Granada: crossing paths with a blast from the past

If you have been following my blogs for some amount of time, or actually know me pretty well as a person, you have the knowledge that camp was and still is a huge part of who I am. Being a camp counselor was by far the best decision I have ever made. I made friends from all over the world, discovered my love for kids, passion for people, the real meaning of exhaustuation, sparked my interest in travel and overall gave me some of the best summers of my life. My first summer at Sandy Hill in 2007 I met a a lot of amazing people, including Rena my soulmate best friend.
Some of the rest of these people where the Martin's. Martin from Germany, Martin from Sweden and Martin from Scotland. The fact that they had the same names put an obvious mark of fate that they had to be best friends, and honestly to this day I have met a more perfect trio. They dominated the varsity boy two-weekers with their admirable devotion to the weekly dance, flag pole, cabin clean up, dinning hall "give me one" as well as the talent show. Always bringing new dance moves, grotesque methods of making the girls gag at the talent shows, as well as finding a variety of ways to round up their 16 year olds and do something mischievous just to the line where Greg (our beloved camp director) would give the eye while holding back a smile. Camp loved them.

They even created an "I love Martin" stencil and charged campers for them to spray paint their official logo onto whatever clothing item they wanted. Pure genius.

I was "privileged" enough to become really good friends with the Martin's that summer and counselor free time added a whole new level of epic. Baltimore, New York City, Washington DC were a handful of places we scurried about on our days off. By the end of the summer we decided to add a finale trip to an already perfect summer. Martin Hayes' family had a beach house in Sarasota, Florida and it was ours if we wanted it. Was that really even a question? The crew changed all our flights home for a glorious 10 days extravaganza of Florida sunshine.

One Scot, one German, one Swed, one Aussie, one Canadian, one American and two Kiwis. It was a shit show to say the least.

Apparently I hadn't had enough of Martin hilarity so I flew myself all the way to Germany the following winter to hang Martin Steinhoff. German Martin and I, then flew on over to Scotland where we found Martin Hayes and even Zoe (one of the kiwi's in our summer posse)! 

In the day and age of Facebook Martin saw that I was in Nicaragua and that the planets would align and he would be in Granada (three hours away from me). Que emocionante! So I bused myself to Granada and we played for the weekend. We went to a bar that played a lot of Michael Jackson, drank shots that were on fire and walked in circles back to the hostel. We recovered by floating in tubes on Laguna De Apoyo and continuing the drinking later that evening. In the midst of catching up Martin told me he was moving to Australia in January to find a job with his newly acquired architecture degree. Oh how wonderful, in that I plan to be in Australia around March next year. So we scheduled another "banter" for the following year. The next day I showed Martin around Granada being that I am now a Nicaraguan veteran. Then I headed back to Leon in the same manner the buses always do, half hugging Martin while they half pull me onto the bus while never truly coming to a complete stop. I waved goodbye and said "See you in Australia!"I find myself saying things like that to a lot of my friends lately. I like that.

 Next stop Australia!

Masaya: el club and the 50 cent book

A long lost friend of mine was going to be in Granada on Saturday so I decided to make the trek to see him. Going back south I planned on checking out Masaya for a day, in which I had heard that it was the place to go for any Nicaragua artisan necessity. Being that Masaya was only 30 minutes from Granada, I left a day early to go see what my American dollars could get me. After yet another dreaded transit I arrived in one piece in Masaya. The market was amazing. I shopped until I spent every last dollar and cordoba on me just as it was getting dark.

I pulled out the trusty Moon book to find the nearest hostel I could walk to. I found one that looked walking distance on the map and asked (in my newly acquired spanglish) a group of Nica's sitting outside a restaurant if they could point me in the right direction. They told me it was getting dark and that it wasn't safe to walk. Being that I had spent everything last type of currency on me, I asked for an ATM so I could grab a cab. The group looked at each other with concern and one of the men personally escorted me to the ATM. This made me a bit uneasy, but it turned out he was there to protect me. He put me in a cab and once again my heart melted at the fact I keep finding Nicaraguans that want to go out of their way to help me.
Apparently the only hostel in Masaya no longer exists, but a nice old women next to the once hostel offer me a room for $6 at her hotel named "Hotel California". The accommodation was of the $6 standard but the sheets were clean and I just wanted to sleep. At about 8pm pulsing Katy Perry and other variations of pop music flooded my room along with neon lights. I looked out the window to find "El Club" in full motion. It was a Friday night in Masaya and the locals were ready to "party like its the weekend". Damn.

