INTRODUCTION

Thursday, January 14, 2010--UP IN THE MORNING AND OFF TO SCHOOL . . .

Really off to Nicaragua where I will meet daughter Jess for a three-week vacation.  In Nicaragua, Jess and I will meet Jessica's friends, Jenn & Peter. Jenn and Jessica had been co-workers at Blue Waters Kayaking Tours in Point Reyes Station, California, but Jenn had moved to Nicaragua and started her own kayaking business, Ibis Exchange. Jess and I would kayak the Padre Ramos Estero with Jenn as our guide.

The alarm sent out its modern ring at 3 am. Aarrggh! I had not slept a wink. I was finishing a good book about 12:45 am when the cats brought a live mouse to the bed: “IT’S A LIVE MOUSE!” I shrieked, waking Jeff.

The poor tiny mouse was wet from being mouthed. I threw a corner of the duvet over it, and Jeff held it in place, trapping the little guy while I ran to get a plastic container and lid. When I got back we lifted a corner of the duvet carefully and the guy promptly ran out and down behind the trunk at the foot of the bed . . . and disappeared. Neither we nor the cats could find the mouse anywhere.

Back to bed about 1:30 am. Jeff soon asleep and I wide awake. Finished my book but could not sleep, my mind rambling in all directions.

Got up with the alarm, took a shower, and washed my hair. Jeff made coffee and a croissant sandwich for me to take with me for breakfast, airport food being pricey and airlines food being so horrible and undependable.

We got to OKC at 5:30 am for my 6:30 am Continental flight to Houston with connections on COPA to Managua, Nicaragua. Five minutes after Jeff left the airport, I realized that I still had my raincoat on. Damn! I’d dressed for the heat (sandals and Capri's) and had planned to leave the jacket in the car. I rolled it tightly and crammed it into my backpack. I was traveling with only a mid-sized backpack and a fanny pack.

Flight to Houston fine; flight from Houston to Managua somewhat delayed as our pilots had trouble finding a lift to the airport and were late arriving. Many people on the plane were going to a wedding of a NY guy who worked for their company and a Nicaraguan woman. They had their wedding clothing in large bags carefully stowed in the overhead compartments.

As the plane approached the Managua airport, we could see several steaming volcanoes.

I had a bit of anxiety in Managua when I didn’t see either Jess or my backpack. Eventually both showed up, and off we went to the central bus stop, sharing a taxi with two girls from Pennsylvania whom we’d met at the airport.

At the central bus stop, we crammed ourselves into a mini-bus going to Leon. When all the seats are taken, the driver puts a chair or board from seat to seat across the aisle so that there is a center seat but no center aisle. (I found out later that they do this on the pangas, too, to get as many fares on as possible.) I got to sit on such a seat, a metal mesh chair of sorts. I had a young man on my left thigh and a young mother breastfeeding her small black eyed son on my right. Not only did I develop a waffle pattern on my derriere, but I was horribly cramped, my ankles swollen as there was no place to put my long legs and feet.

Most Central and South Americans are diminutive compared to us lanky northern relatives. Thus several aspects of travel in these countries make being tall uncomfortable. Riding on the bus was one of them. The regular buses (not the mini-buses) are all used U.S. school buses — elementary school buses! This means tiny seats with virtually no leg room. Also, in the country areas we traveled, some of the showers and toilets were outdoors and had black plastic privacy walls — privacy for the natives, maybe, but not for me as the walls were only about rib high. I had to crouch down when I was taking a bucket shower or using the loo.

The countryside was drier and more bare than I had imagined for a country this far south. Many people bicycled or rode the dusty roadside in rudimentary wooden carts pulled by small, washboard-ribbed horses, their harnesses made of rope or whatever would work. Men at roadside held up groups of large, dead iguanas by their tails, their tongues hanging out (the iguana’s tongues, that is). I surmised that iguana was a food item here much like guinea pigs are in northern Ecuador. Cattle grazed or were driven at roadside (see below)—the kind of white and pale tan cattle with the ruffled neck wattles and small upturned horns that one sees in pix of Africa. I later learned that these are special Nicaraguan cattle bred to be heat tolerant and are used for both meat and milk. Most of the houses at roadside were very basic dusty wooden pavilion types in a cleared patch of dirt and with thatched or tin roofs and plastic-wrapped outdoor showers, toilets, and cook spots.

