October Break Entry II

Upgrading

I should take this opportunity to mention that the accommodations that our travel weary selves hastily fell into that night were less than ideal. The floor looked wet with what Ji guess was insect repellent similar to what he had witnessed in Thailand. The room smelled like mothballs. The bathroom was dingy, the shower stall stained and a wall of mildew was creeping up the shower curtain from the bottom. We decided at dawn to upgrade, but first we had to eat.

I have known Ji-Soo for seven months and he has been very honest about one thing from the start: if he gets hungry, he gets cranky. I had never seen this fully manifest itself and was beginning to doubt the truth of it, until that morning in Moyogalpa. I’m sure spending the night in a hot, stinky, mildewed hotel room did not help the matter, but Ji was intent on one thing: getting food in his belly. NOW.

The first place we stumbled upon was a little sign outside a gate advertising rooms for rent and a restaurant. We looked inside. There was a short path between two buildings that let to a covered area with plastic tables and chairs. Beyond that was an outdoor kitchen and beyond that a large dirt courtyard with chickens running around and a pigpen in the corner. Did I mention that Moyogalpa is one of the two main towns on Ometepe Island, and that we were on one of the central streets in the town? Welcome to Nicaragua.

We paused, looking into the courtyard, deciding whether or not to enter, when a voice from the kitchen called. “Come in, come in! Have a seat!” So we did. And we ate. And it was awesome. Gallo pinto (rice and beans) with scrambled eggs, fried cheese and ham. Ji had coffee and I had some sort of delicious, freshly made juice. Chickens ran around our feet as we ate. In the kitchen behind us a woman was cooking a huge pot of something on an open stove. By huge I mean I could have taken a bath in it with little trouble. The pigs happily squealed in their pen. We wanted to ask if we could take pictures, and I wanted to ask if we could check out the pigpen, but I got shy and so we just paid and left.


(Ji with his instant coffee at breakfast)

We sat and digested awhile in the park, grabbed our belongings, checked out of our dingy hotel and hopped on the 10:20 bus to Playa Santo Domingo, which, according to our guidebooks, has the nicest beaches and accommodations on the island.


(Ji with his belly full in the dilapidated town park in front of the church)

Playa Santo Domingo

Up to this point Ji’s “vacation” had consisted of early mornings, long hot bus rides, sweat and mildew. Playa Santo Domingo was a change of pace. We spent that first day, Monday, just relaxing. We found a comfortable lavender colored hotel room with a screened window open to the lake, which gave a steady, cool breeze. After that I don’t remember much since it was such an uneventful, pleasant day. I think we ate lunch and then sat on the patio for another hour, enjoying the breeze. I’m sure a nap found it’s way in there, and I know that instead of renting bikes late in the afternoon we went for a walk. We ate dinner and sat around reading the Smithsonian magazines that Ji brought me and he started on a new novel. After dinner we sat on the steps leading to the beach and watched the stars come out and then fell asleep in our lavender room with a sweet lake breeze and gentle, continuous roar of waves breaking on the black sand beach.

(Ji in our lavender room)


(Uracas)


(our evening walk)


(laundry drying in the lake breeze)

When we almost killed ourselves

The next day we got a relatively late start, and were at breakfast enjoying translation errors in the menu before nine in the morning.

We decided to rent bikes and bike around the smaller of the two volcanoes. We estimated that this would be about a twenty mile ride, which is rigorous, but we are both in pretty solid shape and we calculated that if we biked four miles an hour, this would take us five hours. It was before ten in the morning and we had plenty of time.

The hotel we were staying in did not rent bikes, so we went next door. Bike rental prices there were $2/hr or $10 for the entire day. Not bad. After a lot of butt sitting we were eager to get some exercise and be out in the sun.

