January 15
Granada
We got into Granada yesterday about 3:00 P.M., exhausted to the bone and half way wondering why we still do this. It had been approximately 21 hours on the road.
Nicaragua is poor. From the time you land at the airport, a small worn down building with minimal parking, to your first drive through the countryside, you’re overwhelmed by the obvious poverty. The houses are simple cinder block structures with peeling, fading paint and rusted out corrugated tin roofs. We drove by two large dump trucks with no hydraulic lift, but instead saw four men with shovels flinging the dirt out. Labor is so cheap, so plentiful, that it’s better to employ the indigent than to buy 20th century technology.
When our taxi pulled out of the airport and headed on back roads through the countryside, a sense of panic filled my travel weary body. I was sure that our taxi driver was setting us up, driving us into the slums where a group of his friends waited to roll us for our valuables. Little did I know that these slums were actually some of the nicer areas in the country and that the taxi driver was simply taking a short cut to our hotel.
We are staying at the Hotel Terresol, a new structure that was built to appear 100 years old. From there, we wandered downtown to the central square, where a huge bright orange cathedral dominates the sky line. It appears an effort is being made to clean up and beautify the central district of this colonial city. Several buildings are painted bright blues, yellows and reds, with white trim and colonnades. Sadly, many of their neighbors are beaten down structures, badly in need of basic maintenance.
We went out for pizza and beer at the Mona Lisa that night. Not overly memorable, but not bad either.
People seem friendly and very willing to assist helpless gringos, who can’t mutter the most basic espaniol.
January 16
Granada
After spending the morning milling around the central district, going to the old cathedrals, we took a trip with Tierra Tours up to the Volcano Mombacho National Park. Our guide, Camillo, led us on about a three mile slow wander around the top of the volcano crater. The views were nice and the dense foliage of the cloud forest was interesting, but my overwhelming memory of the experience will be the howling wind. It blew 60 mph and you could see the clouds speeding by you like vapor bullets.
Camillo was interesting to visit with. He had lived in New Orleans for five years with his American “dad,” so he had excellent English. He told me about the Sandinistas and the revolution, indicating that U.S. involvement propped up the brutal dictatorship of Somoza. He talked favorably about Daniel Ortega and today’s Nicaragua, although he indicated the youth of the nation, which makes up the vast majority of Nicas, wasn’t as enamored with the revolution. He stated that education and healthcare have made tremendous gains in the last 20 years. Nevertheless, he seemed almost disgusted when he explained that his salary was only $200 a month. I liked him and gave him a nice tip at the end of the day.
After our rain forest walk, which we shared with a Vermont family and an English chap, Kim and I experienced the zip-line, screaming downhill between tree based stations using a cable and pulley system. The zip-line itself was fun, with the first few rides between stations being exciting, but what I really liked was being up in the big trees. The ceiba trees were gigantic, with limbs bigger than an average trunk where we live in Wyoming. We looked down on a large grove of coffee plants below us.
January 17
Granada
Our wake up call came at 5:30 A.M. Utah time, which was a pretty harsh start to our day. After enjoying our typical Latin breakfast of a croissant, cup of fruit and two cups of coffee, we were whisked away to the beach for a sea kayaking trip. The wind was blowing fairly hard, so the lake was choppy making me a bit nervous, but I quickly learned that our kayaks popped up and over the rollers like a cork.
We slowly paddled through many narrow channels separating small volcanic islands, the aftermath of an ancient Volcano Mombacho eruption. Huge, flowering trees lined the shore, and soon we began seeing large mansion like structures built like small fortresses on these islands. The largest, a grass roofed, $2 million castle, was owned by a prominent Nicaraguan family in the coffee business in Matagalpa. It was nice, but I couldn’t imagine building a mansion on a small rock in Lake Nicaragua, with its dirty, polluted water and less than pristine appearance.
Upon completing a long lunch break, we paddled to a small island filled with hungry monkeys. It was fun watching them until a tour boat pulled up and the captain started fighting with a large, aggressive male by poking him with a long stick. I was secretly hoping that the monkey would pull the captain out of the boat.
January 18
Laguna de Apoyo
Kim and I left the friendly confines of Hotel Terresol for paradise on the 10:00 A.M. bus. Within minutes we had ascended up a steep road to the rim of a volcano crater and down the other side to the Laguna Apoyo, a beautiful turquoise colored lake of about five miles in diameter.
Crater’s Edge, a simple resort owned by a Canadian woman from Vancouver, turned out to be the answer to my prayers. We immediately jumped into our swim suits and leaped into the 85 degree water. Swimming was so comfortable, the water heated by the volcanic crust of the crater, that you could stay out in the water until your body began to shrivel to prune like proportions. Even though there was a bit of a chop to bob up and over, we would swim, read a bit and then swim again.
In the late afternoon we hopped in the sea kayaks and took a long paddle along the green, tree lined shore. I really liked the sea kayaks, so much more comfortable and able to ride high in the water. They seemed much faster and less laborious than the conventional enclosed craft.
The meal that Ann’s staff prepared was an amazing vegetarian penne covered by a tomato cream sauce. I couldn’t have been happier, eating a fine meal and drinking a cold beer as we visited with our Canadian friend, Doug.
Before turning in for the night, I went for a swim under the stars, with the night sky lighting up the crater’s edge brilliantly. It was so perfect. This is why I travel.
January 19
Laguna de Apoyo
After an excellent buffet style breakfast, Kim and I took off hiking for the Catalina Mirador. Initially, we walked on the road along the lake shore and then found a crude trail that steeply climbed through the forest to the top of the crater. The heat and humidity were oppressive on our ascent. Sweat dripped from every pore on our bodies. I wasn’t winded or anything, but the sweat seemed like sugar in my gas tank, and for poor Kim, it was even worse.
On the way up we spotted one howler monkey, and several men transporting heavy items on their backs, such as bags of supplies, firewood and bananas. At one point, we found a group of men carrying heavy bamboo logs on their shoulders. I lifted one and guessed that it weighed about 80 pounds. Nica men are tough as nails.
The mirador at Catalina was beautiful. We could see Volcan Mombacho, Granada, Lago Nicaragua, and of course, the entire Laguna de Apoyo. Marvelous!
We spent about an hour walking the streets of the little town, looking at the nurseries, ceramic shops and furniture by the local artisans. Many little children posed for photos for us, happily seeing their images on our camera’s small LCD screen.
