Exactly a year later from my first in-and-out international dip, I’ve chased more adventures than I can remember. I’ve learned so much about solo backpacking  and testing my limits. This time, I led my own trip for the MLK 2016 holiday. First stop: the beautiful volcanic island in Nicaragua’s largest lake.
 

 

Day One

I had gone for a four-mile morning run and worked a 9-5 before catching our red-eye flight. Will had attended a full day of lectures and lab.

Feeling fried and sore to the neck, we were now stalling at the Managua airport and managed to grab a taxi to Mercado Huembes around 5am, at the bus stop located across the Carratera Norte highway (buses start at 5:30 am). After being warned of its safety concern, Huembes was fine and a bus immediately swept us into the darkness.

2.75USD and 3 hours later the morning light blinded my bloodshot eyes. I was fading in and out until Rivas town. Another dollar from each of us to a taxi driver got us to the local port, San Jorge.

Tall bright flags flapped at us. We joined the rest of the tourists in watching three dump trucks brimming with green plantains exit the ferry. The boat ride was very sunny and felt as if we were not getting any closer to the two peaks of Ometepe. The engine rumbled beneath without puase. Two hours, 1.75USD.

 

 

Ometepe originates from the Nahuatl words for “two hills.” The island sits in the Lake Nicaragua and has the shape of an electron’s p-orbital. We alighted in Moyogalpa town, on the side with the taller Volcan Concepción. The tip of the volcano is always covered in a thin cap of steam coming from the crater.

Moyogalpa has a lot of yoga and Western food for gringos. We had Nicaraguan style gallo pinto at the comedor across from the bus stop. 2.5USD got us a styrofoam (much to Will’s dismay) plate of rice and beans, scrambled eggs and cheese, tortillas, and a cup of café con leche, also styrofoam. This staple was the continental breakfast here, and was even cheaper in less crowded areas.

 

 

A Balgüe-bound chicken bus took us to Finca Zopilote, 2 hours, 1USD. Finished at last with public transport, we were lucky to snag the last three hammocks, 4USD per night, as the camping-style hostel does not take reservations. The place includes a hippy run down bus that sells overpriced organic goods (some grown on site) and local crafts, free yoga, and offers Japanese-style showers. Recommended by past trip leaders and man-bunned individuals.My one disappointment, actually deal-breaker for me, was that it had no kitchen.

 

 

It was here that I learned I had lost my phone. Between getting off the bus (not crowded) and dropping off my bag at my hammock, I couldn’t find it. Reception didn’t see it either. My carrier later confirmed no one had tried to unlock it so I doubt it was stolen. Since it was old and quite shitty at being a phone these days I quickly accepted the misfortune and grabbed my day pack and boys and left.

Of course the very bus rolls into view so I wave my limbs and run up behind it, hitting the bumper until I’m let in. I thank the crew and do a couple searches, no luck.

We were on rented bikes with half working hand brakes from the base of the hostel, 5USD for a whole day or 1USD an hour.

Horseback riding is 6USD an hour around the island, but the horses didn’t look like they had a good life and the tourists didn’t look like they were having a good time/could control their animal.

At the fork we picked to head to Merida and the roads quickly became rocky. For the rest of the daylight hours we each took a rough beating to the groin area. One of my thumbs was spared from a blister from holding on so tight. The upper body received a treatment comparable to a shake weight, but worse.

 

 

My favorite memories are when I’m aimlessly moving through nowhere. In the middle of the isthmus, the conical Concepción and flatter Maderas peaks flanked us.

 

 

At the deserted Comedor Guanacaste, we shouted asking if they had coconuts and drank two for .3USD each, the cheapest I’ve had to date. As always, we had them scoop out the flesh and bag it up for calories we would later need.

I felt I got a pretty good sample of what locals have to suffer on such shit paths. Downhills were scariest, breathing in dust from passing vehicles was the most disgusting part. Determined to reach some sort of end point, Merida was hardly a town. A couple resorts and fruit stands was the extent of the development.

Not sure why a woman and her boys were in the water, I had to go see if they were just doing laundry. Of course not. They were washing what looked like a white rope, or the colon of a hog. Tripe is a common dish in Nicaragua and it makes sense that we were across the street from a window with a “se vende cerdo” sign.

