drove to the little town of Merida, and on the way Jorge stopped the van and had us get out so that he could point out a hive of African bees, which he told us are muy peligroso and could kill us if they stung us. Um, thanks. We made our way to a place called Caballito`s Mar, where we enjoyed a scrumptious lunch of freshly caught and grilled tilapia from the lake, after which we digested a bit before heading out in kayaks to explore the Rio Istiam. We kayaked for an hour or so on the lake to reach the entrance to the rio, at which point it was as though we had entered another world - flat, calm waters, lush greenery surrounding us (including on the surface of the water), an amazing array of birds and a terrific view of a volcano on each side. We even spotted a caiman at one point, and the fact that it took me quite a while to notice him even after the guide pointed him out - he looked THAT much like a log - makes me think that I will probably think twice before ever going near a river`s edge again. Also, when the caiman suddenly disappeared under the water with a dramatic thrashing, I froze in panic and waited for him to reappear and seize my arm in his mouth, but the guide just laughed and pronounced him "timido". Ah, yes, he`s just...shy.
Wednesday morning, we set off early on foot with yet another guide, Marlon, to hike to a lookout point about halfway up Volcan Maderas. The walk up was challenging but not too exhausting, and I was excited to walk through tons of coffee plants as well as some cacao trees. I`ve been asking about where I can find cacao because I know it´s the harvest season now and I was intrigued to see it in its natural state, so I was delighted when Marlon plucked a ripe fruit from the tree and sliced it open so that we could taste the pods, which were sweet, slightly acidic and tasted nothing like chocolate. Also, on the walk up we saw tons of howler and white-faced monkeys - really, they were practically everywhere we turned. Unfortunately, while my guidebook claims that the lookout offers the `money shot`of Volcan Concepcion, by the time we arrived, it was pouring rain and all we could see was a wall of mist. Ah well. We made our way back down and stopped to have lunch at a place called Finca Magdalena, a large coffee finca dating back 120 or so years where they produce some excellent coffee. We hiked around the property to take a look at some ancient petroglyphs before making our way back to the hotel for yet another magnificent sunset.
Back at the hotel, Tom and I decided that we needed to make a decision about the next leg of our trip. We had originally planned to catch the ferry back to San Jorge the next day and make our way down to the popular beach town of San Juan del Sur, but we were both intrigued by the possibility of checking out the much less-explored areas of the Isla de Solentiname and the Rio San Juan. Ultimately, the lure of adventure won out and we decided to go the latter route.
Thursday morning, we headed out to the Ojo de Agua, a spring-fed swimming hole on Ometepe where the mineral-rich waters supposedly take years off your life. I`m not sure about that, but the water was crystal clear and very refreshing, and it was a lovely way to spend our last few hours on the island. From there, we headed to the other port town of Altagracia to await the overnight ferry to San Carlos. While Moyogalpa is a decent-sized port town cluttered with hotels, restaurants, tourist offices, etc., the launching point at Altagracia consisted of a cluster of people, mostly Nicas, hanging out by a closed fence near a tiny ticket office. We bought our tickets and settled down with our packs to wait for the arrival of the ferry from Granada. There are actually two classes of seats on the ferry, but tourists are required to purchase first-class seats, still a bargain at about $7. When the ferry rolled in, we threw our bags down on one of the plastic cushioned benches on the upper level and watched as the workers loaded one bushel after another of plantains onto the boat.
As the ferry pulled out of Altagracia, I was amazed to note how relaxed I felt. With the two volcanoes disappearing behind us, a steady, refreshing breeze washing over us, the sky full of stars and the sound of the water churning below us, it truly felt like we were setting out on some magical journey. After a couple of hours, I moved inside and attempted to sleep on one of the benches, which actually worked out better than I thought considering that I was using a backpack full of books as a pillow and that the air-con in the cabin assured that I was freezing all night. The latter made me realize why many of the Nicas opt to pitch blankets - or even cardboard boxes - on the deck outside to sleep. Also, some of the Nicas and tourists alike opted to throw down mats on the floor underneath the rows of benches, which created a funny criss-cross pattern of people sleeping on floors and benches. I`m sure I would have felt claustrophobic nestled under several rows of low benches, but they seemed quite cozy down there!