Dinner was a delicious Nicaraguan stew on rice. While dining, Doug, our Canadian friend, told us many of the details of his life as an auto worker for G.M. It really was interesting.
January 20
Laguna de Apoyo
Kim and I hopped on a chicken bus in the morning for the short half hour ride to Volcano Masaya National Park. Upon reaching the parking area over looking the volcano crater, I was amazed to see such a steeply sided, totally denuded crater with a very large, steady plume of sulphuric smoke rising up. We ascended a short stair case for a better view point, feeling as though you were really looking down into the bowels of Hell. It was impressive.
The rest of the park was just “ok.” We saw other cones, where erosion melted the rigid walls and grass and trees had lined the floor and walls of the crater. Huge lava fields fell away from the cones, giving the area the feel of a dead zone.
We went through the park visitor center, which was marginal, and then finished hiking out of the highway, where we caught a bus into Masaya. A friendly cab driver then took us to the “artist’s market,” a huge collection of booths inside the walls of an old fort. We wandered through endless booths that all were marketed the same items: brightly colored oils of fat women, small, assorted wooden bowls and boxes, tee shirts, leather goods, and of course, cigars. We finally found an interesting carved wooden mask, a bull painted in bright colors, which we purchased for $25.
Inauguration night ended with a short swim under the stars, which I felt to be a wonderful celebration of our new President.
January 21
Laguna de Apoyo
Kim and I wanted a laid back day of relaxation before we hit the road, leaving our new found paradise at Crater’s Edge. Other than a short four mile walk, and an hour long paddle on the water, it was about as slow as one can go and still be breathing. We would swim, lay about, swim and then lay about again reading our books.
The big thrill was me getting a massage from Julio, a blind therapist who had lost his vision at age 15, and now supports himself by working at Crater’s Edge. I find it admirable that Ann, the owner, has the compassion to hire those less fortunate, and I decided to vote with my wallet. Anyway, the massage was excellent, so good I fell asleep at the end of the hour long session. Amazingly, it was only $20 for this undeserved celebration of hedonistic pleasure.
January 22
Esteli
All in all, it was a pretty miserable day, the kind of day you wonder why we still travel. After our 10:30 A.M. departure from Heaven, Laguna de Apoyo, we lived a long, very hard day of bus Hell.
The micro express into Managua was certainly micro, but anything but an express. We stopped nearly a million times, and were severely pancaked into the small Japanese pop can with wheels. To top it off, it had to be at least 90 degrees outside. The only redeeming aspect of the experience was the singing and guitar playing of an eight year old Nicaraguan Elvis.
After a long taxi ride across Managua, an ugly, dirty city of unparalleled poverty, we soon boarded another bus destined for Esteli. This new Blue Bird truly was torture. It was a very, very hot day, and with the sun beating in the window on me, I felt like I was slowly melting. In addition, the windows of the ancient bus no longer opened properly, so I couldn’t open mine to get some air on my baking body. In order to guarantee that this would be one of the most miserable experiences in my travel life, the old American school bus was built for elementary aged children, with the seats about 12 inches apart. Even though I had a seat to myself, I couldn’t get comfortable. My knees, unnaturally contorted to fit in the small space, throbbed with pain after only a half hour on the road.
Just a few short miles out of the capital, a small Toyota pickup with four policemen riding in the box pulled the bus over and ordered all of the men out of the bus except me. One or two officers came into the bus and started going through bags, searching for God only knows. It was kind of scary, in that the officers didn’t look like they were there to fight crime. After about ten minutes of activity, they let us continue on our way.
The area east of the capital is an arid, ugly wasteland. Only after about an hour on the road did we start to see some relief to the topography and a hint of the color green.
Esteli itself is no charmer. “Old, worn out, dingy, and with little character,” is how I would describe it. The area by the park was filled with people who had been bused into the city for the inauguration of the new mayor. Supposedly, Daniel Ortega himself was to talk at this bastion of Sandinista strength, but we didn’t see him. However, they did have a mixture of live music after the speeches, ranging from opera to salsa.
For dinner, we finally ate our first real Nicaraguan meal: barbecued chicken, rice and beans and a fried banana. It was good, but nothing to write home about.
January 23
Cloud Forest Reserve Miraflor
We waited for two boring hours in the Esteli bus station not really understanding when our bus was to leave. Since we really couldn’t communicate, I never really felt good about our situation. There was no bus schedule, no way of knowing what was going on. Thankfully, a frenzy of action erupted around us with people lining up by an empty space and within minutes we finally climbed on the chicken bus to Miraflor at noon.
The bus ascended slowly over rough, narrow dirt roads into the mountains. Burnt, yellow vegetation gave way to a vibrant, green landscape of rolling hills. We drove by a huge, very sophisticated tobacco plantation, where the ingredients for the much renowned Nicaraguan cigars are grown. Small, single room adobe houses with small subsistence farms appeared around nearly every bend in the road.
We were told to exit the loaded to capacity bus an hour and a half into our journey. We quickly shouldered our packs and headed up a gentle incline for a few minutes before coming to Finca Neblina del Bosque, a three year old venture built by a Nica/German couple. It is a small operation, with a humble cone shaped lodge and three bamboo walled huts. Never-the-less, when compared to the home stays that we walked by later in the day, we were living in absolute opulence.
After a huge serving of a beet soup, it is advertised as a vegetarian lodge, we took an hour and a half walk through the countryside. Beautiful fields with grazing cows, pigs and horses dotted the hillsides. We spotted many children, who all looked happy, well fed and friendly. Horseback seems to be the preferred mode of transportation, as we only saw one pickup all day, but ran into a regular string of riders carrying things in front of them on their saddles.
January 24
Cloud Forest Reserve Miraflor
It went from dejection to ecstasy in only a matter of hours. Kim’s cold, coupled with a nasty cough and headache, seemed to make Finca Nebla del Bosque less than a perfect tourist destination. After all, the finca is quite primitive and with the damp cold of the cloud forest and then the rain settling in during the evening hours, we really wondered about our decision to come here.
We made it through the night and even though the morning was quite cloudy, actually foggy, we decided to stay and take a tour via horseback with Edwin, a local guide with excellent English. The area was beautiful, with lush rolling hills, and trees filled with orchids and Spanish Moss. We met a multitude of farmers on the trail driving their oxen, transporting goods to market or simply running errands via horseback. Never-the-less, the best element of the experience was chatting with Edwin. We talked everything from politics to baseball. He implied that Daniel Ortega was about as smart as George W. Bush, and that he loved the Red Sox. He told us about the war, his mother hiding in the woods with him as an infant from the Contras, and how he had done a 300 KM trek with the Raleigh Foundation on the border of Panama and Costa Rica to learn his trade as a guide. He was really interesting.
