Welcome to Namibia

 It started with forgetting. Despite photocopying the kids birth certificates and frequently discussing the need for them, we somehow never packed them.  So there we were checked into our flight from Sydney to Johannesburg when the realisation hit and the first stressful moment of the trip hit.  There was no opportunity to go home and get them and still catch out flight, so all we could do was cross our fingers, ask our neighbour to take photos of them and hope.

The second stressful moment was at the airport in Johannesburg when we tried to get money out of an ATM and after going through the process, having the money taken from our bank account the ATM cancelled the transaction and the money didn’t eventuate.  Hopefully the bank can do something so we get our money back, but we aren’t hopeful.

Then came our flight to Windhoek.  We got to immigration and she asked the dreaded question. Do you have the children’s birth certificates?  Fortunately she let us in, but warned us we may have a problem leaving.  We’ll worry about that when we get there.

We were finally through and in Namibia!  We bought an eSIM and managed to get some money from the ATM.  Things were looking up.  Tired and jet lagged it was time to pick up our bushcamper and head to our beds.  We weren’t expected the 3 hour handover during which our sleep deprived brains were overwhelmed with information about how to manage all the likely disasters.

Then when it came time to pay things went wrong yet again as Jason’s credit card was declined.  We had specifically increased the limit on his card for this exact reason.  We still have no idea what happened, but thankfully we managed to find a way to pay and 56 hours after leaving home the holiday finally started!

After a pleasant night in Windhoek we packed up, did some grocery shopping and started driving to Lapa Lange Game Lodge.  Asher was the first to see an African animal spotting a troupe of baboons beside the road.   It was an easy drive, with a quick stop for a photo as we passed the Tropic of Capricorn.  

Once we arrived we were greeted with some delicious iced tea and very friendly smiles.  We were the only campers and spent a few hours organising the camper as the kids enjoyed opening their windows and waving at us or each other.  We cooked dinner over our campfire and roasted marshmallows for dessert.  

The fire seemed like it had gone out and Asher started roasting a marshmallow over the remaining coals when out of nowhere there was a whoosh and the fire leapt to life making us all jump.

We headed to bed early, curled up warm in our sleeping bags.  When we woke it was a chilly 3 degrees, condensation was dripping onto our faces and none of us wanted to brave outside.  

Chichen Itza

We debated whether or not to go to Chichen Itza.  Not because there was anything putting us off going, but because travel fatigue had hit in and we just weren’t sure that it would be more impressive than any of the other Mayan sites we’d already seen.  It seemed likely that the main difference would be the number of other tourists.  But, we couldn’t quite bring ourselves to not go to one of the seven wonders of the world, when we were staying only 45 minutes away.  

In an attempt to avoid the tour buses we set our alarm early, and hopped in the first collectivo of the day.  The other passengers were mostly the vendors who set themselves up within the park.  We arrived at the gate 5 minutes before opening time, and were the only people there.  We took great pleasure in being the first people into the site, and having it completely to ourselves.  The temple was impressive, but not as large as some at other sites.  The ball court, however, was by far the grandest we’ve seen and actually has the hoops in situ.  We played with the acoustics, standing on opposite sides of the court and whispering messages to each other.  There were hundreds of columns which is not something any of the other sites have seen.  But everything was roped off.  Not only could you not climb the steps of the temple, you couldn’t wander between the columns or explore inside some of the grander buildings.  Whole sections at times were roped off so you could only gaze at structures from 10, 20, or 50 meters away.  As we explored the different areas, the vendors were setting up stalls, trestle tables were brought out from the storage areas in the trees just off the path.  Each tacky souvenir was carefully unwrapped and placed, just so, to entice the passing tourists.  We were increasingly grateful to be there before they were fully set up. 

The tour buses were just starting to arrive as we left, the main square filled with groups of tourists.  Some tour guides quickly trying to whisk their group on to less crowded areas, whilst such places existed.  

Are we glad we went?  Yes, but also incredibly glad we made the effort to be there at opening time.  I can understand it being so impressive if it is the only Mayan site you visit.  But I truly believe it is only on the seven wonders of the world list because of it’s location, close to other heavily touristed areas (eg. Cancun).  For my money if I was only going to go to one of the sites we’ve been to it would be Tikal.  The temples were the largest, the paths wound themselves through jungle with monkeys swinging through the trees, and you could explore, get up close to the ruins. Climb them (oh, my legs!), touch them, sit at the top of the tallest temple and enjoy the view.   

Tikal, Mayan ruins in the jungle

We were sitting on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere waiting for a bus.  That morning we had been in Belize, and we hoped to get to Tikal at some point, but every bus that passed us wasn’t going there.   Each of them helpfully suggested a time that one might come, each time suggested was different.   Eventually a minibus stopped on it’s way to Tikal and we hopped in.  We quickly realised this was not a local minibus, this was a tour on it’s way from Flores to Tikal.  The guide was, however, relatively interesting pointing things out along the way.  He also offered to let us join the tour (there were two other people), for a price of course.  Having just come from Belize where an amazing guide educated us on caves and Mayans, we decided it would be worth it.  We were looking forward to learning more about the buildings and the people who built them.  

This guide, however, was not in the same league as the guide in Belize.  We quickly began to suspect he was making up half of what he was saying, and the bits that were true often related to his own life.  For example, the exact bedding that he has at home.  Fascinating stuff.  Not willing to suffer through the promised four hour tour, we left him with his original tour group and explored the site ourselves.  Tikal is special not just for the size and enormity of the temples and palaces, but because it is still enshrouded in jungle.  We seemed to be constantly pointing out monkeys to each other.  We also came across a massive group of coati, with many different litters as there seemed to be coati of every size.  We stayed near the site and watched monkeys play in the trees outside our room.  It feels more like it may have been when the Mayans inhabited the buildings, the jungle encroaching and a constant part of their lives.

ATM - not about cash, more to do with human sacrifice

Our second caving adventure of the trip was to the ATM cave near San Ignacio, Belize.  We weren’t quite sure what to expect, other than a cave and some Mayan artifacts.  What we got, was so much more than that.  There are only 28 guides who are licensed to take you to the ATM cave, and they had to undergo intensive training which included archeologists and historians as well as the expected cave safety training.  What this meant is that for the first time in my life I genuinely found shattered pottery interesting.  