This morning, we pulled into San Carlos at about 6 a.m., grabbed some gallo pinto and coffee for breakfast and are now making contact with the States for what will probably be the last time in a few days. In a couple of hours, we`ll catch a small boat out to the isle of Solentiname, a tiny cluster of islands inhabited by only 1,000 or so people, many of whom are artisans of one type or another. We plan to spend a couple of days there before passing back through San Carlos and heading down the Rio San Juan to the town of El Castillo. The Rio is supposed to be incredibly beautiful and rich in wildlife, although largely off the beaten path. At this point, my plan is to cross into Costa Rica by boat across the Rio Frio on Wednesday, but we`ll see if I get lured in some other direction.
Time is definitely flying here! I`ll probably next write from Costa Rica, hopefully with some exciting tales of adventure. Ciao for now...
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
When Blogging is Work
So, I've been feeling pretty lazy about blogging lately; not sure why. Maybe my four days in Miraflor followed by a divine massage in Esteli sapped my last shred of ambition as far as writing is concerned, or maybe because it's the halfway point in my trip and I'm doubting my willingness to keep this up for another 8 weeks. Whatever the reason, I've thought about the blog several times over the past few days but really haven't felt inspired to write. Still, for the sake of preserving my memories of the past ten days or so, I figured I'd do well to at least try and write a bit about what I've been up to.
First off, Miraflor: it was a very relaxing few days, I met some very kind people and gained a much deeper appreciation for the hard work that the campesino life entails. My first day, I hopped a chicken bus at 6 a.m. and was psyched to meet a fellow traveler, a French woman named Stephanie, on the bus. We chatted during the 2+ hour slog up through the hills, choking on exhaust fumes all the way. Since Stephanie wasn't familiar with the different communities within Miraflor and had just kind of hopped a bus in that general direction, she decided to hang with me and we spent the day hiking the trails around Posada la Sonada, the finca where I spent my first two nights, including walking through lots of coffee bushes, checking out an amazing, ancient tree with a hollow trunk that could be climbed and visiting a 'laguna' that turned out to be more of a swamp and where our feet were tortured by biting ants. We also enjoyed some terrific meals prepared by the matron of the house, Dona Corina, and the best coffee I've yet to enjoy in Nica.
Speaking of which, I decided to buy a pound of coffee to take with me and was glad I did, as it meant that I got to see the coffee roasting process in action. First, the dried beans were put into a big wooden bucket where they were pounded with a giant wooden pestle in order to remove the dried husks, which were then removed from the bucket by scooping up the beans in a bowl and pouring them back in from high above so that the beans would drop into the bucket while the lighter skins would be carried off by the breeze. I could kick myself for not taking photos because the description can't really do justice to the process, but rest assured that it was impressive. Once the skins were removed, the beans were placed in a big pot over an open flame and were patiently stirred by the Dona for nearly two hours to evenly roast them. I imagine that most places have some kind of machine for carrying out these processes on a large scale, but here I was both impressed and dismayed at the amount of effort that went into processing my one pound of beans. The coffee smells incredible, and as I have no option but to carry it around in my backpack, I've been tempted many times by the aroma of what smells like freshly brewing coffee, only to discover that it's actually just the smell of the beans wafting out of my open backpack. Ah well, I'm sure I'll get to enjoy them at some point.
Anywho, I enjoyed a couple of relaxing days at La Posada, hiking during the day and chilling on the porch with my book at night until I was interrupted by the sunset. My accommodation consisted of a small cabin with a bed, mosquito net, small table and a couple of candles (since the cabins had no electricity). The family at the Posada were very gracious but seemed fairly preoccupied with chores during my time there, so I was excited when on my second night, a Canadian guy and his Nica tour guide, Anry, arrived to spend the night. I was cracking up at Anry's many stories of encounters with coral snakes, scorpions, etc. (which were funnier than you might think) and he gave me some good suggestions for the rest of my time here. Also, it POURED rain for hours the night they came, so I was doubly glad for the company.