First of all, bike quality was not just bad, but dangerous. Both of our bikes were missing cables and could not shift correctly and my bike had minimal braking capacity. We thought: “$2/hr, how bad could it be?” and headed out. The road, in case it is not clear from the photos, was in crummy condition. The paved section of the road on Ometepe Island was completed about two years ago, and had not yet reached Playa Santo Domingo. Monteverde has a dirt road, but it is a well-maintained dirt road. There was a noticeable difference. Going was bouncy, our bums were sore, we were soaked in sweat, but we were having fun. I know this because I checked in with Ji as I began to suspect that our relaxed beach getaway might soon get a little less relaxing.
After a few minutes of bumping along on broken dirt road Ji looked ahead and exclaimed, “Finally, a paved road.” Unfortunately this paved road went straight uphill and neither he nor I could shift down to make our work any easier. Ji, a pretty avid biker, soon passed me. This was hard! I stood up on my pedals and was glad to notice that Ji too, had to stand. Halfway up the hill I reminded myself that biking was supposed to be fun and this was not, so I got off and walked. I was relieved to see that Ji, too, had gotten off his bike and started walking the last few feet up the hill. At least I wasn’t the only one who was struggling with this. After another minute caught up to Ji at the top of the hill.

“Wow. That was hard. I had to walk”, I gasped, as I got closer.
“Yeah.”
“How are you?”
“Um. I feel a little lightheaded.” And then he sat down. This was not part of the plan. As the day progressed and Ji recovered bit-by-bit, more of the true story came out. He had not just been light headed. He was also sweating more than usual, a cold sweat, and had started to see yellow. He suspected that if he had not sat down in that moment, he probably would have passed out. This is when I suddenly realized that I don’t know what to do if someone passes out. Ji said, “Put my feet up, make sure I’m breathing, and then rub my belly.” I wonder what course he learned that in.

Not knowing the full severity of the situation in that moment, I thought it was a great idea to continue with our ride. We walked the bikes up the rest of the hill and then hopped on again. After a few more uphill’s that we have to walk, a few more downhill’s that freaked me out because it took all of my strength to brake, a few more gallons of sweat and more dizziness, we decided that this is no longer fun and we wanted to go back to the hotel.

On the way back we stopped by a hotel restaurant to get Cokes, dry off and relax a bit. I am eternally grateful for the clean and comfortable bathroom at this restaurant because the combination of physical exertion, intense heat, stress of Ji being sick and sugar from the Coke was a recipe for disaster.


(My savior)
When we got back to the hotel we took a quick dip in the lake. It was not until then that I realized why the sound of the waves breaking was continuous. The water stays shallow for a ways out, which means the waves break and then keep breaking, rolling in noisily towards shore. I counted one wave that rolled, white and bubbly, into shore for seventeen seconds. It was a loud beach.

We dried off in the sun, showered, and then did nothing else for the rest of the day. I was careful to not eat much and be gentle with my stomach because we knew we had a long day of travel ahead of us. The goal was to be back in Monteverde by Wednesday night.

From Ometepe to Monteverde (an experience that could have been straight-up hell if it were not for my relaxed and calm travel companion, which actually applies to the entire Nicaragua experience)

Phase I: Bus from Playa Santo Domingo to Moyogalpa.
The waiter at the hotel told us that there were morning buses at 4:30, 5:00 and 5:30. The next one was not until 9:30. We paid our bill Tuesday night, woke at 5:00 Wednesday morning and crept out, leaving our key in the door as we had been instructed. This was yet another early morning for poor Ji, who loves to sleep in.

I had not eaten dinner the night before and did not eat breakfast, hoping that fasting for the day would guarantee an problem-free stomach situation. I grabbed a sip of water as we headed out the door to wait for the bus. Unfortunately, by this point, Ji was fully tuned into all of my bodily functions. That morning he came to the conclusion that my stomach problems are all emotionally triggered as my stomach lurched and clenched with only water in it. We had no idea if this bus would actually come, at what time it would come or if we would make it to Monteverde in one day.

The bus came at 5:29 a.m. How is it that a beat up bus on a busted up road can be so punctual? Greyhound should take notes.