Our tour took us about 1km into the cave system, swimming up the underground river, squeezing through crevices and climbing through gaps into rooms larger than any cathedral. The formations were beautiful, from flowstone, to stalagmites, columns, and hollow stalactites that when tapped sang out beautifully.  There were holes in the ceiling and our guide explained how they were formed by whirlpools when the cave is full of water.  In the final room there were shards of pottery, evidence of worship, and skeletons held in place by priests as they were sacrificed, now immovable due to the limestone build up caused by 100s of years of mineralized water flowing gently by.

Some of the urns still held their shape, and the biggest were easily 80cm in diameter, and we wondered how they would have transported them through the narrow cave system.  Our guide had an answer for that too.  We learnt about the drought that struck towards the end of the Mayan era and how they discovered it as the stalactites form rings in the same way trees do.  It is thought that the Mayans explored deeper and spent more times in the caves at this time in a search for water, and in desperation gave offerings to the gods.  The sacrifices were not generally the disposed, but the successful.  The sacrificial skeletons are tall, in good health, at times with skull modifications that were popular with royalty.  Or they are children and infants. The sacrifice was real, an offering of the population’s best in return for much needed water.

Paradise

They approached silently, but it was clear we were their target.  I tried to get Jason's attention, but he was trying to direct my gaze to the 2.5m reef shark that was his focus.  I continue to gesture wildly, and he finally turned his head to see the two manatees cover the last few meters and stop less than 2 meters from us.  We stayed there for awhile as they contemplated us, and we contemplated them.  I gave Jason the camera and dove downwards hoping he would manage to capture me upside down with the manatees in the background.  As I headed back towards the service one of the manatees dove down in imitation of my previous movement.  Deciding we were of little further interest they moved on, and we broke the surface - speechless, amazed, glowing with the beauty of the encounter.  

We continued on, ten more minutes of amazing coral structures and colourful fish.  It was deeper here and I headed to the edge of the reef where a school of massive fish, each one over a meter in length, were resting near the ocean floor.  Glancing up I saw the manatees off in the distance, and they saw me.  They turned approaching once again, curious about these two strange creatures in their ocean.  It was one of those experiences that lodges itself in your memory.  Something you can bring out when you need reminding about the beauty of the world.

It eclipses the rest of our time in Tobacco Caye and that was magnificent by itself.  Our room jutted over the ocean and sting rays routinely swam beneath us as we swung in our hammock.  Pelicans dove into the ocean, startling us as they tried to catch a fish.  We were woken in the night as a turtle dragged itself out of the water to dig a nest underneath the steps into our cabin.  The water ranged from light green to aqua, turquoise and a deep ultramarine blue in the depths.  The actual reef was like swimming through a tropical fish tank.  It was so densely packed with fish, they weren't able to move out the way when we swam towards them.  The water was the clearest I've ever been in, so visibility was excellent.  There were sharks, rays of every size and shape, flounder, lizardfish having their teeth cleaned, lobster and a hermit crab bigger than Jason's hand, and we were always the only snorkelers out there.  Then there was the food.  We were fed three meals a day of delicious food and both put on about 5kg in the 3 days we were there!   Unfortunately such things cannot last (if they did this trip would be one month, not five!), so it was back to cheap hostels, street food and long bumpy bus journeys.

Pools and caves

We broke up the trip to Semuc Champey in Coban. This hadn’t actually been the plan, but we made such good time on buses that we just kept going.  Strangely our local bus (actually, 7 buses) took the same amount of time as the direct shuttle, which costs 4 times the price.  This was the first time that our ‘don’t plan in advance’ approach caused us problems.  When we arrived in Coban at 5:30pm the streets were packed with people.  There was street food, clowns and a general party atmosphere.  Instantly liking the feel we walked the 2km to a hostel listed in the Lonely Planet.  It was full, however, and when we asked for another recommendation they just shook their heads and said everywhere was full.  I left Jason at the hostel, and went out in search of a room.  Having checked four hotels I managed to find one very overpriced room.  The bathroom smelt, there wasn’t even a fan, and none of the hostel basics like wifi or free water.  It should have cost half what we were charged, but it was somewhere to sleep.  Meanwhile the hostel where Jason was waiting were making calls to try and find us a room elsewhere, but were unsuccessful.  The reason for this room shortage was a marathon the next day.  In the morning we explored the packed town and watched the runners, both the leaders (who seemed to be mainly African) and those bringing up the rear.  

Then it was onto Semuc Champey.  Semuc is famous for being the most beautiful spot in the country, a series of clear limestone pools which are perfect for swimming.  It didn’t disappoint.  We walked from out lodge to the entrance, by which time we were dripping with sweat and wanted nothing more than to dive into the pools.  However, knowing it would be hard to get moving again, we choose to head up the viewpoint.  45 minutes of steps later we had a birds eye view of the river, waterfalls, pools and the valley it is situated in.  Stunning!  The rest of the day was spent swimming, clambouring up and down the pools, testing out natural waterslides and jumping into the water.

Following our day of relaxation we headed into the nearby caves.  We handed over our money for the tour, and in return we were given two candles.  Unlike other caves we’ve been in there are no torches and no electric lighting.  Exploring the cave by candlelight was surreal.  Even more so as this is a wet cave and we were frequently swimming with our precious candle held above our heads.  At one point there was a small waterfall (just over 2m) that we had to climb using a knotted rope.  It was a delicate balancing act of managing to grip the rope without burning ourselves or the rope, whilst trying to find some purchase on the slippery rock face.  The highlight though was at the end of the cave where we reached a small pool.  We were given the option of turning back, or climbing to around 3m and jumping into the pool.  The climb up was rather precarious, and once we had managed to turn around at the top (the guide stepped on my shoe to stop me falling as I made my turn), we were shown the very small target area.  The pool was quite shallow, but there was about a 1m area that was deep enough to be safe, however it wasn’t below you, you had to jump forward - just not too far!

Lake Atitlan

On our last night in Antigua the rainy season started.  Clouds had been forming, and we’d witnessed lightening storms, but that evening was the first real rain they had seen since November.  Since then there have been storms and rain each afternoon and night.  Luckily we have still had beautiful sunny mornings, and we’ve been making the best of them at Lake Atitlan.  