When we arrived in Leon, we took a taxi to the Hostal Tortuga Booluda (Lazy Turtle). Before we left the U.S., I had reserved at Lazy Bones because Tortuga Booluda told me over the phone that they had no room available. Well, low and behold, the airy upstairs room was now available! Good news. It had its own bath, balcony, and cooling breezes, but was not made up, and Jess desperately needed to lie down. She has walking pneumonia, had taken the red-eye flight so had not slept the night before, and had packed hastily only hours before her departure as she was frantically tying up loose ends with her jobs, her separation from Kim, and her move to her new digs.

Tortuga Booluda gated front entrance

Artwork behind the Tortuga Booluda front desk symbolically showing some Nicaraguan history

Tortuga Booluda courtyard, the red stairs leading up to our room in the back

Jess is sleeping at the mo and I am out on the balcony lazing in the hammock and trying to i.d. the birds in the surrounding trees. So far I have seen only birds we have in NA. They, too, are down here on vacation: Orchard Oriole pair, several Mourning Doves, a couple of Scrub Jays, and a flock of Scissor-tailed Flycatchers, our OK state bird.

Jess trying to recover from exhaustion, separation, and walking pneumonia

Our balcony hammock and chairs

Jess relaxing in our balcony hammock

Roof tiles near our Tortuga Booluda balcony

Active volcano as seen from our balcony

Jess was too exhausted to go out for dinner, so asked me to go out and bring something back. My Spanish is Sesame Street to nonexistent and the city so strange that I made it in the dark busy streets only three blocks to a “supermarket.” This market had little in it that I could think to put together for a meal, even though we had access to a kitchen downstairs. I ended up buying a box of granola and a tub of plain yogurt.

When she woke up, Jess wanted none of it. She is depressed, among other things, and is wondering why she is here. I ate a bowl of granola and yogurt, we talked for about 45 minutes, and then hit the hay at 7:45 pm.

Well, we only hit the hay for an hour or so. At 9 pm Jess woke in a better mood and wanted to go for an explore. We walked around several parks and blocks, bought a baggie of sliced pineapple from a boy in a lavender ruffled apron (ruffled aprons with zippered pockets being the costume de rigor for street vendors) and bought street meat (chicken for me, pork for Jess with onions and tomatoes) wrapped in plantain leaves. This last was too messy to eat on the street, so we carried it back to TB and ate. Jess had a beer with hers from the cooler near the front desk and I had some water. Then I was dead on my feet and fell into bed.

Friday, January 15, 2010--PLAYING ON THE PLAYA—LAS PEŇITAS

The plan is (was) to hole up in Leon for two or three days doing little or nothing so that Jess could rest and recover before heading north to our five-day Padre Ramos kayak paddle, scheduled to begin on January 18th.  Hold that thought . . .

I got up at 8 and brewed coffee for both of us in the communal kitchen. Then we took turns taking showers (cold water only), organized our stuff, and then left to check out Lazy Bones—a bigger, newer hostel with a swimming pool. Lazy bones had a wonderfully spacious courtyard and pool area, but, the only rooms available were smaller, windowless, and with less storage space than the one we were in. We decided that we were well off where we were.

We did, however, eat breakfast in El Mediterraneo on Parque Rubén Darío Street (named after Nicaragua’s most revered poet), across from Lazy Bones. El M’s dining tables were in a great plant and vine shrouded courtyard. I had mushroom & tomato crêpes & coffee and Jess had a Nica breakfast of rice and beans and eggs. She also had a tall pineapple smoothie.

A  pale and rocky Jess braving it over breakfast at El Mediterraneo, Lonely Planet at the ready

Jess is still coughing and feeling weak and exhausted. When not studying her Lonely Planet, she is diving into her Spanish primers, figuring out a way to say or ask something. She picks up language like the buses here pick up passengers. Very quickly she crams a lot of words and phrases into her working vocabulary. She has a talent for imitating, too, so her pronunciation is excellent. I, on the other hand, seem to be the old horse to who can’t learn new tricks. I have little aural memory (or much memory at all, for that matter). I must see the word written and then hear it repeatedly before it sticks in my mind. Even then I am self-conscious about using it. Smiling, personable Jess has no such problems and charms all whom she meets.

After breakfast, we returned to TB, rested for about an hour, and then caught a taxi to the central bus stop and a bus to the playa (beach). The bus was one of the crazily painted ones and we squeezed in elbow to elbow, thigh to thigh. The bus held probably three times its maximum load of people—some on the roof with the luggage—and the ticket collector hanging out the front door yelling our destination to all, hoping to cram one more fare onto the bus. It was a 40-minute HOT ride, but interesting. One of the passengers had what I think was a red-lored parrot, and I took a couple of pix of it.