The next morning, I traveled by horseback with a guide to my next destination of El Coyolito, a community in the lower zone of Miraflor. I was afraid that the roads would be horrendous after all the rain, but my horse managed to navigate pretty well and it was a glorious morning for a ride. My guide, Darby, is a 21-year old who has lived his whole life in Miraflor, and I enjoyed hearing his perspective on the community, the tourism industry and ideas for promoting Miraflor as a destination while preserving the lifestyle and ecosystem of the place.
My second homestay family was lovely and I had a much higher level of interaction with them since I was actually staying in their house. The father of the house, Nelson, was very chatty, and I had fun learning card games from him and his 8-year old son, Feliz Eduard, who turned out to be a bit of a card shark. On a more serious note, Nelson also told me some truly awful stories about the bloodshed that occurred in this area of the country during the Revolution and again during the Contra war and how just about every family had at least one member murdered in some brutal way, often simply because they were suspected of aiding the opposition. Nelson's wife, Lorena, was a bit more shy but equally gracious and an excellent cook. I spent a rather uneventful but relaxing couple of days there, taking long walks along the dirt roads and getting lost multiple times in my quest to reach a 'cascada', which turned out to be a fairly tiny waterfall with wire fencing running across the middle of it. I did get a good chuckle when, walking along the road one day, a farmer who looked to be in his sixties gave me a big smile and pronounced me 'guapisima', as i had just been thinking how un-guapisima I must look drenched from head to toe in sweat, face bright red and hair frizzing out in all directions. I almost jumped the fence to give him a hug.
After Miraflor, I returned to spend another day and evening in Esteli, which included the above-mentioned fantastic massage ($5 for an hour), a visit to the Galeria de Heroes y Martires, a touching museum dedicated to fallen soldiers of the Revolution that is maintained by the mothers of said soldiers, and a visit to a cigar factory where I got to see firsthand the process of making cigars by hand. It was seriously impressive! I'm not sure how a cigar factory usually operates, but at this place they do everything from cutting, painting and drying the cigar boxes; drying the tobacco and prepping the leaves for rolling; and finally, rolling, molding, trimming and storing the cigars. At the end, I felt as though I should pick up the habit of smoking Nicaraguan cigars in order to support a business that employs such a large workforce and in appreciation of the craftsmanship that goes into the creation of the cigars. Unfortunately, doing so might make those long slogs up the side of a mountain even more strenuous.
From Esteli, I hopped a bus to Matagalpa, a small city due east of Esteli known for being a hub of coffee production and exportation. I found Matagalpa to be a pleasant city, safe and very easy to navigate, with some good restaurants and coffee shops. However, the real fun in Matagalpa began when I signed up for a two-hour city tour through the hostel where I was staying. Turns out that it's a new operation and I was the very first customer! My tour guides, two guys in their early 20s, were really nice and fun and seemed really enthused about giving their first tour, taking pictures all along the way to post on their Facebook page. Hence, my face may become somewhat famous in these parts...
The guys also invited me to a concert that night - a well-known reggae singer from the Atlantic coast of Nica - which turned out to be a fantastic time. Music was terrific, lots of people singing and dancing, and afterwards we went to a local cafe/bar with a big group of people where I had a blast chatting with a bunch of young Nicas (and one woman from Germany). For better or for worse, it was the first time in Nica that I had to slink into my dorm room in the wee hours so as not to wake my bunkmates. I must say, it felt great!
The last two days have been spent away from the city, at an American-owned coffee plantation east of town known as Finca Esperanza Verde. I found the place through my Lonely Planet guide and was intrigued to check it out based on the many accolades it has received for being a model of sustainable ecotourism and for its reputation for having 'sensational' coffee. While not exactly an authentic Nica experience, I loved my two days there! The setting was absolutely gorgeous, the coffee more or less lived up to the hype, the food was excellent and I got to see howler monkeys, frogs and an amazing array of birds.
Also, I met a group of American students there who were on a weeklong break from a study abroad program in El Salvador and had a great time chatting with them, learning about life in El Salvador and listening to them talk about issues of social justice with which they are being confronted during this semester. I was impressed by their introspectiveness at a relatively young age and was also reminded of my time in Cameroon back in 1998. (As a cultural reference point, none of them had heard of 'Jem', Barbie's rockstar counterpart from the 80s - guess she didn't have the staying power of Barbie and her crew).