Lake Atitlan is a stunningly beautiful lake surrounded by volcanoes and villages built upon the steep slopes.  Whether it was walking between the villages, or catching the frequent lanchas (small motorboats) around the edge of the lake, it was more beautiful than we had anticipated.  

Within the actual villages it was fascinating to see the Mayan people.  The villages are still mostly inhabited by indigenous communities, and it was the first time we had seen men and children dressed in traditional clothing.  Each village has slightly different clothing.  In one village everyone was dressed in hues of blue and purple, whilst the women had tinsel braided into their hair.  In another women wore embroidered blouses with heavy colourful skirts.  In one village we stumbled upon an event that seemed to include people from all the villages taking it in turns to perform, what seemed to be stories about the formation of the lake, or local customs.

It was the perfect place to relax for a couple of days before starting the multi-day bus trip to Semuc Champey.

Volcan Acatenango

I woke up in a state of panic, a flashback to our honeymoon 10 years ago after we had climbed Mount Kinabalu and promised ourselves we would never go through that again.  The pain, the exhaustion, the altitude sickness - for us the reward just wasn’t worth it.  Why, then, were we planning on climbing Volcan Acatenango?

Now there are a few differences between Mount Kinabalu and Volcan Acatenango.  The latter is 200m lower for a start.  Unfortunately at almost 4000m it’s still high enough to cause altitude sickness.  On Mount Kinabalu all we had to carry was water and snacks for the day, whereas for this climb we had to carry all our water and food for both days plus all our camping equipment.  This wasn’t the hightech lightweight designed for hiking camping equipment either, it was the cheap designed for car camping equipment.  Mount Kinabalu is almost a never ending staircase, hard on the knees but easy to keep your feet.  The majority of the climb up Acatenango is on volcanic scree and ash.

We were committed though, and not going to back out now.  Throughout the hour long bus ride to the start of the trek I flitted between believing I could do this, to being sure we had made a horrible mistake.  Once we were off the bus and had managed to attach the very bulky camping gear to our packs, it was time to start the ascent.  There was no gradual introduction, the path was steep and covered in knee deep ash and scree.  With each step our feet slipped down the volcano, our muscles tensed as we tried to stay upright and moving forward more than backwards.  

We were breathing hard, and our muscles were already complaining when Jason started falling behind.   His face contorted with pain, but he kept pushing himself not wanting to be the weak link in our little group.  He paused every few steps, bending over in an attempt to relieve the pain in his side.  I forced him to stop, rest for a minute and take some aspirin.  There was no glory in pushing through at this point if it meant we never reached the summit.  After a few minutes he was ready to go on, and we continued making our way up the slope.  When we finally caught up to the group we were greeted with high fives and lively conversation. There were only 6 people in our group, and they all seemed to be there to have a good time, rather than trying to set a speed record for the ascent.  It was helped that our guide was perpetually happy, frequently reminding everyone “Don’t worry, be happy.”  

After that first break, the aspirin kicked in and we found ourselves well paced with the rest of our group.  At times someone would struggle with the altitude, cramps, or just exhaustion.  But the mood was continually upbeat, just what you need when pushing your physical limits.  After 4 hours of hiking through an ever changing landscape of farmland, cloud forest and pine forest, we reached a large flat clearing where we collapsed in various states of exhaustion.  When it was time to move on our guide assured us it was flat the rest of the way.  We cheered, one more hour on flat ground sounded doable.  He lied.  It was no longer the continually uphill slog, it was worse.  Constant ups and downs.  We weren’t gaining elevation, but my legs assured me it was anything but flat.  Then there was the added mental anguish of knowing the next day we would have to do this again.  

Shortly after 4pm we arrived at our campsite, a small flat area cut into the side of the volcano, with the most magnificent view.  Fuego was just in front of us, so close it felt like you could reach out and touch it.  Volcan Agua was to our left, with Antigua between it and us.  The clouds had been mounting for the last hour so we quickly set up camp and got the fire going.  Throughout the evening the clouds came and went, at times obliterating Fuego, at other times encapsulating the two volcanoes so we had a clear view.  A lightening storm started, and we watched the storm move around us.  Amazing red lightening bolts lit up the sky, accompanied by the occasional eruptions from Fuego.      

As night fell our guide set up a speaker and there was singing, dancing and enough rum that we were just a little tipsy.  It was at that moment that Fuego erupted shooting lava and rocks high into the air, whilst we looked on astounded.  

Eventually our little party ended and we tried to get some sleep before our 3:30am wake up call.  We didn’t really succeed as it was bitterly cold without the fire and rum to keep us warm, and we were on alert knowing we didn’t have long to sleep anyway.  The morning ascent was brutal.  We were tired, sore and feeling the impact of the altitude.  With no view for distraction it became a simple matter of one step at a time, trying to find purchase on a slope that continually slid down beneath our feet.  The sky gradually lightened and we turned off our headlamps continuing in the grey pre-dawn light.  I reached the summit and turned to see the first rays of sunlight cross the horizon and forgot all the pain.  The sky turned hues of yellow, orange and red.  We warmed our cold hands in the steam vents of Acatenango as Pacaya erupted to our left, Fuego erupted in front of us, and yet another volcano erupted to our right sending a massive ash cloud up into the air.  This was why it’s known as the Ring of Fire.

Antigua - a guest post by Jason ;)

Antigua was an unusual town that we really quite liked, it was quirky and unpredictable as well as providing us with some of the best food we had eaten in a while. The quirkiness comes from never quite knowing what you will encounter as you go round the town, on one occasion we encountered a school, with 40 or quite probably more students carrying a float on their shoulders, we think it was in honour of a saint, though possibly it was to commemorate an event.  Loud bangs were part of the unpredictableness I could have done without. Randomly through out the day (and night) a loud bang or several would startle us, it turned out that a firework the size of a poster tube were responsible, while it made no flash or explosion the sound certainly carried, as did the music that blared out of some shops or advertising bikes convincing us that most Guatemalans are either deaf or soon will be.

We did do some activities within the town, a museum dedicated to the printed word was somewhat smaller that we had expected, but then a museum which was located in a hotel, turned out to be one of the better experiences.  The museum was actually a collection of at least seven small specialty museums ranging from art, silverware to cooking and even toys all located within the ruins of a large convent which the hotel now encased.  The ruins of the building were interesting in of themselves and the number of small museums definitely made the entrance worthwhile.  Plus they had a true chocolatier working there and we splurged on a truffle each, whilst Ellen just stayed inside the chocolate shop savouring the smell of good quality chocolate (and the air conditioning).