At this point I realized I hadn't eaten dinner so I decided to find food. About a block into my wander, torrential downpour hit and I found myself taking refuge in the doorway of a bar, how convenient. The rain didn't stop so I took it a sign of fate and awkwardly drank a beer in the middle of five Nicaraguan dudes as the rain passed. I eventually found beloved street food and happily ate it on the steps of "Hotel California". I studied some Spanish, had some practice with el nino de la senora, took an ambien and eventually fell asleep to Brittany Spears and green lasers on my wall.
The next day I was eating breakfast and a young Nica claimed the chair next to me. Nicaraguans that can speak any English love to talk to white people and practice. So he blabbed as much as he could as I ate gallo pinto and then offered to be: mi guia para el dia. In every town I go to Nicaraguans seem to inform me I have them as a guide for cheap price. I always decline and then they change the line to mi amigo para un dia. I accepted my new friendship and told him of my on going search for a book in English. We grabbed some cokes and were off to find los libros en ingles. We went to a total of three book stores. During this process I was convinced that America uses Central America as a sort of garbage disposal. The Nicaraguan public buses are condemned school buses, some repainted and filled with dangling crosses and flags, some not repainted and the words "Boone Country School District" still in bold black letters reminding me that my source of transportation decades earlier is now my current source. To add to this handy down idea, plenty of "tiendas" sell clothes with goodwill price tags still on them. Now during my search for a book, the english books I was offered were 1990's tween books such as The Baby Sitter's Club and Goosebumps (which I considering for 3 seconds). Along with War and Peace that started at page 153 and Principles of Psychology volume 2. So, I'm pretty sure this is how it works: An American school bus is condemned and on its way down towards the Mexican border this bus stops at Goodwills and libraries along that way and takes whatever shit that us American's deem as unworthy and send it on down to Central America. Anyway, I somehow managed to find a book that seemed interesting, in english, all pages in-tacked and for 50 cents! Even among the odd organization concept of tienda de libros.

After the book success, Nelson and I went to the hammock factory, I bought one, we talked in half Spanish half English to the bus station, I bought him a banana and fanta to thank him and I was off to find my favorite Scottish man in Granada!

the occasional indulgence

I went to the store tonight for yogurt since I have been eating really healthy now that I have a kitchen and a consistent place of residency. Not only have I been eating healthy but I've been able to go back to my wheat-free ways realizing that there was in fact a reason I cut it out of my diet in the first place. But something came over me during todays grocery store visit, not only was I going to rebel from my healthy past five days, but also against my stupid wheat intolerant gut. I was going to buy a whole packet of cookies and eat the whole thing without any sense of guilt, and that I did.

Sometimes you need to eat an entire packet of cookies. Not just one, two or even three. You need to eat the entire thing. Even when you get the to the last few and you're feeling satisfied, you need to finish the whole damn thing for the sake of doing so.

 It's extremely liberating. 

I totally recommend doing that every once in awhile, whatever your lifestyle restriction is. Maybe you're a person of weekend errands and activities, I dare you to do absolutely nothing on a Saturday instead. Yea, nothing. Like stay in your sweats and watch Disney movies all day. Yea, I freaking dare you. Or you're a super awesome committed college student that swears off anything fun until after finals? Not only do I challenge you to go have a drink or five during the term, but on a Tuesday. YEA, do it.

You won't..

Leon: my new home for the next 3 weeks

I made it to Leon on Wednesday which was quite the success. I had multiple bus transfers from Esteli and was not as lucky in finding Nicaraguans that wanted to be patient with my level of Spanish. However, one Nica on the bus bought me a coke in that I only had a $20 bill which in America is like trying to pay for a piece of candy with a fifty dollar bill at a baseball game. I showed up to La Isla Foundation and was greeted by Josue and Collin, the director and spanish school coordinator. I was given a tour the of the foundation office/ home and fell in love instantly.