After a pleasant hour-long walk from the finca to the tiny town of Yucul this morning, followed by an hour-long chicken bus ride down the mountain, I find myself back in Matagalpa for one more night. I may get to do a bit of camping tonight with my guide friends, and the plan for tomorrow is to head to Granada for a couple of days before returning to La Concha for a brief stay. I received a message from one of the interns at La Mariposa today letting me know that there is a new student staying with my host family, and I can't deny that I am very sad that I won't be able to stay in the house when I pass back through town. Still, I am excited to visit with my family and friends for a bit before heading out on the road again. Also, it looks like I will have a travel buddy for Isla de Ometepe and San Juan del Sur - a guy from D.C. named Tom who I met at La Mariposa and who is just finishing up his studies there. I am excited to have a partner in crime with whom I can travel, at least for a brief stint, before continuing on to Costa Rica.
Love to everyone back in the States, especially to my dad whose birthday is tomorrow!
First off, Miraflor: it was a very relaxing few days, I met some very kind people and gained a much deeper appreciation for the hard work that the campesino life entails. My first day, I hopped a chicken bus at 6 a.m. and was psyched to meet a fellow traveler, a French woman named Stephanie, on the bus. We chatted during the 2+ hour slog up through the hills, choking on exhaust fumes all the way. Since Stephanie wasn't familiar with the different communities within Miraflor and had just kind of hopped a bus in that general direction, she decided to hang with me and we spent the day hiking the trails around Posada la Sonada, the finca where I spent my first two nights, including walking through lots of coffee bushes, checking out an amazing, ancient tree with a hollow trunk that could be climbed and visiting a 'laguna' that turned out to be more of a swamp and where our feet were tortured by biting ants. We also enjoyed some terrific meals prepared by the matron of the house, Dona Corina, and the best coffee I've yet to enjoy in Nica.
Speaking of which, I decided to buy a pound of coffee to take with me and was glad I did, as it meant that I got to see the coffee roasting process in action. First, the dried beans were put into a big wooden bucket where they were pounded with a giant wooden pestle in order to remove the dried husks, which were then removed from the bucket by scooping up the beans in a bowl and pouring them back in from high above so that the beans would drop into the bucket while the lighter skins would be carried off by the breeze. I could kick myself for not taking photos because the description can't really do justice to the process, but rest assured that it was impressive. Once the skins were removed, the beans were placed in a big pot over an open flame and were patiently stirred by the Dona for nearly two hours to evenly roast them. I imagine that most places have some kind of machine for carrying out these processes on a large scale, but here I was both impressed and dismayed at the amount of effort that went into processing my one pound of beans. The coffee smells incredible, and as I have no option but to carry it around in my backpack, I've been tempted many times by the aroma of what smells like freshly brewing coffee, only to discover that it's actually just the smell of the beans wafting out of my open backpack. Ah well, I'm sure I'll get to enjoy them at some point.
Anywho, I enjoyed a couple of relaxing days at La Posada, hiking during the day and chilling on the porch with my book at night until I was interrupted by the sunset. My accommodation consisted of a small cabin with a bed, mosquito net, small table and a couple of candles (since the cabins had no electricity). The family at the Posada were very gracious but seemed fairly preoccupied with chores during my time there, so I was excited when on my second night, a Canadian guy and his Nica tour guide, Anry, arrived to spend the night. I was cracking up at Anry's many stories of encounters with coral snakes, scorpions, etc. (which were funnier than you might think) and he gave me some good suggestions for the rest of my time here. Also, it POURED rain for hours the night they came, so I was doubly glad for the company.
 |
| My little cabina at La Posada Sonada |
The next morning, I traveled by horseback with a guide to my next destination of El Coyolito, a community in the lower zone of Miraflor. I was afraid that the roads would be horrendous after all the rain, but my horse managed to navigate pretty well and it was a glorious morning for a ride. My guide, Darby, is a 21-year old who has lived his whole life in Miraflor, and I enjoyed hearing his perspective on the community, the tourism industry and ideas for promoting Miraflor as a destination while preserving the lifestyle and ecosystem of the place.
