We joined the throngs of backpackers funneling in for volcano boarding because I insisted we squeeze it into our itinerary that was already bursting at the seams. In addition to being the main launch point for this cheesy idea, León was a refreshing change from the more artificial aesthetic of Granada.

 

 

Day Three (cont.)

The UCA station in Managua connected us to the León shuttle station. A waiting taxi took us to Bigfoot Hostel for $1 each.

The hostel was big and centered around drunken parties. I would recommend trying La Tortuga Booluda or Lazybones instead. There are many types of backpackers in the world, and Bigfoot was excellent at making a profit off of this subset. Think American accents, dad bods, or perhaps those who peaked during four seasons of college football (one guest actually said he needed five). I mean seriously, beer pong, a very culturally isolated activity (hint: not Latin American) was right in our face. I was just happy there were available beds, $9 with fans and no AC. Will and I also paid for tomorrow’s Volcano Boarding, $31, daily tours at 9am.

A modern supermarket took care of our caloric needs for tomorrow, and we headed to the grills, or fritangas, out behind La Catedral (both Granada and León have an iconic church bordering the central square). Although the food was good, I was disappointed with the prices. A non-heaping plate of chicken or pork with gallo pinto and cabbage salad is already $5, small add-ons like cheese covered zucchini and potato slabs, or rice and chicken balls encased in lettuce, were another 15 Cordobas ($.60) each.

Laying flat in a real bed never felt so good.

 

 

Day Four

Breakfast was a discombobulated plate of stir fried chayote squash, broccoli, bell pepper, scrambled eggs, and refried beans, all smothered in salsa ranchera.

The 25 of us got in the back of an open-top, military-type truck and were shuttled through town and the dusty countryside and up to the base of Cerro Negro, $5 for admission not included in the tour. I was fascinated by the busy breakfast stands with zero tourists, and coolers full of pouches of fruit juice.

 

 

Evidently the only other place for volcano surfing is on some island called Tanna, way out by Australia.

Our tour leader had a frat-star complex and consistently made humor out of immature ideas, making sure to explicitly let us know that he was still hungover. Once I got used to him, I liked him well enough. He told us the crazy start to this sport which I’m skeptical of—people breaking all their bones, healing, trying again and again, on bikes, fridge doors, car hoods, skis, whatever it took to come up with a method…

 

 

Cerro Negro was a lone cinder cone of black ash amidst numerous other volcanic peaks, which were all covered in grass. It’s young and active, appearing in 1850, and has erupted 23 times. Mineral streaked in layers in the craters, magma as old as myself puddled at the base. Eight years overdue for another eruption, brushing away the top bit gravel and touching the exposed layer reveals quite the temperature. We set aside what was outside of our control and soaked in the panoramic views.

 

 

Of the three females I was the only one despite exaggerated warnings who opted not to hire a porter to carry my board, $5, and was last to reach the end of the hour-long ascent. I was chatting with a porter who pointed out León’s Catedral in the distance. This becomes important later.

After some fun group photos we suited up. “Orange is the new black.” Instead of paying for bandanas Will and I went shirtless and used our tops to cover our faces. Chem lab goggles on.

 

 

I picked the middle of the three routes and focused on breathing. We’d been told this was ranked second of 50 Big Thrills by CNN. It was terrifying trying to stay centered. Controlling speed was easy but it’s common to catch a heel and wipe out. I had to pause before the steep drop-off and re-seat myself, before continuing to sled with black chunks of rock flying at my face.

I survived. Then watched others come down, fast, slow, lightning. The all-time record was around 96kph, I was at 30. We all agreed we would blaze down the slope if given a second go, but the material lining the bottom of the board needs replacing after each use. Touching our scalps, Will and I picked out the luscious gravel that had lodged into our hairlines. Bigfoot being Bigfoot, the beer and cookie that came with the tour were now handed out.

 

 

Mojitos were waiting for us. It’s a great marketing tactic, to play the slideshow of our action shots with blaring hit music, reeling in the business of passing tourists.

For being the last one up, I was given the Lava Shot Challenge. So were the girl and guy with the fastest boarding speeds (I was slower than her by 1kph); they also got snapbacks from a nearby surf shop. Our guide brought out a bottle of Flor de Caña filled with hot hot chili peppers, hotter than habeneros. No water for thirty seconds after. It sucked, I cried, I certainly wouldn’t try it on an empty stomach, but I got a free tank to go with the tank we already got from booking the tour.

December 2017 Update: My friend recently did this same tour with Bigfoot and reports that it now includes a beach excursion after the volcano boarding for the same price, $30. Mojitos are still there. Surprised that the lava shots her friends took were pink rather than clear, she told me that the recipe was changed since my visit as so many people were hospitalized from the challenge. One of our friends, a Nicaraguan American, couldn’t hold down the pink shots and puked.

Alex had stayed in after feeling sick. He was better. Will and I were great. The recollection of our afternoon lacks details but was certainly a happy one. Solo travelers from Austria and France joined us in the streets as we sampled pink milk puddings and arroz con leche, wandered through a food market, and ultimately ended up on the roof of La Catedral for $3, Monday through Saturday 8:30am-12:30pm and 2:00pm-4:30pm, barefoot because everything was so white.

I suddenly felt like I wasn’t in Latin America. The features were so European, almost Greek or Morrocan, contrasted against the clear sky. We stayed a good while, enjoying.

 

 

The French dude would go on traveling southbound until I bumped into him again during my first night in Rio, sixth months later.

Will and I used the last of our Cordobas on ice cream. Feeling like fat lards, we cleaned ourselves up at Bigfoot. The staff had told us last night lockers were $3 per person if you check out in the morning, which is stupid, but they didn’t bother us today.

We took the same bus for $1.75 back to Managua and got a taxi from UCA to the airport, $4 each.

For more Nica inspo, click here.

Love shredding down terrestrial slopes? Check out my guide for sand boarding in Chile at the price of a dollar.

The adventure continues…

We originally had an hour to connect but our flight was delayed. After waiting in line and going through two customs officers, we had to go through airport security again. Fine. I had a full bottle of water from the Managua airport and remembered when my bag was already on the belt, chugging it in 10 seconds flat. Still fine. About to burst, Will and I sprinted the hell out of a 200-meter dash and somehow made it before they closed the gate, but Alex had been held up and the plane left without us anyway.

Spirit Airlines sucks. They offered a trivial refund, or the next flight at 8pm. We were supposed to land  at our final destination at 8am. A taxi took us to Greyhound but during the ride the bus tickets sold out. Will got the Avis dude to pick us up from Greyhound but we can’t rent a car without paying a fee for being only 21. Will and I are 20 and my license is lodged in the case of my lost phone floating somewhere in Central America anyway. Alex is 21 but has no license. We used a free Uber ride to get to the DMV, and actually got Alex a license. The same Uber driver found us again, got us back to Avis, we drove to the airport we should’ve gotten to long ago, and from there took the parking shuttle off site to our car, were so done with the day that we decided why not waste more time at a mediocre Indian Buffet, and didn’t reach home until dark. I have yet to resolve this with customer service. Spirit Airlines sucks.