I have come to notice that every house in Nicaragua has the same lay out, a rectangle shape with a court yard in the middle. Making the houses always feel like a home, a community. My accommodation is the dorms that La Isla has for their volunteers and other visitors. Being that it is slow season, I'm the only one volunteering so I have an enormous room and private bath to myself. Tall ceilings, beautiful tile floor and a huge glorious wooden door (I have a thing for doors).

After settling in Collin informed me that we would have to wait for the rain to stop before we went to the community, which is about 45 minutes outside of Leon. A hurricane hit the Atlantic coast on Sunday and the Pacific side was now experiencing the changes in climate, well there ya go the constant rain made more sense now. So since my arrival the rain has not stopped. However, I have spent my days taking full advantage of the rain and cooler temperatures. Workouts in the morning, Spanish class, studying Spanish with multiple cups of coffee, baking, reading, blogging, watching Dexter and skypeing Berlin, Thailand, Canada and of course home. I'm one content little speck in the world right now. I'm truly and fully loving the change of pace and the fact I can somewhat unpack my bag.

Matagalpa/Esteli: continuing down the off beaten track and being rewarded with leather boots

The "security guard" aka a dreaded nica dude came up to me my first night in Matagalpa and asked what I was planning on doing the next day. When I told him that I planned on hiking Cerro Apante he got super pumped and told me I should go with him and he'll take me a better way. Knowing that he worked for the hostel I felt it was safe to go with him into the middle of the woods. I mean it was a 50/50 chance I’d become part of a human sacrifice or a real cultural experience. So I took my chances and we hiked. When we got to the top it was pouring rain and sought refuge under a beautifully made wooden shelter. His friends met us there a few minutes later and partook in the localities, as did I. We all talked about how much we loved the mountains, it stopped raining, a flock of birds flew by then we had a view of Matagalpa city. Amazing.

Memo's friends gave me a ride back down the mountain in their 4x4, there was Nicaraguan flags in the window and they were blasting house music. I tried not to laugh out loud how funny and awesome all this was. Memo and I ate the best street food ever for 14 cords which was about 60 cents, then I spent the rest of the afternoon drinking coffee and blogging as the streets flooded.

Later that night I went to grab a drink with Memo and brought Jake along, a Utah native that had fallen in love with Nicaragua and was now on an expired visa, working toward four months. Jake hadn’t spoke English in two months and was happy to talk to another American. When he learned I was going to Esteli he decided to tag along and hang out for the day.

Esteli

I woke up early to the rain. Laid in bed for awhile taking in the comforting sound while I let my body wake up. I told Jake I’d meet him at Parque Dario at 10am so I had the whole morning to myself. The rain had brought cooler temperatures, which meant I could wear leggings, something that had previously been an occupant of the bottom of my bag. Leggings, rain jacket, book, journal, camera and I was off to find breakfast and drink more delicious Nica coffee. I love slow mornings, this one was particularly wonderful.

Jake and I got to Esteli around 1pm and we were welcomed with a downpour. So I found the first hostel I could, $5 a night got me a private room with a half working light, it would do. Jake and I put my pack down in my room and sought after a café we could take refuge in until the rain slowed. Jake, the hipster to be, angsty 20-year old and I discussed music, art, politics and organic food over a cappuccino which made me feel like I was home. Feeling particularly happy, we ordered crepes then indulged while Jake taught me infinitive participles of “dar”.

The rain some what stopped and we decided to wander the city. We stumbled upon tons of graffiti art, eye pleasing architecture and dozens of Esteli local hilarities. We took artsy photos and acted like we knew graffiti art still feeling the effects of caffeine and probably some other genre of alteration. I then turned to the reason I was there, leather boots. Custom leather boots. I had heard that Esteli was famous for their leather goods and when I learned that there was a boot shop that would custom make a pair of leather boots for less than three digits, I knew I had discovered gold, gold in world of the fashion.