Copan

From El Salvador we headed into Honduras to see Copan, our first Mayan ruins of the trip.    After walking around the charming modern town of Copan (modern in the sense of not thousands of years old) we made a trip across to Macaw Mountain, a rescue center for macaws, toucans, and other birdlife.  We enjoyed walking through some of the aviaries, one of which housed a pair of toucans that I am certain were trying to see how much they could startle us.  As soon as we turned our backs one would swoop down almost brushing our heads or shoulders, often carrying a piece of fruit to feed it’s mate.  Another couple had one of the toucans land on their backpack and try to take the red top off their water bottle!  The real highlight though was towards the end where a large open area was dotted with trees, and branches upon which macaws and other parrots were spending their time.  We each took it in turns to be laden down by multiple macaws, the loss of one of Jason’s shirt buttons was worth the experience!

The following day we went to the ruins themselves, where we once again got to meet a number of macaws.   The rescue center we visited the day before releases its rehabilitated birds in the archeological park, and so it has a number of resident macaws.  It was much nicer seeing the birds in the wild even as we had to dodge the falling mangos the Macaws would eat in the trees above us.  Wandering around site we tried to decide how some of the buildings where determined to serve the functions listed in the guide book and looking at the “un-excavated” ruins or to my mind “mounds of earth and stone held together with tree roots and grass” it challenges the imagination as to how the archeologists decide what a building looks like when they reassemble the stonework.  These doubts aside the site did have a number of structures, walls and altars that had quite a lot of detail still visible allowing us a glimpse of the intricate work that the Mayans incorporated into their important structures.  

El Salvador, not quite what you would expect.

El Salvador has challenged my expectations.  This is partly because we had not originally planned to come here, and therefore I had done little research.  But even if I had, I couldn’t have anticipated the beauty pageant in Suchitoto.  But I’ll get to that in a minute.

We arrived in El Salvador from Nicaragua, crossing Honduras in the process.  It was a long day, and certainly had the potential to negatively colour our first impression of El Salvador.  But it didn’t.  From the friendliest border official in the world, to the man who struck up a conversation with us whilst we waited for our bus in San Miguel, the people made it impossible to dislike El Salvador.  Our entire time here people have been genuinely friendly.  The downside to this, is that it’s made me realise how poor my Spanish is.  I have fairly good functional traveller spanish, but when people want to actually have real conversations with me I’m left shaking my head and saying “No entiendo.”.

Our first few days were spent at El Cuco, or at least nearby at a place called La Tortuga Verde.  Here we enjoyed sun, sand, surf and absolutely delicious food.  It was one of those places that would be easy not to leave, but there was more to see so off we went.  There is one bus that leaves from the hotel at 8am, and there were 7 of us who caught it.  Six of us caught the next bus to San Salvador, but we jumped off early to change for the bus to Suchitoto.  Despite needing three buses it was a fairly easy bus day, and we made it to our next stop in the early afternoon.   Suchitoto is a small mountain town, that you can walk from one end to the other in 15 minutes.  The cobbled streets are lined by charming colourful homes.  Men tip their hats and say “Buenos”, as they ride by on their horse.

On Saturday, as we had wandered around during the day we noticed some unusual sights.  A car surrounded by youths and decorated with flowers.  A section of street cordoned off with lights and speakers being set up underneath a marquee.  As the sun started to set we heard movement and music.  The town square was bustling with people, who seemed to be waiting for something.  Then we turned the corner to see the parade.  Girls sat on top of highly decorated cars, practicing the royal wave or throwing sweets to their adoring fans.  The cars were sometimes empty, at other times filled by friends or family.  A teenage boy stuck his head out the car window and called to me, proffering a paper rose.  The parade made its gradual way around the town, eventually ending near the marquee.  At around 7:00 the ground beneath our feet started to rumble, and we felt the music course through our bodies.  There were neon lights, and spotlights in green, orange and red. The music was an unusual combination of techno, electronica and folk.  We watched children playing in the square as we waited for our pupusas, which were being churned out at a phenomenal rate with about half the town apparently having them for dinner.

Our last stop in El Salvador was San Ignacio.  A small mountain town, from which we climbed to the highest point in El Salvador, which just happens to be on the border with Honduras.  For fun we walked in and out of Honduras a few times, the next day it would take multiple border officials, passport checks, and the obligatory walk through no mans land, to do the same thing!  The actual peak is on private property and it costs $3 to enter.  When we arrived at the gate, the guard told us it was $3 per person, we nodded and Jason got out his wallet.  He then proceeded to attempt to have a conversation, whilst I resorted to “No entiendo” almost every other sentence.  The exchange ended with him telling us we didn’t have to pay after all, and to enjoy the walk.  Perplexed, but grateful, we continued the uphill slog to the summit.   At the summit we encountered yet another friendly local who tried his best to have a conversation with us, but “no entiendo.”  Having recovered our breath we made our way down the mountain, past locals having picnics and children rolling down soft green hills.  We reached the road around 3:30pm and waited for a bus.  And waited.  And waited.  Around 4:30 with the temperature dropping I decided to stand by the side of the road looking cold, and hopeful all at once.  The next car, well ute, that past called out to ask if we wanted a ride and we jumped in the back.  We even had a comfortable seat (100kg bag of rice) and backrest (a rolled up tarp).  We sat in the back, grateful for the lift, and enjoyed the stunning views.  

I’m so glad we came to El Salvador, which we almost didn’t, as it’s turned out to be one of our favourite countries in Central America.  The country itself is beautiful, but they all have had that.  The difference is in the people.  The friendliness, the fact they have time and energy to spend on enjoyment (beauty pageant, music concerts, award ceremonies), a pride in their country and eagerness for tourists to enjoy it.  We have felt completely safe everywhere we’ve been, with no concerns about carrying valuables, or walking the streets at night.  It’s such an easy country to explore with numbered bus routes, and timetables you can find online.  I’m not sure why El Salvador is not higher on the tourist radar, maybe it will be soon.   

From Somoto, Nicaragua to El Cuco, El Salvador via Honduras.