 

 

When I ask for batidos, superfood drinks with oversized chunks of raw ginger is not what I expect and certainly is not worth 3USD. Other than that, the gringo-catered menu (with higher than local prices) at Zopilote was yummy as the dining area buzzed with chatting backpackers.

We didn’t socialize as everyone seemed to already have a clique and instead reserved a volcano hike for the morning, before retreating to our hammocks.

 

 

Day Two 

 

 

The staff added a dollar to my tab just for boiling my half dozen of eggs. Also, the hammocks weren’t comfy; maybe I’m spoiled by my Eno back home.

Greyvin took us up Volcan Maderas, pointing out monkeys and various plants, conversing with Alex for most of the hike. Alex introduced him to Clif bars.

The hike is moderately steep and takes 4-5 hours to ascend, with copious amounts of mud for the last third of it. Other than taking less time than Volcan Concepción, I also picked Maderas for it’s shade and view of Concepcion’s cone.

Had it been just Will and I, we would’ve hiked on our own.*

At the highest point there was little visibility. The trail then descended into the caldera, where the fog occasionally cleared itself, and lunch was had on the grassy shores of the pond. Other groups came and went, one of which was three girls who immediately began skinny dipping upon arrival, and screaming because it was kind of not that warm up there. I was too busy gorging on pistachios and they got out before I had a chance to join.

 

 

 

We slipped our clumsy way down the mountain. The mud up to our shins dried and became cakey, while Greyvin’s garments remained mysteriously spotless.

Perhaps the highlight was when Alex reached over to lean on a deceptive tree that in fact turned out to be quite dead, and startled its new acquaintance when it gave way and allowed itself to be entirely ripped out of the ground.

Will and I refused to let fatigue win, rushing to the yoga platform. I’m sure Zopilote rotates volunteer instructors, but this class wasn’t the easiest. We channeled seven levels of light, and at the end she rubbed each of our necks and palms and feet, a first for me, and probably slightly grimy for the last person to be rubbed.

Every Tuesday and Saturday is Pizza Night and dancing but it was rather disinteresting. We instead treated Greyvin to pescado frito at a nearby guesthouse run by Nicaraguans. For around 5USD each we were served a large fish, perfectly oily and lemony on the outside, flaky on the inside. The inevitable gallo pinto was included, along with crispy plantains and ensalada. Never be afraid to insist on an extra serving of veggies. Or throw in the extra dollar or two for papaya milk smoothies.

A fudgsicle was called for. The revelation of how cold and creamy they were would lead to many more purchases in the days to come.

 

 

Day Three

 

 

“White-throated magpie-jay” is the full name of the beautiful noisy blue jays you can see around the island. They’ve got head plumes, like quails.

After breakfast and finding out our taxi reservation fell through, Will and I went to the hostel’s mirador. Turns out it’s a wooden frame with a ladder about two stories high.

The view was mediocre but the spot has nice privacy and is rumored to be great for stargazing. Halfway up the ladder out of nowhere a friendly voice says, “yes come join us.” And that is how I found the most beautiful couple I’ve ever seen. Flawless, the guy surfs and has a magic mushroom side business. Blonde hair and blue eyes isn’t everyone’s thing, but this guy is your thing. She had olive skin, perfectly arched eyebrows, perfect smile, brown hair and big brown eyes. We left them in disbelief at the genetic perfection we’d witnessed.

 

 

An Italian with dreads and a very cute French girl joined us in our speedy taxi back to Moyogalpa, 22USD total, 40 minutes. The farms and houses were beautiful.

A large, humming ferry returned us to San Jorge, 1.5USD, 90 minutes. Pressed for time, the three of us jumped in a taxi and reached Granada 90 minutes for 10USD each.

 

 

*We had disagreed on taking a guide as one Zopilote worker said going on our own is fine. I’ve always encountered local stories of hikers dying, or injuring themselves, when  going on international hikes. In Jamaica and Panama we were heavily warned as a group with no guide, but if you slip and crack your skull, a guide wouldn’t have made a difference. The day before, a Zopilote guest went ahead of the guide pack and got briefly lost anyway. For me, as long as there is a CLEAR trail and I have a buddy, I have no problem with figuring out the route and remembering it on the way down, unless I’m told to my face it’s “not allowed,” which later happened from another Zopilote staff member.