We went to a small waterfall, toured an orchid reserve, saw a giant fiscus tree that had a hollowed out center at least twelve feet in diameter and an endless array of small subsistence farms that were worked by hand. My greatest memory of the day, however, will be the incapacitating pain emanating from my knees after six hours in the saddle. Damn, and I mean damn, I hurt.
January 25
Cloud Forest Miraflor
It is really nice to wake up in the tropics. As the first light of day sneaks over the horizon, a multitude of birds serve as your personal alarm clock, seemingly all sitting in a tree adjacent to your window loudly singing away. From a distance you hear a series of competing roosters bellowing their “cock-a-doodle-doos.” Then the dogs of the neighborhood start in, as if they’re involved in an olympic barking competition. Let’s just put it this way; it’s pretty much impossible to sleep in, so you drag your butt out of bed and get busy with the day.
As you wander outside in the morning, you get the meaning of the term “cloud forest.” A dense fog drapes the landscape at times, while at others you see a light wisp of condensation being blown downhill by the wind.
After having banana crepes for breakfast, we got on our boots and headed down the road to watch the baseball game. As we were leaving, Eduardo, who had given me a big birthday bear hug earlier, handed me a leash with Fiona, their friendly dog tied to it. We strode down the dirt road, half being pulled by the happy collie, with the locals smiling at our bizarre behavior, which entailed wearing shorts and walking a dog. How crazed is that? Those nutty gringos!
Unfortunately, the baseball game was over by the time we got there, but we hung around anyway to watch a group of young boys play a three base, hit only to left field version of the game. It looked like a poorer version of Bath Ruth, but considering that they were playing on an uneven surface, with no backstop or fences, it was pretty good baseball. As one side was retired, the opponents took their gloves, which I believe were on loan from the adults, who were sitting around visiting in a large group overlooking the field. An older woman stood in the background, selling juice and fry bread, while little kids ran aimlessly around in circles with glee written all over their faces. Nicas obviously love the game. From 8:00 A.M. on that morning, we saw a steady flow of players, some on horseback, a few on motorcycles, but the vast majority walking to this every Sunday affair. A few wore authentic uniforms of their favorite Nicaraguan professional team, but most were dressed in old tee shirts and worn out blue jeans.
The rest of my 54th birthday was spent on a short walk, admiring the manicured physical beauty of this third world, fluorescent green utopia. It’s desperately poor, with people residing in miniscule adobe shacks, and their school and church looked more like crude barns than institutions of learning or worship. Nevertheless, the people appeared to be happy and to have a positive sense of community in this subsistence based, agrarian economy. We continually ran into small groups of people on the road, going from one place to another to visit with friends and family. It really appeared to be a healthy society.
The highlight of the day was our showers, taken in Eduardo and Isabel’s outdoor facility, a small curtained off cubicle surrounded by eight foot high grass. The water was refreshingly cold, but with the hot, mid-afternoon sun beating down on our bodies post shower, it was the perfect thing to do. The rest of the afternoon was spent playing Gin Rummy, reading and having red hot sex.
That evening, when we went to dinner, Eduardo had made a special Nicaraguan dinner for us, pork tamales, in celebration of my birthday. He sat down and ate with us, and we conversed through a pigeon Spanish and English mixture. Ultimately, he took it upon himself to teach me a little utilitarian Spanish, so that I could politely ask for dinner or something to drink. It was fun and he was a good teacher, but I must admit that I was mentally exhausted at the end of the evening and just wanted to go to my cabin and read my book. We really enjoyed Isabel and Eduardo and loved staying at Finca Neblina del Bosque.
January 26
Sontule
I don’t know what possessed us to do such an adventure, but we talked Eduardo into taking us from Finca Neblina del Bosque to Sontule, a 2:40 horseback ride from Hell.
An English friend that we had met at Crater’s Edge, Martina, had suggested that we visit some friends of hers, and experience a home stay in a real Nicaraguan home, where we would see another climate zone of the highlands.
The first hour of the ride was brilliant, as we sauntered through endless pastures, by verdant cabbage, bean and potato fields, and past huge trees weighed down with orchids. We saw many small subsistence farms, a number of rustic churches and schools, along with a few sparsely populated, small settlements. It was story book beautiful.
About an hour and a half into the ride, my knees began to ache like small knives were being shoved in them, and my butt bones were being pounded into the saddle leather with every bounce of my trotting pony, sending a rocket like flash of pain to my brain.
At the two our mark, we rounded a corner to find a small herd of Brahma Bulls heading our way. As is typical in Nicaragua, each animal had a wishbone shaped log tied around his neck to prevent him form going through the fences. Suddenly, Kim, who was riding in front of me, was confronted by a crazed animal who menacingly shook his head at her. Kim’s horse spooked, rearing back and then wheeling to gallop past us at full speed. Her hat flying off, she amazingly hunkered down and rode it out like a Wyoming barrel racing cowgirl. Even more impressive than the Lincoln County Fair Rodeo, she performed this while wearing two backpacks, one on her back and the other strapped to her front. She is now truly a Wyoming citizen. No doubt about it.
When we finally got into Sontule and to Marlin and Mayra’s home, I could hardly get off my horse. I painfully dropped my pack to Kim, and slowly worked my partially paralyzed left leg over the saddle and fell to the ground, barely staying upright. I couldn’t move. I was frozen there, stooped over and moaning in pain. Inch by inch, I straightened up and took a small, quivering step, then another and soon was walking, albeit shakily and painfully. My knees screamed with every step.
We had a nice lunch at Lucia’s home, who is Marlin’s mother, and she proudly showed us her garden. Her sons were shelling the coffee beans with a hand operated machine, so for a few seconds I took my turn turning the crank.
Kim and I then took an hour walk through the countryside, meeting many friendly people filled with wide smiles and kind words. Upon our return home, we had coffee with Marlin and Mayra, and then watched them roast the coffee in a hand powered roaster, which was a round, smoker like looking contraption on a spindle centered over a small fire pit.