You know that feeling when you go to Disney land for he first time? Or you find the perfect prom dress when you’re 16? Or getting free tickets to see your favorite band? This was just like that. I was at Disneyland in the world of leather boots. Suede, real snake skin, deer hide, cow hide, ox hide, all sorts of beautiful boots thanks to the skin of various animals. I found my boots in the back corner, but it was love at first sight. Suede top, leather bottom and a grayish green that screamed perfection.

After succeeding with my boots, Jake headed back to Matagalpa and I wandered a bit longer, drooling over leather wallets and handmade Nica colorful backpacks. It started to get dark, which meant I needed to find food before everything closed as well as get back to my hostel before I found myself being a target for getting robbed. I ate the best pork tacos ever then retired to my creepy room. “Please do not soak the bed in blood. There will be a $100 cordorba fine.” Was what the sign on the back of the door read. The half working florescent light added to the murder scene feel, so I changed the mood with my headlamp peanut butter and cereal, big toe and “The Emporers New Groove” playing loud on my lap top. Downloading a bunch of movies before I left was one of the best Ideas I have ever had.

Dario/ Matagalpa: getting off the beaten track and hanging out with the peace corps

Let me tell you something, travelers have a code. We share a passion that gives us plenty of joy, but there are plenty of hiccups that are bound to happen. You get your ipod stolen, you miss your bus and have to sleep in a park, you climb to the top of a mountain for a world renowned view only for it to be offer you the fog from some zombie movie. Sometimes things don't go your way, but overall its the action of being in motion, in different cultures and different environments that truly gives us our drive. We learn to appreciate the small things and what it means to be shit out of luck. In turn, travelers tend to have each others back. We share good (insert appropriate must have condiment here) from home, we don't judge each other for our oddities, we warn each other of bad hostels and even though we may have known each other for a day, we extend the offer to crash on one another's couch when the time comes. 

Tegan Wade is a girl I knew in high school that always had a smile on her face, we were never really friends but realized after high school we really should have been great friends. Via Facebook I have been quite inspired by the path that she has found herself on and continues to be one of my favorite people to learn a few things even if only by photos on a computer screen. After a few status updates about Nicaragua, Teagan sent my a copy and paste from an email she sent her friend Megan that was working in the peace corps in Nicaragua about the must dos and sees. Totally unnecessary but totally awesome. Part of that email included a blurb from Megan telling me to contact her if I wanted any details on the cities she had listed. Being that not many people travel to the northern cities, I emailed Megan with some musts in Matagalpa and Esteli. Realizing we would be in the same place at the same time she offered me the extra bed at her boyfriends house as well as a tour of Matagalpa the next day. Amazing. I had never met this person, but she had enough trust in Teagan and the travelers code, that she was willing to go out of her way for a fellow person of the world. So I was off to meet Megan and her boyfriend Frank in Dario which is a tiny town on the way to Matagalpa. This trek would require four buses and 6 hours of travel time, but Megan sent me an email with step by step instructions at each town I would have to transfer in. So I said goodbye to my friends in San Juan Del Sur and started on my trek via the infamous and sometimes sketchy chicken buses..

The bus ride to Ciudad Dario was among the most humbling experiences of my life. The Nica’s have an insane ability to utilize space on modes of transportation. The bus was so crowded with people, furniture, corn, car tires and my favorite: live chickens that get tied into pink plastic bags that people carry like a hand bag, to their next destination which is most likely where the chicken will go to chicken heaven. This is why backpackers call these buses chicken buses. After demanding I keep my bag with me and not letting one of the bus dudes throw my bag on top of the bus, the ride from San Juan Del Sur to Rivas was easy and not too crowded. Rivas to Mayasa was more interesting, breast feeding and getting spit on in the face were two occasions that I assumed were normal. The bus from Mayasa to Tipitapa was when the humbling process began. When the bus pulled up I just starred thinking “I’ve definitely squeezed in on a chicken bus before, but this is straight up impossible. The bus was bursting at the seams and I was certain this handy-down yellow bus from America was going to see its last chicken today. Without warning the bus dude practically made me jump with a loud “a donde vas”, a millisecond after a responded with “Tipitapa” he grabbed my hand and somehow I acquired the Nica ability to alter physics and we were off. I was smashed up against the front window for a majority of the time, trying not to get in the way of the drivers shifting. Lastly, the bus from Tipitapa to Dario made my heart melt. The money taker was trying to charge me the gringo tax, and I argued with him “veinte, no venite cinco cordobas” he accepted my argument but in turn he ignored me when I asked if he could let me know when we got to Dario. Overhearing the grumble, two extremely lovely Nica's took me under their wing. One lady pulled me in the seat next her and gave me some hand motions that translated as "I will tell you".