My second homestay family was lovely and I had a much higher level of interaction with them since I was actually staying in their house. The father of the house, Nelson, was very chatty, and I had fun learning card games from him and his 8-year old son, Feliz Eduard, who turned out to be a bit of a card shark. On a more serious note, Nelson also told me some truly awful stories about the bloodshed that occurred in this area of the country during the Revolution and again during the Contra war and how just about every family had at least one member murdered in some brutal way, often simply because they were suspected of aiding the opposition. Nelson's wife, Lorena, was a bit more shy but equally gracious and an excellent cook. I spent a rather uneventful but relaxing couple of days there, taking long walks along the dirt roads and getting lost multiple times in my quest to reach a 'cascada', which turned out to be a fairly tiny waterfall with wire fencing running across the middle of it. I did get a good chuckle when, walking along the road one day, a farmer who looked to be in his sixties gave me a big smile and pronounced me 'guapisima', as i had just been thinking how un-guapisima I must look drenched from head to toe in sweat, face bright red and hair frizzing out in all directions. I almost jumped the fence to give him a hug.
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| Lemons on steroids |
From Esteli, I hopped a bus to Matagalpa, a small city due east of Esteli known for being a hub of coffee production and exportation. I found Matagalpa to be a pleasant city, safe and very easy to navigate, with some good restaurants and coffee shops. However, the real fun in Matagalpa began when I signed up for a two-hour city tour through the hostel where I was staying. Turns out that it's a new operation and I was the very first customer! My tour guides, two guys in their early 20s, were really nice and fun and seemed really enthused about giving their first tour, taking pictures all along the way to post on their Facebook page. Hence, my face may become somewhat famous in these parts...
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| Me and my guides, Minor and Memo |
The guys also invited me to a concert that night - a well-known reggae singer from the Atlantic coast of Nica - which turned out to be a fantastic time. Music was terrific, lots of people singing and dancing, and afterwards we went to a local cafe/bar with a big group of people where I had a blast chatting with a bunch of young Nicas (and one woman from Germany). For better or for worse, it was the first time in Nica that I had to slink into my dorm room in the wee hours so as not to wake my bunkmates. I must say, it felt great!
The last two days have been spent away from the city, at an American-owned coffee plantation east of town known as Finca Esperanza Verde. I found the place through my Lonely Planet guide and was intrigued to check it out based on the many accolades it has received for being a model of sustainable ecotourism and for its reputation for having 'sensational' coffee. While not exactly an authentic Nica experience, I loved my two days there! The setting was absolutely gorgeous, the coffee more or less lived up to the hype, the food was excellent and I got to see howler monkeys, frogs and an amazing array of birds.
Also, I met a group of American students there who were on a weeklong break from a study abroad program in El Salvador and had a great time chatting with them, learning about life in El Salvador and listening to them talk about issues of social justice with which they are being confronted during this semester. I was impressed by their introspectiveness at a relatively young age and was also reminded of my time in Cameroon back in 1998. (As a cultural reference point, none of them had heard of 'Jem', Barbie's rockstar counterpart from the 80s - guess she didn't have the staying power of Barbie and her crew).
After a pleasant hour-long walk from the finca to the tiny town of Yucul this morning, followed by an hour-long chicken bus ride down the mountain, I find myself back in Matagalpa for one more night. I may get to do a bit of camping tonight with my guide friends, and the plan for tomorrow is to head to Granada for a couple of days before returning to La Concha for a brief stay. I received a message from one of the interns at La Mariposa today letting me know that there is a new student staying with my host family, and I can't deny that I am very sad that I won't be able to stay in the house when I pass back through town. Still, I am excited to visit with my family and friends for a bit before heading out on the road again. Also, it looks like I will have a travel buddy for Isla de Ometepe and San Juan del Sur - a guy from D.C. named Tom who I met at La Mariposa and who is just finishing up his studies there. I am excited to have a partner in crime with whom I can travel, at least for a brief stint, before continuing on to Costa Rica.
Love to everyone back in the States, especially to my dad whose birthday is tomorrow!
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