The day started early.  We’d set the alarm for 5:30am, but were awake long before that.  May is the start of the wet season, and as if on queue, the heaven’s opened the night of May 1st.  Thunder and lightening that set car alarms going.  Rain so heavy it formed a waterfall between us and the garden, and a river flowed along the box drains filling them a foot deep in water.  

“I’m not going out in that!”  

It was the sort of rain that leaves you drenched to the bone within 10m of leaving the house, and we don’t have rain covers on our bags.  The fabric is sufficient for light rain, but would be no match for this.  Our decision made we curled back into bed, with the sole aim of the day to buy garbage bags to protect our belongings from future downpours.  

But gradually the rain started to ease.  It was possible to talk, without yelling.  I could hear the whir of the fan over the sound of falling rain.  We talked it back and forth, then at 6:25am decided to just go for it.  We weren’t entirely sure of the bus times, at the station it said 7:15am. whereas the hotel owner had told us it left on the hour.  We decided to aim for 7am, just to be safe.  We quickly found as many plastic bags as possible and covered our electronics, and anything else we deemed of value (eg. passports).  

We were out the door by 6:35 and on our way to the bus terminal.  We arrived with plenty of time to spare, except that the 7 or 7:15am bus was already pulling out of the terminal as we arrived at 6:50am.  It turned out our hour delay in leaving was a good thing, as another couple on the bus had braved the thunderstorm and got there at 5:30am expecting the bus to leave at 6am.

I was expecting the day to be a travel horror story.  12 hours on 7 buses, with two border crossings thrown in for good measure - how could that not end up the day from hell?!  Yet, strangely, it was a good day.  We made it through our first border crossing and after nearly an hour wait were on a minibus heading into Honduras.  It stopped when we spotted two buses heading to Choluteca, one a chicken bus, the other a minibus.  Touts swarmed the van and multiple hands reached for our luggage.  This bus, this bus, muy rapido, directo.  Generally my experience has been smaller buses are quicker and as I wanted to make it to El Cuco before dark it seemed the better choice.  This was reinforced as we left the chicken bus in our dust.  That’s when I started smiling, enjoying the chaos, the unknown, the randomness of pubic transportation.  

I’ll admit the bus from Choluteca to Amatillo wasn’t quite so fun, but that was mostly due to the metal bar causing us to have very painful rear ends.  We helped ourselves to chicken tacos, and debated mangos and roskillas that tempted us on their way pass.  

Our second border crossing of the day was much easier than the first.  On leaving Honduras the line had got a little long and a few of us were waved inside the building where we enjoyed the aircon and a very efficient official had the five of us on our way before the normal line had processed one person.  It was the border official on our entry to El Salvador who made my day though.  He was the happiest border official I’ve ever met.  He was so excited to discover our destination, telling us how much we would love it.  He even suggested a hotel, as he is bringing his family here on Thursday, and he seemed quite taken by the idea we could meet up.

The next two buses were closer to coaches, a degree of comfort we aren’t used to.  We were even entertained by two guys playing guitars who we assumed were buskers, until they finished singing and got off the bus without asking for money.  The only downside was that we had run out of water half way through Honduras and when we tried to buy some from a bus seller in El Salvador she didn’t have enough change.  We only had $1, and the water was 15 cents.  In hindsight we should have offered to buy everything she had, as no other water sellers appeared in the next 4 hours.  

We were evicted from the bus in the middle of a busy street beside a taxi convention.  We were told to wait there for our next bus.  By this point it was just after 3:30pm, and the last bus to El Cuco is 4pm.  We crossed our fingers and watched bus after bus go by, none of them heading to El Cuco.  We struck up a conversation with a local who was meeting his brother and son off a bus.  He also assured us we were in the right place, and did his best to convince us why his home town is worth a visit.  

Eventually the last bus came, and wound it’s slow, ponderous way towards the beach.  If it hadn’t been for the sun setting behind misty covered mountains, it might have been frustrating and upsetting.  Lastly came the taxi from El Cuco to our hotel, which thankfully had a room, free water, free mangos and a beautiful seemingly endless beach.

It took 12 hours, 1 thunderstorm, 2 border crossings, 3 countries, 3 chicken buses, 2 coaches, 2 minibuses, 1 taxi and $21, but we finally made it from Somoto, Nicaragua to El Cuco, El Salvador.

I had to write about the buses eventually

The bus journeys so far in Central America, have been uneventful.  They have ranged from air conditioned shuttle buses whizzing from one city to another, to packed chicken buses stopping anywhere and everywhere as they wind their way across the country whilst inside we battle away heat stroke.  We have had assigned seats, found our own, and stood.  The aisles have become two way traffic lanes as vendors sell food, goods, and drink.  We have listened as beggars told their story before moving through the bus collecting donations, and pharmaceutical reps spouted the benefit of this or that medication.  

But the trip from Matagalpa to Somoto was a completely different beast.  There didn’t seem that many people waiting for the bus to Esteli, that was until the bus arrived and all of a sudden people converged on the doors from everywhere, running and pushing people out of the way.  Once the dust had settled everyone had a seat, and the chaotic boarding made even less sense.  It was nothing, however, when compared to the trip from Esteli to Somoto.  We were prepared this time, and ready to be part of the push.  We could feel the energy increasing in the crowd as the bus driver got into to the bus marked Esteli.  The crowd swelled out into the rain, ready to make a run for it.  Beside me a lady with a baby was told to move so she would be out of danger, as her friend promised to get her a seat.  I was stationed near the front and Jason headed for the back of the bus.  Before the bus had even come to a stop 20 men had jumped on the back, swinging from the door as they wrenched it open.  I was in the midst of the pushing at the front, people appeared from nowhere squeezing between me and the person in front even where it seemed there was no room.  Jason and I were pushed onto the bus, moved forward by the pressure of bodies, until we met in the middle, neither of us having found a seat.  People continued to board the bus, and the ayudante (helper) instructed us where to stand, making sure every square cm space was used.  Sweat dripped down our bodies which were pressed against at least 4 people at all times.  For a time I stood on one leg, unable to locate enough floor space to put my other foot down.  Jason found his feet frequently used by those looking for floor space, and his cries of pain were ignored as a lady ground her heel into his foot. 