About 6:00 P.M. we went into the their kitchen, a crude wooden shack off the side of their cinder block home. Mayra had cooked us dinner over a a wood fire, and all the prep work of cutting and cleaning had been performed on an old water stained, darkened, 2” X 8” shelf. The whole family, plus Kim, Martina and I crowded around the table, and gobbled down gallo pinto, tortillas, eggs, enchiladas, and vegetarian hamburger patties. It was quite edible, and according to Martina, a Thanksgiving feast of sorts due to our appearance. Traditionally, the family would have only had rice and beans. We also learned that families in the countryside only have meat on the weekends, since an animal is only killed on Friday and no one has refrigerators or freezers to keep meat long term.
The dishes weren’t even cleared before the top was twisted off of Martina’s bottle of Flor de Cana, the local rum. We did toasts, threw back shots and enjoyed a long conversation about coffee, education, mountain biking, and corruption in the Nicaraguan government. We learned that Mayra makes $25 a month working as a classroom aide, $2 a day picking coffee and can’t finish her veterinary degree for want of a $1000. It was a wonderful day topped off by an even more enjoyable evening.
Our lodging was very third world, a desperately poor place really, but one felt that Marlin’s and Mayra’s lives were so much richer in other elements, such as friends and family. It had been a highlight for me. In all of our years and experiences in traveling the world, our visit to this simple Nicaraguan farm will always be one of my most cherished memories.
January 23
Matagalpa
After a good night’s sleep in Myra’s rustic dorm, we awoke to the sound of the roosters crowing right outside of the window. Kim and I quickly packed up and headed for the kitchen, where we enjoyed the best coffee in the world with pancakes with no syrup and the left overs from the previous evening.
The big challenge came for me came when I had to deal with my morning constitutional in their extremely primitive outhouse. I had tried to go in there the night before to urinate, but gagged within 10 feet of the structure. Now I had to do it. I buttoned up my courage and using my dirty long sleeve sweat shirt as an air filter, bravely fought my way into the outhouse. While holding the crusty shirt to my nose and mouth, I lowered my pants and went about my business. All went well! Honestly, I had been worrying about his fact of life all night, concerned of retching all over myself as I sat on the throne. Alas, my paranoia was for nothing. I had victory with no major casualties.
We rode buses for the next 3 1/2 hours into Matagalpa. Nothing memorable, just your typical salesmen and women frequently hopping on and off the buses to hawk everything from tooth brushes to cookies. “Poi-yo, poi-yooo,” or “Naranja, Narr-ran-ja,” their sing song voices would call from one end of the bus to the other, making sure that we were fully aware of their presence. At one point, over the roar of the bus motor and road noise, an evangelical preacher jumped out of his seat and delivered a long and fiery sermon. The older men took off their cowboy hats and gave him their undivided attention, while others stared off into a void, somehow ignoring his loud, imploring voice. The buses stopped constantly, on-loading and off-loading people, along with their mammoth bags of coffee beans, kettles of food, bunches of bananas or containers of fresh milk.
By the time we pulled into Matagalpa, we were worn to the core. Both of our stomachs ached and diarrhea was a fact of life. We settled into our new home, Hotel Parada, to spend the bulk of our time on the toilet.
Matagalpa is a very ugly, scary looking city of over 100,000 people. An abundance of trash lays everywhere, the sidewalks are torn up and have deep holes to tumble into off the curbs, and many of the people seem to have that desperate, hateful look in their eyeballs. When we walked downtown to one of the central squares, I was uncomfortable for the first time in Nicaragua. I felt like we could be robbed at any minute.
The best part of our Matagalpa experience was getting our laundry done, two huge bags for less than $2.00, and being able to check the internet for the first time in days.
January 28
Finca Esperanza Verde
Our day started with a high speed walk to the center of Matagalpa, searching for and the finding a bakery for breakfast. We then hunted for a bank, wandering up and down the streets without a clue. Ultimately, we scored on all counts, finding our ATM, seeing the city’s beautiful white cathedral and getting a taxi back to our hotel.
Within minutes we were on a bus again, this time ascending into the mountains to a scenic little village, San Ramon. Here we found the office of Finca Esperanza Verde. The American director of this non-profit informed us that we had some time to kill, so we wandered through the town looking for an American couple we had previously met on our Mombacho tour. We visited with the wife briefly before hopping in the back of the finca pickup for the scenic half hour ride to the top of the mountain.
That afternoon, Kim and I walked along the precipitous, muddy trails of the cloud forest for about two hours, seeing coffee and banana fields, small subsistence farms and large tracks of mossy, quasi-jungle canopy. It was getting late in the day, and knowing that darkness quickly settles in around 5:30 P.M., I became concerned about our status. I was following the finca’s crude map, knowing that we would eventually have to break out on the road going back to our lodging, but somehow, someway, it just didn’t seem right. We finally broke out of a steep, heavily wooded area to find a small farm, where a man was working cutting wood with his machete. Using my minimal Spanish and showing him our crude map, I asked where Finca Esperanza Verde was located. He signaled with his arm the exact opposite of my inclination, showing me that I was totally off track and leading us towards a disastrous, cold, wet night in the jungle. We quickly backtracked, finding our trail back to the farm, where I nearly got down on my knees to kiss the ground of safety. Relieved, Kim and I then took a short walk to see a small waterfall a few yards away from our cabin.
We enjoyed a wonderful chicken dinner with Fernando and Beatriz, an Argentine/Canadian couple, and Linda, an American from Denver. We had an interesting conversation, spanning topics from travel to politics. I enjoyed it greatly.
Finca Esperanza Verde is the most sophisticated tourist facility we’ve stayed at in Nicaragua, with many tours and options for experiencing the countryside. However, since we had been on a long, four day learning experience in Miraflor, we didn’t feel like we needed their guides. The food and coffee was top notch, making it a very comfortable tourist option.
January 29
Finca Esperanza Verde
Kim and I hit the trails with a vengeance. We started after breakfast and hiked for the next 3 1/2 hours, completing all of the developed trail system on the finca, approximately six miles.
We saw small waterfalls, and coffee, bean and banana farms with their small wooden huts serving as homes. Frankly, most Americans would not use the Nicaraguan’s homes to house their farm animals, yet the Nicas we met on the trail seemed friendly and happy with their circumstance.
There were many varieties of wild flowers and mushrooms, a dense lichen covered the forest and of course, the muddy, slippery, somewhat precarious trails seemed to always be climbing or descending steep pitches. It was beautiful and peaceful, while at the same time, oxygen sucking hard work chugging up the sometimes almost perpendicular grades. Sweat poured from our pores like Guinness flows in an Irish pub.