When we got to Dario the lady signaled that this was my stop. Now I just needed to find the park that Megan said to meet her in. I asked a man that was getting off the bus “de donde la parque” but instead answered with a lot more spanish than I actually knew but we did successfully communicate that I had mi amigas telefono numbre and he let me use his phone. After getting directions to the park from Megan he waved goodbye. Maybe he thought it was too dangerous to walk alone o the park, but it seemed safe enough. I will never know what he said.

Megan and her boyfriend Frank were awesome. 

(adorably matching university t-shirts that they claim to have not done on purpose)

We dropped off my bag at Franks then went to eat tacos con pollo with topajads which is chicken tacos with friend bananas that kinda resemble potatoe chips. So good. Oh what was the price for a huge meal and a drink? 40 cordobas which is less than $2. You can barely get a good cup of coffee in Portland for that price. After indulging we walked around Dario which is a small town nestled in the mountains and made the temperature much more enjoyable. Frank ran into one of his friends that was working on the church bell tower and asked if we wanted a VIP tour. No one has been allowed up there in a long time, so this added to my "getting off the beaten track". Not only was the view incredible, but we also discovered an owls nest! Rad.

After gawking over the view from the church tower, one of my recent new dreams came true. There’s this wonderful thing that comes in a bag that only the locals really know where to get them. I've heard about it from only a few people that have been in the country for awhile. You have to know which house sells it and after handing them a few cordobas through their window they hand you a bag of joy. No its not drugs silly, its heldo. Basically a milkshake in a bag made from fresh and local ingredients. Mine was coconut and it was everything I hoped and dreamed it to be. 

The rest of the night was needed, chilaxando. San Juan Del Sur killed me with 6 days of "chica especial" of any vodka or rum drink free until 12pm. Dexter on my laptop and a clean bed nestled in Frank's apartment was everything I could want. 

Matagalpa

Megan had to go to Matagalpa the next day for a super important, cool peace corps meeting. Frank offered to show me around for the morning and we would meet up with Megan later that afternoon for lunch. Matagalpa is fairly small, we walked the main streets in about 30 minutes as he pointed out plenty of places to poke around. Northen Nicaragua is known for their coffee so we stopped in at Baristas and chatted over un cafe frio.

Megan met us at a few hours later for lunch when the downpour hit. Thats when Megan and I justified in sharing a piece of cake and coffee while we waited for it to past. The rain, as well as the coffee was comforting, a taste of home that made me smile. They left after the rain slowed and gave them the biggest hugs ever. I felt very grateful to have crossed paths with these people who were basically strangers and had gone out of their way to help me out. Maybe humanity isn't so bad.

San Juan Del Sur: friendship family and a week of surf and 30 cent ice cream

Ya know, San Juan Del Sur should be called San Juan-derful Del Sur. I'm obsessed. It’s an adorable small beach town that attracts mainly backpackers due to the lack of hotel development. This place is one of those diamonds in the rough that I feel blessed to have encountered. A type of place that will be over-run within the next decade with all inclusive resorts, exspensive American food and designer bathing suit walking tourists. So get here before that happens, it has officially reached my top five favorite places in the world.

The hostel I stayed in probably added to my experience here. The Navy boys and I had heard from some Israelis on Ometepe, that Yajure hostel was super clean, on the beach, had hot water (a rarity down here) and charged the same price as everywhere else. So we were in. At the hostel we were greeted by the owners who run the place themselves. Chelle, a Venezuelan retired pro surfer and Liz a professional world traveler from Australia. Together these two created the best hostel I have ever stayed in. Being that Yajure was once a large beach front home, they managed to not only keep the homey feel, but amplify it with their welcoming and loving personalities.