We were so grateful when we finally arrived in Somoto, and located a hotel room.  It was clean, spacious and we even had our own bathroom.  We accepted without a second thought.  Then a few minutes later we found we had no running water in the bathroom... Note to self, check the taps before agreeing to a room!

Churches of Leon and the hills of Matagalpa

To provide a contrast to my backpacker diet theory, I should talk about the food.  Leon was where we had the best local meal so far.  A dish of mashed plantains, some form of meat in a delicious marinade and salad, we opted to have it with chillies.  It was absolutely delicious!  I have been searching for this again, but been unable to locate it.  My other discovery was bags of chocolate milk.  It’s not normally a drink I would favour, but there is very little calcium in our diet and my body is craving milk.  There is the option to buy it in a bottle, or for a quarter of the price you can buy a bag, bite off the corner and drink it down.  Cheap and delicious!

There were other discoveries in Leon, our favourite being the roof of the cathedral.  We had thought it was just a chance to go up in the bell tower, but we were given free reign to wander over the roof.  This particular cathedral was originally supposed to be built in Lima, Peru, where it’s grandeur may have been more fitting.  The roof was two levels of brilliant white domes, littered with stained glass windows.  We had views over the entire city, but it was strangely more entrancing just being amid all that white, beauty within the simplicity. What was not so simple was the museum of myths and legends.  It is housed within an old prison and there are descriptions of the atrocities that were committed, photos, and the walls are painted with pictures of prisoners.  Prisoners being tortured, prisoners sleeping, prisoners trying to escape.  Then there are giant puppets that represent the myths and legends of Nicaragua.  A surreal contrast with the very real and ugly history of the location.  Many of the myths involved witches and curses, and one room had speakers providing the spooky soundtrack to the whole experience.

From Leon we headed to Matagalpa.  This had not been on our planned route, as the Lonely Planet, didn’t sell it very well.  However a very lovely couple we met in Granada had done a much better sale pitch, so off we went.  The city itself was not overly thrilling ,although it did have a beautiful white cathedral at its centre (a common theme we’re noticing).  The real draw was the hiking.  We only had half a day when we arrived, so headed to the nearest reserve hiking to the cross that overlooks the city.  

The best hike though was at Arenal Reserva.  It is a slightly confusing start, as rather than being a national park, it appears that the reserve is managed by a hotel.  We headed up through reception and past the most gorgeous chapel whose roof was covered in jungle foliage.  Once into the cloud forest we planned a route through the crisscrossing trails.  I finally managed to get a photo of an agouti, an animal we have seen many times but never been quick enough to catch on camera.  We walked to the sound of countless birds, and howler monkeys.  But it was not the wildlife that made this place special, it was the forest itself.  It was green and lush, and we were continually stopping just to absorb the beauty of it.  Even better we had it to ourselves.  At least we did until the last 10 minutes of walking close to the hotel, where guests were arriving in droves to attend a wedding.  I couldn’t imagine a more spectacular place to get married.

Backpacker diet

As I sit here watching Jason take in another item of clothing I feel compelled to write about the backpacker diet.  It’s a simple diet, and its efficacy can not be denied, given my informal observation that very few backpackers are overweight.  The premise of the diet is simple and at its heart follows the motto one local used to describe backpackers “more time, less money.”  Well actually he said “Mas tiempo, menos dinero.” and was referring to our decision to wait for a bus, rather than pay more for a taxi - but the sentiment is correct.  

The more time, less money way of life means that you try to avoid buying food, with many backpackers living on only one real meal a day, plus those free pancake breakfasts.  Any food you do purchase must provide maximum nutrition/calories for the cost.  There is also the eternal backpacker dilemma of whether to use their limited funds to purchase alcohol or food.  I’m sure you can guess which wins out most of the time.  (This must be why we’re bigger than most backpackers we meet, we choose food over alcohol.)  The other side of the equation is to avoid paying money for transport.  Taxi? It’s only 2km to my hostel, I can walk with all my belongings on my back.  Bus?  It’s only 6km, I can walk, it’s not like I’m in a rush and who knows what I’ll see on my way.  Then when your diet needs that extra boost, food poisoning is just the thing to drop those last few kilos.  

I think I should market it.  It’s got to be a lot more enjoyable than most intensive weight loss programs, well except for the food poisoning part.

One island, two volcanoes and high expectations.

Ometepe is somewhere I have mixed feelings about.  The expectations were immense - the highlight of Nicaragua, the highlight of central america, love love love, paradise on earth and so it went on.  From other travelers, blogs, guidebooks, the consensus was that Ometepe was THE destination.

Our journey there left us with a slightly unpleasant feeling before we’d even set foot on the island.  It was the first time when we have felt ripped off and lied to by a local bus.  Usually the fares have been either clearly displayed, or we have been obviously charged the same as the locals.  On this occasion, however, we were asked to pay before getting on the bus (a slight anomaly) and when we saw the locals pay it seemed they paid around half of what we did.  Even more unusually towards the end of the journey the conductor started approaching us and the other tourists on the bus about needing a taxi to get to the port.  Then all of a sudden a taxi driver was actually on the bus with him convincing us of the need for his services.  I was fairly certain there was a bus, but the others thought we needed to take the taxi.  Everything was rushed, chaotic, there was a ferry in 20 minutes we were told, if we leave now you can make it.  The price of the trip halved, quickly enough that I’m sure we still paid twice what a local would.  When we arrived at the wharf it was to discover the next ferry wasn’t for 3 hours, and the less comfortable small boat not for another hour.

The money involved was small, but always before bus conductors have been a reliable source of information regarding onward travel.  It set us on edge, and our distrust meter was turned on.  Eventually we did make it to our hotel, but it took 7 hours, 3 buses, a collectivo taxi, and a slow ponderous boat trip with waves splashing in the sides as the crew bailed water out of the belly of the boat.  Not to mention a swarm of touts that had to be negotiated between the ferry port and the bus on the island.

The next day the island did show us why it’s so famous.  It is beautiful.  We were staying in the middle of the island, between the two volcanoes that form it.  Concepcion is a child’s drawing of a volcano, Maderas a smaller, greener version.  We walked along the beach with a volcano in front and a volcano behind, as herons, vultures and hawks flew around us.  As we headed inland blue-tailed magpies flitted between trees, and always a volcano dominated the landscape.  We spent much of the afternoon at Ojo de Agua, where we slipped off the slackline and jumped from the tarzan swing, enjoying the refreshing clear water (with miraculous healing properties, of course).  Later we sat in the gardens of the hostel as everyone gathered together watching as the sky turned orange and the sun set behind Concepcion.  It was magical.   