The birds of the cloud forest, such as the oreopendilla and the tucan, sang loudly with our approach. Occasionally, we would run into a farmer on his way to tend his fields or children playing. At one point, we met a small boy on a particularly steep and muddy section of the trail playing with an old bicycle tire and a stick.
After a cold shower, we retired to the lodge’s covered porch to lay about in hammocks and read and visit with our fellow travelers. It had been a wonderful day.
January 30
Finca Esperanza Verde
It was a slow, lazy day at the finca. We did the leisurely pancake breakfast thing, sucking down a minimum of four cups of fresh brewed Nica coffee. Then it was time for our daily exercise. Instead of the muddy, slick trail system, we opted for the steep road, hiking 3.5 KM to the village at the road junction. It was an uneventful, but beautiful walk, with amazing vistas of mountain valleys and lush, tree covered peaks in the distance. We walked by numerous crude wooden and adobe shacks, saw campesinos picking coffee in the fields at the unbelievable wage of $2.00 per day and met Indian families that looked like they came right out of National Geographic.
Upon our return to the finca, we took our second ice cold shower in two days. Thank God for the wash cloth. We would barely wet ourselves and then scrub hard with a soaped down wash cloth, rubbing away mud from our legs and the locker room smell of dried sweat from our bodies. It was really a good feeling to get clean.
The afternoon was spent visiting with Fernando and Beatriz, a funny, colorful couple from Argentina. I don’t really remember what we discussed, but was extremely enjoyable.
January 31
Jinotega
It was kind of crazy day. We woke up early, took a short walk to the mirador after breakfast and then laid around in the finca’s hammocks waiting to leave.
Once we got in the bus to Jinotega to experience Nicaragua’s “Going to the Sun” road, it became sort of a disappointment. First of all, the nation’s most scenic highway wasn’t any more dramatic or scenic than what we’d experienced in going to Finca Esperanza Verde. Sure the bus was only able to crawl up the steep grades over the pass at about 10 mph, but other than that, it was just an hour and a half of typical chicken bus misery.
Jinotega itself appeared to be nothing special. Old, beaten down, one story store fronts intermixed with identical looking residences, seemed to characterize the place. Even the cathedral had seen its better days, but unlike Matagalpa, the people seemed friendly, helpful and happy.
After we had checked into our hotel, we started looking at our options. One would have cost us $120 a night, which seemed a bit beyond excessive. The other was “not” recommended by our hotel owner.
Kim quickly came to the conclusion that we should leave the mountains and move to the south, as we had done the coffee tour and hiked many miles through the highlands. Initially, I resisted but quickly followed her logic. My reluctance had more to do with chicken bus aversion than anything else.
The city lost power that night, but our hotel had a gas generator to keep the lights on. Obviously, this wasn’t the first power outage in Jinotega.
February 1
Ometepe
It was a very hard day of travel, but considering all that could go wrong, we continued to have the luck of the Irish.
It all started at our little Jinotega hotel. Bo, an American we had shared breakfast with, indicated that we might have a problem getting a taxi on Sunday. One minute later we had a taxi.
We no more than got to the bus station than we were able to get on the departing bus for Managua, getting the last two seats on the bus.
Sadly, a group of five young and very beautiful Nica girls got on after us, and were so packed in the back of the bus, standing over bags and boxes, that two them got sick, vomiting on the floor. Usually that spreads like wildfire, but with an open window and gorgeous views, Kim and I both actually enjoyed the 2 1/2 hour trip into the capital. Kim, being the kind soul that she is, gave one of the girls a package of kleenex to clean herself with. It was appreciated.
Our luck continued in Managua. We immediately got a cab across the city only to stop a departing bus for Rivas. The cab driver over charged me for the ride, still a ridiculously low amount of money, and it caused me to fester for awhile over being “the dumb Yankee who doesn’t know any better.” Then, after reflecting on his life and job, I decided that it was good to be ripped off and pay a few dollars extra. It really didn’t matter.
As the day wore on we tired of sitting on the bus. Even though our bus was supposed to be an express, it stopped constantly, adding and subtracting passengers and allowing the never ending collection of vendors onto the vehicle.
We had an hour and a half wait at the ferry terminal at San Jorge before we got on the boat, a narrow, ancient craft that rolled wildly with each big wave. The hour long ride was interrupted three times by the ferry stalling. I had visions of the old, wooden boat washing up on the volcanic rock making up the shoreline, with us swimming for our lives and losing all of our luggage. Thankfully, they were able to restart the engines each time, so the “may day” alert was never needed.
Landing on the island of Ometepe was like going through the gates of St. Peter. With the waning sunlight hitting the slopes of Volcan Conception, a glowing collection of greens, tans and browns that were all infected with an orangish tint, it was mesmerizing. Our taxi driver, Francisco, stopped several times for me to take pictures, knowing the best spots to photograph the magical setting. It had been a long, hard day, 9 1/2 hours in transit, but our new home in paradise wiped away our travel fatigue. Two cold beers, and a wonderful fresh fish dinner later, I was one of the happiest men in the Western Hemisphere.
February 2
Ometepe
It was a very leisurely existence after our travel marathon the previous day. We got up early , but sat about for most of the morning drinking coffee and visiting. When we finally got moving, our activity was a stroll through the countryside to see the island. We walked the road past Balgue, a small village of crude huts that all seemingly had bicycle rentals, and on to Finca Magdelena, an older hotel of sorts with beautiful grounds, but a more youthful, raucous backpacker crowd. A few very primitive hostels dotted the shoreline. We stopped to use the internet at one, and both agreed that we wouldn’t have been happy staying there at all. It was a place of over indulgence of alcohol, cigarettes, cheap American action movies and crappy, fast food. Not our kind of lodging.
This may be Lonely Planet’s eighth wonder of the world, but it’s still desperately poor and backwards. We saw men thrashing wheat by pounding the heads on rocks the old fashioned way: holding a bundle of stalks in your hands and powering them down on a rock like you were swinging an axe to chop wood. We saw a truck loaded with bananas, a rancher pushing a small herd of Brahmas past us on the road and many people hiding out from the over 90 degree heat in the shade of their houses. At the end of our walk, we wandered through a banana plantation to the beach, and even though it was hotter than hot, I didn’t want to go swimming due to the waves crashing up on the lava boulders that made up the shoreline.