I wasn't the only one who felt this vibe, by the end of the week everyone in the hostel seemed to be quite the little family. My initiation to San Juan was finding myself in a pool that overlooked San Juan, at an after party at a hostel that wasn't my own. I somehow found my way back to Yajure, re-cooped and prepared myself for the next week of awesome which was:

Lay by the pool.

 Surf. 

Read.

 Eat "grand promocion" (30 cent ice cream cone). 

Have epic talks with Chelle. 

Take advantage of free drinks for girls at Iguana bar. 

Middle of the night swimming. 

Repeat.

The navy boys left the day after Friendsday which was completely appropriate. We celebrated Friendsday with a surf, a swim, a game of kings cup, an outing to the bars and a swim in the ocean as the sun came up. They said there goodbyes to me with an early morning group cuddle. A few hours later I finally faced the world for real to find a note..

It's funny how close you become to people in the environment of travel. I'll miss those fools.

This place was a big slap in the face of life, a big dose of love. Aside from my newly acquired brothers, I stumbled upon one of those talks, those talks that do things to your heart. One of the days we went surfing, I came in for a break, found a good patch of sand and just sat watching all the talent within the waves. Chelle joined me not long after and his laid back appearance set the tone to our talk. Tall, extremely tan, dread locked man with either a joint or surf board in hand at all times. This man has lived, played hard, worked hard and most definitely loved hard. I did some major listening, acting as a sponge to his success in the realm of life. As the sun started to set we before headed back into the water and surfed to a setting sun and rainbow colored water. Perfection.

This town was insane and I love it. I’ll save detailed stories from here for when I get home.

Yea, it’s that epic.

Isla De Ometepe: flip cup and adopted by the navy

My last few days in Granada consisted of door picture taking and drinking with the English girls, which lead to climbing volcano’s and drinking multiple Tonas with six boys.

English Claire, Dawn and I had discovered a strip with a bunch of bars, including one bar that had a special: two for one sangria, and some of the best sangria ever might I add. One evening, after several sangrias, an extremely polite Mississippi boy invited us to join him and his friends. After I witnessed Mississippi get “iced” by Pennsylvania I learned this group of four American boys were also planning to go to Isla De Ometepe the same day as me as well as staying at the same hostel. Gary spoke descent Spanish and all four of them adorably wore Dockers with their button up shirts tucked in so I was more than willing to accept their invite to tag along.

The ferry to Isla De Ometepe offered a secluded spot with a view and later one of the most amazing sunsets ever. And if you have been catching on, I love modes of transportation with a secluded spot with a view. Drew and John unfortunately had found themselves absent on the ferry in that they were caught with our group rum. On the way over Gary, Jake and I solidified plans to climb Maderas, a volcano with yet another lake in the middle of it. We made friends with Rory and Ruben from The Netherlands that decided to come along on the hike and as well as stay at the hostel we had in mind.

Landing in Altagracias port, we were officially backpackers and not tourists. A total of 10 backpackers filed off the ferry in the midst of the locals and together we tried to find a mode of transportation to get to our hostels. We found two, old vans that matched their two old drivers and divided according to our destinations. The group going to central part of the island was a total of eight people. Everyone piled in, myself being the last when the driver stopped me with a loud “No Mas”. Oh No. Luckily the three girls from Spain rescued me with their first language and the driver agreed to let me in when she said “no deiscinco para trienta”. Which made the ride $3.50 each instead of $3.

The drive was comical, the roads on Isla De Ometepe were not roads, but in fact dried up creek beds complete with massive rocks and potholes that deserve a different name for their intensity. The locals were obviously used to the state of the roads in that our driver made it up every boulder without hitting a horse, chicken, cow or human in the dark. Arriving at Little Morgan’s we were greeted by John and Drew our favorite rum bandits! Hugs and high fives were followed by uh oh’s when the owner of the hostel told us he didn’t have any beds. We threw on our headlamps and went venturing into the night to find a bed and food. 