But even so, for us, it didn’t live up to the hype.  I would still recommend it as somewhere to go, but without the pressure of expecting it to be the best Central America has to offer.

A place to get stuck for awhile

When you’re traveling for a long time occasionally you find a place where you get stuck, Granada is one of those places for us.  We had originally planned 2 days here, but it’s ended up being closer to a week.  We were lulled by the beauty of the city, the hectic chaos of the market, volcanoes to climb, crater lakes to swim in, and a hostel with a pool.  Some days we chilled out, exploring the city for a couple of hours before returning for a swim during the heat of the day.  Other days were much more active (climbing a volcano comes to mind), but all of them were good.  

The volcano in question was Mombacho volcano.  All the guidebooks list it as a good easy volcano to climb, but this is based on taking a tuk tuk from where the bus stops to the entrance and then a truck to the top of the volcano.  This approach lets you enjoy the walks around the rim of the craters, without expending a lot of effort.  This is not the approach we took.  We probably could have spent the dollar for the tuk tuk, but it was only a 1.5km fairly flat walk, so we didn’t.  The truck up the volcano on the other hand costs $20 per person, which in real terms for us meant catching it would equal 2 nights accommodation.    There was no way we were going to pay that when we could walk it.  We were pretty sure we could walk it anyway.  We had heard various rumours about how long the walk takes, 2 hours, 4 hours, just don’t do it.  Any and all of the above.  

It starts off not too bad, although the slope is relentless and we were reminded how bad we are at going uphill.  We had been walking over an hour before we reached the cloud forest, and although the scenery was more beautiful, the slope was steeper still.  Once we got to the top the information centre had a model of the volcano and a guide cheerfully pointed out the near vertical part of the volcano we had ascended in the last 2km of the walk.  I believe it.  

Once in the forest we began to hear howler monkeys, some close, some further away.  Turning yet another corner we suddenly saw movement, monkeys jumping in the trees above the path.  They were everywhere above us and on both sides, and they were calling in full voice.  It was amazing to be so close as they roared, such a loud sound to come from such a small animal.  I was entranced.  We took (yet another) break and pretended it was just to watch and listen to the monkeys, rather than because we were unable to go any further.  

I tried to take photos of the steepness, but it never quite comes out.  For my daily invert I laid down on the road and it was one of the scariest inverts I’ve done as even on the pavers I felt like I was going to slide headfirst down the hill.  

At the top of the volcano we went on one of the hikes around the crater rim.  The views were spectacular with Granada, the 365 islands created from one of the eruptions of Mombacho and Laguna de Apoyo spread out before us.  Stunning, and we felt we had earned it.

The next day we took it easy heading to Laguna de Apoyo, which is a crater lake reportedly over 200m deep.  We could believe it easily, having walked around a crater the day before which was a massive hole with near vertical sides dropping out of sight.  We kayaked, lazed in inner tubes, and jumped off the pontoon into the lake.   Jason attempted to teach me how to do backflips off the pontoon.  He failed.  Although that was probably the fault of the student rather than the teacher.  Then we returned to our hostel, where we quickly got into the pool to cool off from the drive back to town. 

We’re moving on tomorrow, and it’s sad to know that we won’t have a pool to cool us down anytime the heat gets too much.  Although we are going to be staying on an island, so we can probably use the lake.  

A fortress where you would least expect one

We didn’t really have any idea of what to expect from El Castillo, particularly as we hadn’t met anyone who had been there.  To get there involves a 3 hour boat journey down the Rio San Juan.  I love being on these local forms of transportation, where people who would not look out of place walking down Sydney streets get dropped off in the middle of nowhere where they are met by barefoot children, or machete wielding partners, or sometimes they are there alone with nothing but jungle around them.

On our way down we also came across a raccoon swimming from one side of the river to the other, much to the excitement of everyone on the boat.  Eventually we turned a bend in the river and there it was, a fortress on top of a hill.  It may not be the most well preserved, or elaborate ruin we’ve ever seen, but it is so incongruous to come across a pyramid shaped fortress in the middle of jungle where houses are mainly cobbled together from wood and corrugated iron.  

We found ourselves a very basic double with gaps in the ceiling, walls and floor.  But the location more than made up for any deficiencies, situated over the water with a terrace where we could laze in a hammock watching the fortress turn golden as the sunset, listening to the river bubble it’s way over the rapids.  Despite the number of hotels (most of which were empty, or like our own had only one room occupied) it felt very much like a town going about its business.  Even the main tourist attraction, the fortress, has the town library in the old headquarters and when school finished we watched as children entered the fortress on their way to the library.  

Passports please

Border crossings are normally an inconvenience that are just a part of trouble, however we were actually looking forward to the border crossing from Costa Rica to Nicaragua.  We had decided to go the less travelled route where the crossing involves a beautiful boat trip down a river, with a quick stop at an aquatic border post.  Unfortunately about a year ago they built a bridge across the river, so you can now take the bus.  Locals are very much in favour of the bus route and on arrival in Los Chiles we discovered the boat is nowhere near as reliable as it used to be.  Depending on who we spoke to the boat would arrive at 11am, 12pm, not until tomorrow and leave anywhere between 1pm and 4pm today or tomorrow.  We sat by the river watching tour buses arrive and all the tourists transfer to boats for tours down the river and debated what we should do.  Eventually we decided we would rather get across the border, than wait on a boat that may not arrive (it was 12pm on a Sunday by this point, so it wasn’t looking good).  We put our packs back on and traipsed to the other side of town where the bus stop is.  Here the confusion continued.  We struck up a conversation with a couple of locals, and after awhile they suggested we should just go with a car rather than wait for the bus given the price should be the same.  Jason went to find out the price from one of the taxis, only to be quoted four times the price we had been told it should cost.  Refusing to pay that high a gringo tax we went back to waiting.  However the taxi driver started talking about how the border would close at 4pm, and the bus wasn’t coming for another two hours.  After a bit more of a discussion with the friendly locals we kept to the wait for the bus plan and I enjoyed helping one of the locals with his German in anticipation of an upcoming trip to visit his brother who lives there. 