Our eyes, no matter where we walked, were always drawn to the two volcano cones, watching the ever present cloud mass at the apexes changing form. Both are nice, but Conception, with its perfect symmetry, really is spectacular.
El Encanto is a wonderful travel destination. It’s small, four rooms, the food is excellent, the grounds are beautiful and Carlos, the owner, is very personable and helpful. Ometepe wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable without El Encanto.
February 3
Ometepe
The day was all about kayaking. We got up at the crack of dawn to have breakfast and then rush to the bus stop, actually a large, flat lava rock by the side of the road, only to wait for nearly an hour for our transportation.
The bonus of our wait was meeting Veronica. She wandered up to the same rock and sat down next to us. Before long, we were chatting in very limited Spanish about everything and anything that we could think of. She, like most Nicas, was so kind, so patient with us. We learned that she lived in Costa Rica most of the year to support herself, and that she was a janitor at a pre-school there. She was home on holiday to see her family.
The actual kayak trip was just average. I had a kind of “been there, done that” attitude about the whole thing. Yes, we saw howler monkeys, women washing clothes using a washboard on the shoreline of the lake, a man standing chest deep in the lake’s water net fishing for small, green colored fish and a wide variety of monster sized trees. The little river, our goal on the trip, glowed green with vegetation and with the blue sky and cone of Conception in the background, was a remarkable vista. Fish eating birds of all colors and sizes buzzed over our heads. Nevertheless, the whole thing was just adequate for the $45 we invested in the adventure.
After I took a brief dip in Lago Nicaragua, we walked back to El Encanto, a long, sticky-hot four miles of punishing sun. An ice cold Tona did much to repair our frame of mind and restore my body to a state of happiness.
Perhaps the best part of the day was assisting an older American woman in teaching English on the beach in front of the kayaking establishment. Both Kim and I exclaimed on how much we enjoyed working with kids again. In reflection, it was more fun than the expensive kayak trip.
February 4
Ometepe
Wind! Brutal, rip roaring, hard blowing, endless wind was the story of the day. February is the windy season on the Pacific side of Nicaragua, but what we experienced far, far exceeded our understanding of “windy season.” It must have blown 50-70 mph gusts all day and into the following night, knocking out power to El Encanto by the next morning.
Nevertheless, Kim and I walked to Eye of the Water, a small swimming hole where the locals had dammed up a stream and built a cement pool. On our way there we were sand blasted near the open beach, but on our way back, it was much much worse. We were absolutely pelted by millions of fine particles of sand. The word “misery” doesn’t really begin to describe it. In view of this fact, Kim and I were motivated to make the hour and a half walk in only an hour on the return to our hotel. We were moving. I could barely keep up with my short legged wife.
The day at the pool was wonderful. Since it was in the trees, we were protected from the wind, and actually enjoyed laying about reading and taking short swims. It was a very peaceful, very lazy day.
El Encanto is really an exceptional deal for $25 a night. Carlos, the owner, has paid great attention to detail, insuring that our experience would be a positive one. From the fresh fish to coconut-curry chicken, the dinner menu was delightful, and the morning coffee, a full bodied, rich cup of joe, along with your typical Nica breakfast of rice and beans, fried platonos, cheese and eggs with a tortilla, was a perfect way to start the day. The rooms are bright and cheerful and the grounds are filled with a wide variety of beautiful flowers.
February 5
Ometepe
The winter wind continued to howl across the lake from the Caribbean, shutting down all ferry traffic to the island. Even though we weren’t scheduled to go anywhere, it made us feel trapped and isolated on Ometepe.
When the power went out and stayed out all day and well into the evening, I felt like I was home in the Alaska bush. It was if I could look out my window to see Henry coming on his snow machine to start up the school generator.
Kim and I hiked to the Volcan Maderas look out with three other El Encanto tourists and our guide, Hector. The five to six mile walk was nice, if not spectacular. From our perch, we could see Conception totally in the nude, with only a small plume of smoke covering her top. We looked down on the top half of the figure eight shaped island, seeing the glowing green marsh lands, the rising canopy of trees moving up the mountainside and of course, the white capped waters of Lake Nicaragua. It really was pretty.
On our way back down we ran into two groups of monkeys, stopping to watch them complain about our presence.
Unfortunately, by the time we hit the bottom, Kim was ill. She complained of being nauseous, eventually vomiting, which seemed to help. She spent the rest of the day locked in our room, attempting to regain her health. I missed her good company at dinner that night. It was a lonely feeling.
February 6
Ometepe
Kim spent the bulk of the day laying in bed nursing herself back to health. Slowly, but surely, she recovered enough to read, trounce me in rummy and even eat a few spoonfuls of dinner.
I took two long walks to keep myself from going stir crazy. During the morning jaunt into Balgue, the highlight was experiencing a “one bull run.” As I was walking along enjoying the beautiful morning, I noticed that the lady walking in front of me all of a sudden nervously scurried off the road and through a gate into a yard. I continued on, not thinking anything about her action, and as I rounded the corner, I found a large Brahma bull with a nose ring and slobber hanging from his mouth, trotting down the middle of the road towards me with his master running behind. I moved to the side of the road and froze by the fence, nervously watching the bull. He fired a threatening look at me and feigned coming my direction. Thankfully, after what seemed like hours but was only seconds, he decided that I was too skinny to gore, and continued on his original track. If I would have had time to react, I’m sure that urine would have been running down my legs.
The afternoon entailed a long walk towards Merida. After eating some sweets at Kiosk Peru to build up my waning energy level, I wandered down to the beach for a short swim. The water was perfect and I had my part of the beach all to myself. I watched flocks of bright green parrots shoot by me overhead at a high elevation, squawking loudly to make sure that I noticed them. Down the beach, a dad and his two sons were bathing while his wife was doing their laundry. While they sudsed up with shampoo and frolicked in the warm water, she stood at the back of a beached boat, using an old washboard to scrub each individual item. Women’s work does not appear to be easy in third world Nicaragua. And as for Nicas being ecologically aware, after seeing the detergents and shampoos being used in the creeks and lakes everywhere, and the roadsides habitually littered with chip wrappers and soda cans, I think that I can safely say that they are not overly concerned about the environment. Nicaragua is not your left wing, socialist, green party paradise.
February 7
Playa Gigante
The wind finally calmed enough for us to make a break for it. We quickly threw together our possessions, paid our bill and hopped a taxi for the over hour long, bone rattling ride to the port over of the world’s worst roads. The stretch we had walked a few days before in an hour took us over 40 minutes in a Jeep.