I nearly missed the bus while taking a photo of this orange-fronted parakeet near the bus stop

Eventually the crowd thinned out and I got to sit down . . . next to a woman named Christine from Vancouver Island. She seemed a pretty timid traveler to be solo. She was relieved to be speaking English, so told me of her travels so far. Pretty unexciting by my standards.

When we got to the beach, we got off at Oasis, a surfer’s place. Jess is a beach baby and wanted to surf, despite her condition. She checked out Oasis and then we walked down the beach to Hotel Olazul’s thatch-roofed restaurant right on the beach. On the way we met Christine, who ran out from another place to greet us.

At Olazul, we shared a shrimp salad (swimming in way too much dressing) and drank a couple of beers and fruit drinks. Jess wrote out some postcards, and I watched the action on the beach and in the restaurant. A handful of kids were hawking seashell necklaces. Two bony, skinny female dogs, their teats hanging down and their stomachs concave, stood by our table and looked at us beseechingly. Both the kids and the dogs were chased off by the waiter and the security guard. The half starved dogs, horses, and kids hurt my feelings. I left half my drink and quite a bit of food on my plate, which the kids stole before we'd hardly stood up. No need for bus staff here.

Seedpod and salad, what could be better?

Some of the children hawking shell jewelry

Jess was considering moving from Leon to Las Penitas and Hotel Olazul, the Lonely Planet “pick” of a place to stay. Olazul had no vacancies. Neither of us are city people, and Jess wanted a vacation where she could loll in a hammock, lie in the sun, and surf. Me? I’m for taking photos, birding, exploring tide pools, picking up shells, and finding seedpods and interesting natural things.

Our trip back on the bus was much less crowded and faster than our trip to the Playa—our return driver having a lead foot. We joked that the driver on the way out was a feather foot. When we got back to Leon, the bus driver told us to get off—this was the last stop. A taxi driver was Johnny on the Spot to pick us up and take us back to TB.

Jess about to be engulfed in a large wave

Back at TB, I was sitting in a swinging chair in the courtyard having a beer and watching a couple play billiards when a woman who claimed to have been on the same bus approached. She told me that we had not needed to get off the bus and take a taxi because the real “end of the line” was at a nearby church. Guess the taxi driver and bus driver were in cahoots . . . probably related. Actually we didn’t need to worry much about this kind of scam. Tourists are such a novelty in the country that few bus drivers and taxis take them “for a ride.”

We showered, put in a little computer time reading and responding to our e-mails, dressed, and went back out an hour or so later. Before we ate, we walked to a bank ATM, or I should say Jess did. I walked part of the way and then waited for her on a bench. My feet are still swollen and I’m having trouble with my Achilles tendon. (I HATE feeling old like this!) Jess used the ATM and withdrew $200 from each of our accounts—about 2,000 cordobas each. Nicaraguan paper money is interesting, slick and waxy feeling with small see-through windows in it and pix of people and places in the country.

Forty-eight percent of the Nicaraguan population lives below the poverty level, earning the equivalent of $100 or less a month. We were told that professionals such as doctors make about the equivalent of $500 a month. It is no wonder then that when we hand a shop owner a 200 cordoba bill (about $10), he just shakes his head and cannot make change for it. Rooms at Tortuga rent for from $6 to $24—we have the most expensive room with its own bathroom. The cheapest rooms at these hostels are dormitory style and much too hot, cramped, and claustrophobic for any but the well-hardened backpacker.

We ate dinner where we'd had breakfast, at El Mediterraneo across from Lazy Bones. Dinner was served in the same building but in a different courtyard. I had a Victoria beer, a bowl of delicious gazpacho soup, and we shared a cucumber/walnut salad. Jess had curried chicken. We shared a banana crepe for dessert. it came, as below, with a funny face. All but the salad was delicious.

Saturday, January 16, 2010 -- ON THE ROAD TO JIQUILILLO

Last evening we decided not to move to the beach down here, but to travel north up to Jiquilillo (Hick·E ·lee·O) and stay on one of the beaches up there while waiting for the beginning of our kayak paddle. Thus I was up at 6:30. I repacked my backpack, made coffee for the two of us, took the granola and yogurt that was left to the kitchen and left it for the other backpackers, and we walked half way around the block and caught a cab to the mini-bus station in Leon. At the big bus station, which was at a market in Leon, several ox carts were waiting to transport goods, their solid wooden wheels looking for all the life like the medieval ages. I could not get a photo of them from the taxi.