The bus did come, after approximately one hour of waiting and we were on our way.  The border post, was a few demountable buildings and a bit more confusion.  The first official wrote down our details in a notebook and looked in 3 of our 4 bags before waving us on.  We then had to figure out how to pay the departure tax as it involved using an atm machine without any instructions in English.  After a few attempts and asking for help, we discovered the trick was to slowly insert the credit card then quickly remove it - one of the few combinations we hadn’t tried!

After this things simplified, but still involved way more officials than I would think needed given we had to show about 10 people our passports on the way through.  It’s always amazing how things change when you’ve only walked a few steps.  In Costa Rica they don’t actually have a standing army, the first person we saw in Nicaragua was a soldier with a rifle.  We have seen so many armed troops, not to mention security guards sitting near atms with shotguns.  Then there was the evidence that we were on the drug smuggling highway, with frequent bag searches and having to provide our documentation to every third person (including 3 times on one boat trip).  It will be interesting to see how things change once we are on the other side of the country away from the drug smuggling route.

Corcovado, a tale of sweat and wildlife

To explain our experience of Corcovado, I really need to start with the heat.  It is the sort of heat that leaves you dripping sweat 5 minutes after having a cold shower, when all you’ve done is lie down in bed.  Combined with humidity that leaves the clothes you haven’t worn damp, the ones you have saturated.  Sunscreen washes off in minutes as the sweat falls like rain down your face, and even drinking 4 liters of water in a day not a drop makes it to your bladder.

It was in this that we set off to hike almost 20km to Sirena station.  It is a nearly 2 hour drive from Puerto Jimenez to Carate where the walk starts, so even with an early start we didn’t begin the hike until 7:30am.   By that time the small drop in temperature that night time provided had disappeared and the mercury was already topping 35 degrees.  As we started walking, much of it on soft sand along a mercilessly long beach which provided no shade from the pounding sun, we questioned what we were doing thinking we were up to this.  But by this point we were committed, and there was no turning back.  We were somewhat mollified when we caught up with the other group hiking the trail that day, a group of 20 something surfer dudes with tanned skin and ribbed abs all of whom seemed to have misplaced their shirts, to find they were also struggling just as much as we were.  (We felt even better about ourselves on the way back, when we did the walk in two and a half hours less than them!)

We joined up with them and entered the forest together to search for puma, our guides convinced they would have more success together.  Thomas, our guide, used his nose as much as his eyes and ears to search for animals.  Often proclaiming he could smell anteater, peccaries, tapir or cat piss.  Finger crossed we scanned the path, waiting as our guide disappeared into the undergrowth to see if there was something just out of sight.  It was not long, maybe an hour, before we were rewarded by two puma resting only 20m from the path.  We looked into their beautiful eyes, as they alternated staring at us and scanning the trees for prey.  It was an amazing experience to be so close and on foot to such beautiful creatures.  This was why we were sweating our way through the jungle.  It was magical.

Our guide was an interesting person.  He grew up on the border of the park and had started hunting illegally when he was 10 years old with his grandfather.  By 12 he was hunting at night as well as during the day.   In his words he would shot everything that moved, mainly for fun, but if something was edible he would eat it.  He continued hunting and mining for gold (also illegal within the park) until he was 20 and his uncle convinced him to become a tour guide.  He volunteered for a few months in the park, and a few more with some biologists, and has been a tour guide ever since.  Occasionally this background would come out, for example we now know that Great Currasow tastes delicious.  It also sounds more like a cow mooing than a bird, but I doubt that impacts the flavour.  

In the way of guides everywhere what is exciting for them, is not necessarily that exciting for the tourists.  We loved the monkeys and the coati, even though they were both common sights.  For him though the most exciting thing we saw was a wasp.  It landed on his leg and he was frantically trying to retrieve his phone to take a picture begging it to stay and not fly away.  What followed was a long explanation of this wasp with it’s long tail and how it uses it to breed in figs.  On another day we were together with another couple when the two guides started jumping for joy and giving each other hi-5s.  They assured us that a blob high up in the tree was a porcupine, although even with binoculars we could only barely make out a rough shape and a possible head.  The couple who were from Alaska, offered to send them a photo of a porcupine from their backyard, as the guides attempted to get an identifiable photo through a telescope.

Despite the heat, the sleeping arrangements (bits of foam under mosquito nets with everyone packed together on one raised wooden platform) and the ticks, it was definitely an experience worth having.  I loved being woken at 3:30am by the sound of howler monkeys, and starting the first hike of the day marveling at the Milky Way visible in all it’s glory.  I loved the the grin on our guides face when he returned from an explore of the undergrowth which meant he had found some animal or other.  I loved sitting by the river chatting to new friends whilst spider monkeys played (and fought) in the trees around us.  I loved coming across the unexpected such as a mother coati with two day old cubs who couldn’t even walk yet. 

One of the surprises for us was the sound that howler monkeys make, because it doesn’t sound like a howl to me, more the noise a monster in a b-grade horror movie makes.  They were even used for some of the dinosaur noises in Jurassic Park, and apparently other movies so we weren’t the only ones to picture monsters not monkeys when hearing them call.  It’s also loud, the loudest land mammal with their call being audible up to 5km away.

Unfortunately our last day had a slightly unpleasant start.  We woke up at 4am and packed our belongings ready for the 8 hour walk to Carate  However, when it came time to put on our shoes Jason’s were missing.  To cut a long story short they had been stolen by one of the construction workers and we did get them back; but it took 3 hours, some girl tears, and a refusal to just accept they were stolen given we were an 8 hour hike from anywhere, Jason needed the shoes to hike out and there were less than 10 suspects so it was perfectly reasonable to wake them up and search their belongings.  

We ended up leaving at 7:20am, which meant the sun was already up and the temperature rising rapidly, and we now only had 6 hours to make it to the car.  Yes, we made it.  Yes, we were exhausted.  Yes, we stank.  As Jason said as he went for a shower - “I really do stink, I’ve found two ticks and they’re both dead!”  I found this hysterical and spent ten minutes laughing so hard I couldn’t talk.  It may have been partly due to the sleep deprivation, and general exhaustion.