Even though it was not blowing like it had been, Lake Nicaragua was still plenty choppy. Neither of us got sick from the hour long ferry ride, but we weren’t bouncing up and down, smiley-happy when we got off the boat.
We grabbed a cab at the port and rode for over an hour, a $40 bill, to Playa Gigante and the Hotel Brio, which is owned by a Texas geography professor. At this point, both Kim and I were tired of the road. Sea sick, bus sick, taxi sick.....I don’t know what the problem was, but we were just tired of traveling. She wasn’t happy to be on the beach and I wasn’t happy to be in Nicaragua, period. Even so, I walked the beach for about an hour. Even with its rugged beauty and the amazing sunset we experienced that night, I still longed to for my home in Utah.
February 8
Playa Gigante
The day started with another leisurely breakfast and copious inhalation of rich Nica coffee. After we’d finished, we went on a walk looking for the American style gated community that was supposed to be nearby. Thirty-five minutes down the road Kim complained of nausea. Since 95% of the country uses wood as its cooking fuel, its smell permeates everything here. Every time you walk by one of the simple shanties you’re overcome with the smell of campfire, rotting food, discarded gray water and the stray animals, such as pigs and chickens pillaging around in their front yards. It’s really not pleasant. Since Kim was still not feeling well from Ometepe, the smell coupled with the intense heat and humidity made for a perfect storm.
We made it back to the beach, where we sat in a shady, protected area by a large rock peninsula jutting out into the ocean. Slowly her health returned and I scurried back to our hotel to collect our swim suits and other gear for a day at the beach.
It started off well. I swam and body surfed a bit, enjoying being back on the ocean. Finally, Kim decided to join me, but quickly decided that it was way too cold for her comfort. While I continued to body surf, she went back to the beach, only to be absolutely sand blasted by the wind. Disgusted, she stormed off, leaving me to wonder what had happened. I ran to catch up with her and she explained that she just couldn’t take the beach anymore. I felt badly that I had put her in this circumstance.
February 9
Playa Gigante
It had taken awhile, but I finally found that beach Nirvana that I was in search of in Nicaragua. Initially, it was the ever pervasive wind howling that took the allure out of Playa Gigante. Then, when I did get in the water, every jelly fish in the Pacific seemed to zoned in on stinging me. Misery!
Finally, just as we were getting restless, we met our Alaskan buddies on their way down the beach. We trudged along with them, chatting about hockey and fishing. When we got to the far end of the beach, it was like Moses had parted the Red Sea. The wind stopped, the sun came out and there were no jelly fish within a hundred miles. Even the waves were bigger and better for body surfing. I happily spent the rest of the afternoon body surfing and building a sand castle in the image of the Luxor.
It had been a perfect beach experience. As for me, I was in heaven. Life couldn’t have been better. Even Kim, with her negative feelings about the ocean, seemed to enjoy herself.
February 10
Playa Gigante
Kim and I, after looking at the St. George weather forecast, and playing on the beach for two straight pleasure filled days, now consider ourselves to be the luckiest people alive.
It was an amazing day. Not much really happened, just more of the same laid back beach life. I took an hour long walk in the morning along the coastline, stopping at one point to help the locals pull up their fishing boats. We played at least three games of gin rummy, with Kim storming back to take a 10-9 lead. At about 1:30 P.M., we took our two mile walk to the beach, where we sat under a shade tree and read our books. Occasionally, we would haul our bodies up and go body surfing, riding the foam over and over until we were tired.
At the end of the afternoon, we helped our Alaskan friends build a massive sand fortress, equipped with a moat, draw bridge and thorn fence between the parapets.
We walked home very slowly, watching the sun set in the western sky. It was simply a marvelous day.
February 11
Playa el Coco
It was difficult, but we left our paradise at Playa Gigante to move south of San Juan del Sur to Playa el Coco. Hotel Brio had been nothing exceptional, but with the friendly staff like Nestor, James and Jackie, plus our own private surf beach, it was an amazing deal. We had paid $250 for four nights and all of our meals and beer. Beat that!
We shared a 40 minute taxi ride into Rivas with our young Alaskan friends, and then sat in the most colorful, interesting bus station of our lives. It was full of hawkers, selling everything from delicious pastries to cheap watches and party dresses for little girls. Some were toothless old women, who took it upon themselves to be our protectors in making sure that we were safe and that we were going to get on the right bus, while others should have been in grade school instead of selling cheap trinkets. One young boy, no older than 13 years, was shuffling around the terminal with a good 25 pounds of jewelry and flashlights hanging from his neck. When I asked to take his photo, he sat down next to us and visited with us about the world. He wanted to know about the United States. “Was it expensive there? More expensive than Costa Rica even?” he inquired.
The actual bus ride was Hell. It was hot, humid, the sun was beating in on me, I was cramped, and you couldn’t have pried another soul into our old American school bus for a million dollars. It was so loaded we had to take turns breathing.
To add insult to injury, we sat in the over 100 degree bus for more than 40 minutes in San Juan del Sur before the driver continued on towards Ostional. Five and a half hours after our departure I saw the sign for Parque Maritime el Coco, one of the most anticipated sights in my life. We fought to get our heavy packs down from the overhead rack, and shuffled to the exit, accidently banging into everyone unlucky enough to be sitting in an aisle seat.
Parque Maritime el Coco was like a massive Advil for my travel weary soul. With in minutes we were inside the cutest little, five sided bungalow on Earth, equipped with air conditioning, satellite television, a refrigerator and our own personal grass roofed sitting area. Kim and I couldn’t get over it. We were almost giddy to have such a magnificent, but albeit, miniature piece of the world of luxury.
Playa el Coco is a nice beach, but no where near what we had experienced in the north. The waves were much smaller and the actual beach was way shorter. However, with its rock islands and the pretty coastline of Costa Rica in the distance, it wasn’t anything to scoff at.
Our dinner at the hotel restaurant that night was hideous. I had a $12 plate of octopus that was flavorless, while Kim’s fish was equally expensive and no better than mediocre.
Without a doubt, the very best thing to happen that day was watching my beloved Utah Jazz beating the much disdained Los Angeles Lakers in a nail biter on ESPN Espaniol. Considering that our usual bed time had been around 9:30 P.M., I found it odd to be glued to the television, adrenaline pulsing through my veins at 11:00 P.M. It was a fantastic feeling.