We found Rancho Santa Cruz not far down the road that also served chicken and rice. Amesterdam’s Rory and Ruben along with America’s John, Drew, Jake, Gary and myself accepted our middle of the night discovery and went to bed early in that we were hiking Maderas in the morning. Maderas was quite the day. It took 4.5 to get up and 3.5 hours to get down. Staying with the theme of the paths on Isla De Ometepe, the “path” up the volcano was mainly a creek bed, with an incline where I found myself climbing more than hiking. Although it was the most strenuous hike I have ever done, the 10 hours I spent with those 6 boys and Willy our guide were of the most hilarious. 

The four American boys are all engineers on supply boats for the Navy and had quite a few stories from their time in the Academy as well as other international trips they have had together. Willy kept eating jungle creatures and bugs for our entertainment as well as Gary when I challenged him to a “you won’t”. When we finally made it down the other side, Willy bought us all some type of rice pudding from the chica on the side of the road then we parted ways. We took the local transportation to get back to our home base. That transportation being an extremely old, worn out bus with a huge Nike symbol on the front window. It was about 105 degree in the bus, but we did in fact make it back to where we were staying.

We showered off the 8 different layers of mud and clay and went to Little Morgan’s where there was more of a night life, that night life being three tables and people our age that spoke English. Climbing Maderas we made a rule that anytime someone fell they had to buy a round of drinks and there was a total of 6 round of drinks to be drank and we.. drank.

The next day John and Drew rented motorcycles and were gone until the sun went down. Gary, Jake and I rented bikes and did some extreme mountain biking to Ojo de Agua, a natural spring with a cantina that served pina coladas. Which is the perfect way to spend your day after to hike for 8 hours.

Jake, Gary and I watched the sun set over Volcano Conception and then rendezvous with John and Drew and decided to go find a bar. On the way out from hostel we paused to wait for the infamous Jake and popped each other backs via the traditional crossed arms. A passing Nicaraguan man inquired about the process and John popped his back and in turn he told us about un Fiesta about 2K’s away. We grabbed our headlamps, some to go beers and followed the sound of music until we arrived at la fiesta. We were the only gringos there but as American do, we confidently grabbed a $1.50 liter of Tona. *Seriously these prices are amazing, and grabbed a table. We played what Mississippi called captain dickhead (which is really kings cup). Apparently our Spanish gets better as we drink, and became friends with the Nicaraguans at the bar. Next thing I know I’m saying “ocho baritas por favor y dos mas grande tonas” and we were playing flip cup with the locals. We-taught-them-flip-cup. We played until we drank all the beer that la senora had to offer and walked home, drunk and more than accomplished in that we brought flip cup to the little town of Balgue on Isla De Ometepe.

The next day the boys were feeling manly again and rented two quads and a motorcycle. We were in route to the waterfall outside San Ramon when I noticed a sign that said horses for rent. Being that I have a some what fear of motorcycles, no a lot of fear that half my skin will end up on the road, I was thinking that riding horses to the waterfall sounded more fun than sitting on a back of a quad petrified with fear. I convinced Gary to drop me off at the horse rental place when I discovered no horses and no people were there.

I asked the neighbors when to come back and next thing I know Jose offered his horses after I assured him I knew how to ride. Gary had never ridden a horse and was inspired by Jose offering his horses so he decided to come along. I learned that the waterfall was a round trip of 4 hours and even when I am in horse ridding shape, that’s a long time to be on a horse. Denis, Jose’s 17 year old handy man decided to show use around the farm and take us to a view point of Volcano Concepcion. The ride was insanely beautiful and Denis educated us along the way about the raising of coffee plants, beans, rice and corn. He even shared his secret stash of bananas with us. Amazing. After our excursion we took advantage of the lake to wash away sweat and recharged with the most amazing gallo pinto ever. Solid day.

That evening we choose to walk in the dark to a little restaurant at a hotel down the road, our path lit only by flashes of lighting and the moon. I love that feeling of connection that nature gives you in its most beautiful moments. You're lovely Nicaragua.