Notice the small skinny horse and cart in this photo; the cart has rubber wheels but several had round cut-out wooden wheels; also notice the vendors each in his or her frilly ruffly apron

Note the woman with the tray of food on her head; this was a common way vendors carried their goods

This mini-bus was not overly crowded and the ride to Chinandega was fine. Out in the countryside were large industrial-sized farms and, again, many horse-drawn carts and bicyclists along the road.

We liked Chinandega. It was madly bustling with horse carts, tricycles (pronounced tree·sick·las) which were bicycle-powered rickshaws; buses, taxis, cars, pickups, scooters, etc.

A truck blaring out political propaganda

Active nearby volcano

We were let off at a big market. I’m now beginning to get the hang of things. Markets and central bus stops go hand in hand. It was very hot and humid. Yikes, I had lost  the bandanna which I was mopping with. As soon as I realized this, I walked across the street and bought another—a bright green one for 10 cordoba—about .50. Just after I paid for it, Jess pulled mine out of my left pocket. Oh well, one cannot have enough bandannas.

When we got off the bus, kids and adults immediately swarmed the gringos, selling gum, sesame squares, pastries, fruits, and water in small plastic bags. One little boy selling Chiclets was very persistent to the point of rudeness. Finally he got through to us that our bus to Jiquilillo did not arrive for an hour. The Lonely Planet had it wrong, but we were told that things change so rapidly in Nicaragua that they may have had it right when they published the guide.

While waiting, we decided to have breakfast and wound up at a plastic table at one of the many food kiosks beside Chinandega’s Parque Central. We ordered breakfast not knowing exactly what we had ordered, but got a nice Nica breakfast of rice and beans, eggs, and fried plantains.

Our server in her traditional ruffled apron

Nicaraguan enjoying an ear of corn for breakfast

Back at the bus station an hour later, we were informed that the bus did not leave for another half hour. We walked around a couple of blocks looking for shade and an outdoor café, but not finding same returned to Parque Central where we had cold apple juice from a tiny box. Finally, when we returned to the bus station, the bus from Jiquilillo was just arriving! Yahoo.

We met Daniel Ceppos from D.C. who was also going to Jiquilillo. He had been traveling in Nicaragua for a couple of weeks and was going to spend his last week at Rancho Tranquilo on the Pacific Ocean. Rancho Tranquilo is where we were headed also, or it became our destination. Actually Jennifer Shulzitski, Jessica’s friend with the Ibis Exchange kayak business on the Padre Ramos Estuary, had reserved us a hut at her friend Nate’s place, Rancho Esperanza, nearby, but Rancho Tranquilo was the Lonely Planet “pick” and sounded much more interesting, particularly as it had a bar and was right on the ocean.

The three of us got on the bus as soon as we could to get seats. Lo, the bus was not crowded, but it was one of the grade school buses and there was no place for our legs and feet. Two hours later, the bus was at the end of the line—the last 8 kilometers on a dusty, rocky, dirt road—and we got off . . . only to be told that we’d overshot our destination by a couple of kilometers. Jess and Dan were so busy talking and I so busy gawking that we’d never seen the sign for Rancho Tranquilo.

Jess and Daniel on the bus to Rancho Tranquilo

It was hot and we each had heavy packs, mine being the largest and heaviest, but we started walking back—first stopping at a pulperia (convenience store of sorts) to split a quart of beer under their shady thatched roof. Here we photographed a beautiful but one-legged rooster and a woman who was doing the village mending in one end of the veranda (see below).

The one-legged rooster, beautiful nonetheless

When we started out again, Daniel carried Jess’s pack and his, Jess carried mine, and I carried our day packs. Quite a way down the road, I realized that I’d lost my new green bandana and the soft chili-pepper sack I carried my camera in. They must have fallen from the table because none of us remembered seeing them when we left.

We trudged along, stopping frequently in the shade until Daniel stopped a pickup coming toward us to ask the way to Rancho Tranquilo. The pickup was carrying 15-foot 5-inch diameter plastic pipes. The two men in it were very friendly and told us (we thought) that they’d be glad to take us to RT. We climbed into the bed of the truck under the overhanging pipes, and the men continued in the direction they were going. “Oh,” we all three said at once, “we were walking in the wrong direction!”