February 12
Playa el Coco
Even though the wind returned with a vengeance, I didn’t really mind as much at Playa el Coco. I started the day off by taking a walk down the road to the turtle refuge. The best thing about he walk was seeing a gigantic mama hog with her little piglets.
When I got back, Kim and I crawled over the rocks in following the coastline. It really was beautiful, looking at the bizarre rock formations that the ocean had eroded away and the ever changing color of the ocean’s water. By the end of our walk, Kim was talking about “possibly returning to Nicaragua next year.” I must admit, I wasn’t exactly arguing with her on the topic.
The afternoon was spent under a grass covered beach patio reading. I would do a few pages and then go for a quick swim. Not a bad way to pass a day.
One of the most interesting components of our stay at the Parque Maritime is the wake up call service. Every morning, at first light, a large, blue backed, Magpie looking bird with a Quail like crown on his head, loudly pecks on the glass panes of our bungalow. In case we’re stalking him, he moves from side to side of the building, making sure he isn’t caught. It would be impossible to sleep through this avian alarm clock. I told Kim that it’s proof of reincarnation, and that he’s one our students from our days in Alaska coming back to terrorize us. It’s payback, baby!
February 13
Playa el Coco
Our last day at the beach was our best day at the beach. The wind finally died down, it was perfect conditions for body surfing and Playa el Coco was magnificently beautiful.
Even my morning walk was pretty optimal. I ran into a couple of young Canadian girls staring up at a tree, which just happened to be filled with monkeys. I don’t know why they fascinate me so much, but I stood there a long time watching them jump from branch to branch while feeding.
The rest of the day was spent reading, body surfing and occasionally strolling down the beach. The water was perfect, the air temperature was perfect, we had the perfect breeze.....it was just perfect. Period!
February 14
Laguna de Apoyo
Remember how you hated riding in that yellow Blue Bird school bus in the 1960’s? How it was crowded, hot and obnoxiously loud? Remember how you would have a headache by the time you made it home from school?
Well, things haven’t changed. Nicaragua still uses those 1960’s vintage Blue Birds, and they’re even more cramped, hotter and more miserable than when you were 15 years old.
We boarded the Ostinional to Rivas bus outside our compound at 7:30 A.M. The helper threw our backpacks on top of the bus and ushered us into the interior, where we found every seat taken and the aisle packed with people. Still, as we proceeded down the road, the bus stopped to pick up more and more passengers, stuffing the interior to Guinness Book of World Records proportions. We were yelled at by the helper at one point for not moving back more, even though I was balancing on one leg, my butt was directly in a man’s face and I had my heavy day pack balanced on top of the seat in front of me. New passengers were finally reduced to climbing on the bus’ roof and holding on for dear life as it slowly labored up the steep hills. For Nicas, this seemed like an every day, ho-hum event. Amazingly, this situation continued for the next 2 1/2 hours, all of the way into San Juan del Sur and onto Rivas. We were so miserable it was actually funny.
When we finally got into Granada around noon, we loaded up our packs and shuffled off to Hostel Oasis to wait for the 4:00 P.M. van to Crater’s Edge. It was hot! So hot that you literally felt like you were melting, a feeling we hadn’t experienced since staying in Granada a month earlier. It was awful!
Kim suggested that we eat our Valentine’s Day meal at the fancy restaurant we had enjoyed so much on our earlier stay in the city. Mistake! This time the meal was mediocre and the price was excessive for the value of the food. Nevertheless, they had air conditioning, which was a life saver after our day in the buses.
Getting to Laguna de Apoyo was like going to heaven. Words would not adequately describe the pure bliss I felt when I dove into that 85 degree water. It was so good, so right after the day of “yellow bus hell” we had experienced.
February 15
Laguna de Apoyo
The earlier serenity that we had found at Crater’s Edge was no longer prevalent. In its place, we found a throng of young people, day trippers who served as volunteers in the Granada area, who were pleasant beach partners, but it took away our feeling of ownership of Ann’s resort.
Even so, we had a delightful day of visiting, reading, swimming and kayaking. We caught up with news of Sontule from Martina and stayed up late listening to the exploits of a young British couple who had traveled both South and Central America. It was a delightful, if uneventful day. The water was perfect, there was hardly any wind and one felt as if he weren’t in heaven, he must at least be in the suburbs.
February 16
Laguna de Apoyo
We spent our day in the shopping mode. We got up early, wolfed down a substantial breakfast from Ann’s buffet and then took off walking for the Catarina Mirador. By the time we hit the steep, uphill section of the trail, God had turned up the heat and sweat absolutely poured off of our bodies. I honestly thought that Kim was in trouble at one point, as her face flushed fire engine red and even her bare arms were dripping sweat like a leaky faucet. Nevertheless, with a couple of short breaks, we made the top in good time and sat there to enjoy the view of the Laguna, Lake Nicaragua and Mombacho.
I flagged down a tut-tut and we rode down the highway into Masaya, where we once again aimlessly walked through the multitude of stalls looking for that special item to take home as a souvenir of our trip. Finding nothing better, we made our way back to the same shop we had previously frequented and bought two more masks to go with the one we had purchased earlier on the trip.
February 17
Laguna de Apoyo
Our Nicaraguan experience was finally over. In retrospect, it was one of our best trips ever. We had loved nearly every day of this great Central American adventure.
Yes, we had seen many interesting and beautiful sights, from the quaint cloud forest villages and farms of Miraflor to the wild surf breaking on the beach at sunset at Playa Gigante. However, the very best part of the experience was the people - so warm, so friendly, so helpful. It’s hard to understand how they could be this way. After all, they are poor beyond comprehension, often living in homes without doors and windows and with their chickens and pigs underfoot. On top of this, they are less than 30 years removed from a disastrous civil war that divided families and killed over 100,000 of their people. Considering my country’s involvement in this travesty, I found it interesting that they liked Americans and wanted to interact with us. Of all the countries we have visited, I would have to say that the Nicas are the friendliest people in the world.
Panama and Costa Rica are beautiful and travel was much easier and more comfortable there. Even so, if given the option of a return trip or living in one of the three countries, I would select Nicaragua in a heartbeat. It’s colorful, it’s exciting and every day would be like living a National Geographic special.
Our trip had cost us around $3200 for five weeks of travel. We had eaten well, stayed in nice places and had done every activity that interested us for approximately $90 a day. I would say that $90 a day is an exceptionally good deal for two people traveling in 2009. Nicaragua is possibly the last best bargain on Earth.
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