As the bus filled up Ji gave his seat to an older woman with whom I chatted with for the remaining hour of the ride. She had lived outside of Los Angeles for over forty years. When she was twenty-three she had left Ometepe with no electricity and no running water and headed for California. There she met a Peruvian man, they married and had three kids. Her husband wanted to live on the island, and they returned two years ago. She misses the convenience of the southern California suburbs and the decorative cabbage plants she saw everywhere, but her husband is content and she is on the island to stay.

Phase II: Ferry from Moyogalpa to San Jorge
A few minutes after seven we were on a much smaller ferry then the one that took us to Moyogalpa. To board we filed one at a time thru a door in the gate while a man with a clipboard took down everyone’s name, age and nationality. Ji and I were about fifty or sixty people down the list and the first foreigners. I don’t know what this data is for. We were passengers with an old woman with failing health who spent the entire trip with her head on someone’s lap and a bright red towel over her head. When we got off the boat she moaned and groaned and was let off first, clutching the elbow of the young woman who accompanied her. We were also with two Spanish speaking but not Nicaraguan backpackers who were very affectionate with each other and, Ji is convinced, a little malnourished, and a group of eleven school kids with a blanket covered building model. The school group leader was a wide woman in a denim jacket who looked like a truck diver. Ji and I immediately liked her based solely on her thickness and sailor’s gait.

We got to San Jorge almost exactly one hour after we pulled away from Moyogalpa. How do they do that?

Phase III: Taxi from San Jorge to the border
Once again, taxi drivers approached us as soon as we got off the boat. One man agreed to take us from San Jorge to the Ticabus agency in Rivas for three dollars, which is the same as we paid last time. On the way to the car he mentioned gently that you have to buy your Ticabus tickets one day in advance. Shoot - we had forgotten that. He offered to take us to the Nicaragua – Costa Rica border for $20. From there, he explained, you can buy cheaper tickets to San Jose on a bus that leaves more frequently. We agreed.

The ride to the border was interesting. Our driver played a wide range of great American love song classics from the 80’s and 90’s. He, much like the other people we met in Nicaragua, was very patient with my questions. We drove past a wind field that he said was put in recently by an American company. They produce electricity and then export it to other countries like Costa Rica. He admitted that there is some resentment on the part of Nicaraguans that a foreign country has come in to export energy. He showed us the old Nicaraguan border and explained that all of the trucks were waiting to be inspected. He offered, for an added fee, to contact a friend of his that works in immigration who could expedite the process for us. We said thanks but no thanks. We’re going to try to navigate the border by ourselves this time. He smiled, pointed us in the direction of the immigration offices and dropped us in front of a place to eat breakfast.

Phase IV: The border by ourselves
As soon as we stepped out of the car we were swarmed by people trying to “help” us cross the border. Ok, maybe “swarmed” is a bit of an exaggeration. There were only two men, but it was still a big overwhelming. They were trying to sell us the papers we needed to fill out to go through immigration, but they had only the yellow copy of a carbon copy. I’m not sure what their plan was.

We “No gracias”ed them and sat down to eat. My stomach had been solid for hours and I was hungry. The food was mediocre and expensive. Needless to say, little time passed before my stomach started to flip. The entire operation was a little skeezy. I brought down a can of Pringles for snacks later that was labeled 35 cordovas. The lady, who seemed like the owner of the place, went to ring me the purchase as 45 cordovas, but the waiter corrected her.
“It’s 35 cordovas.”
“No, it’s 45.”
“Well, it says 35 right here”, he said, pointing to the price tag.
“What? 35? No! What kind of crazy person put that? It’s 45.” Looking at me: “I’ll give it to you for 40.” I agreed because I wanted to leave and it was a twenty-five cent difference. I paid and as I walked out I told her,
“The other can of Pringles is also labeled as 35, in case you’d like to change it.”

(real time update: there are many more pictures but they are taking a long time to load on the slow school connection. The will be added some time in the future.)