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.

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.