Before long, the truck turned into a narrow grassy track and we were a bit apprehensive. We want to go to Rancho Tranquilo. Was this the way? The men chattered reassuringly at us in rapid Spanish and we continued on, coming out into a clearing with a tin roofed pavilion in it. Soon the driver’s daughter, Carla, was there explaining to us in very good English that this was her parent’s coconut plantation and that after the men offloaded the pipe and she conducted a little business, she would drive us to Rancho Tranquilo. She wanted to speak to the owners of RT as well.

“How long will your business be?” we asked.

“Thirty minutes.”

“Okay. We’ll relax in the shade and wait for you.”

Cattle seeking the shade of our shelter

A tree near the shelter

A jicarao tree on which the fruit grows directly from the trunk and main branches. It is used for fodder and also—like our gourds—to make cups and bowls.

One of the workers brought us each a coconut with a hole in it, and we relaxed in the hammocks in the shade under the Pavilion and drank our cool coconut water. Half an hour came and went. Forty-five minutes came. Jess and Daniel walked back to where business was being conducted, and soon we were in the back seat of Carla’s white 4WD Toyota, she and her mother in the front, and the bed loaded with workers and their bikes—so loaded in fact that we had to remove our packs from the bed and hold them in our laps. Finally though, we were on our way to RT. Hallelujah!

"Can you chop the coconut so that we can eat the meat?"

At RT (which would have been a long walk), we passed through a gate and drove back through an avenue of coconut palms, to be greeted by owners Tina & Dennis and their gang of rescued street dogs. Tina showed us the dormitory and the huts and we each selected a hut. No one else was staying there at the moment, so we had our pick. Jess and I chose one close to the bathroom, this for my frequent forays to said room in the night. Our one-room hut had a “matrimonial” bed and a set of bunk beds in it. I got the double bed and Jess slept on the bottom bunk. The thatch-roofed, wood floored hut also had two small front windows, two dim electric lights, front and rear, and a fan on the back wall. Daniel chose a similar hut next to ours.

Within minutes we were out of our sweaty clothes, showered, into our suits, and down at the beach cooling in the incoming waves. Then we retreated to the hammocks in the bar area and had drinks. Tina explained to us that visitors voted on the evening meal, but since we had not reserved and were unexpected, it would be spaghetti. We could vote on tomorrow night’s meal. She called her little Nicaraguan “chambermaid,” Katy, who came and made up our beds and arranged our mosquito nets—though the mosquitoes were few and far between in this dry season. Tina also called her cook, “Mommie,” and told her that she had three guests. Come to find out, Tina knew Jenn and told us that Jenn & Peter, and their 17-month old daughter, Penelope, lived about half a mile down the track just across from them. Jenn had moved her kayak business (Ibis Exchange) and could now launch her clients onto the Padre Ramos Estero right out of her back door. This was good to hear as we had planned on a 20-minute hike to get to Jenn’s place.

Dennis, Tina, and "Mommie," our cook

That night Jenn appeared and she and Jess talked about their time together working for Blue Waters Kayak Company in Point Reyes Station, CA. Jenn told us the details of her move to Nicaragua and the difficulties she had in finding a place and setting up her company. She was in Nicaragua for 2 years before getting completely set up with all of her kayaks and united with Peter. Surprisingly, Tina had done much the same thing. Scouted the world by herself until she found a place to buy and set up her hostel. These are two very strong and independent women!

We had one full day (the next) to rest and relax before our kayak paddle. Jenn told us that the 18th was Peter’s 40th birthday, and she had planned a big celebration. So, instead of striking off into the estero on the 18th, we would spend the day paddling and exploring it but return to Jenn & Peter’s by 4 pm for the celebration. This was very fine with us, as Jess was still coughing and tired. Also great was the fact that Daniel could spend the day paddling with us. We wanted him to go the whole tour, but he had to return to D.C. that Friday.

After spaghetti dinner that night, we returned to our hammocks to watch the sun set and to drink icy beers and rum—Jess even bought a bottle of Nicaraguan rum. Dennis’s cat “Cat” lounged on the bar away from the street dogs who still viewed it as food. The gekoes chirped. The waves crashed. The bar’s twinkle lights twinkled. It got cool and breezy. Yep. We had landed in paradise. As the evening wore down, Tina brought out glitter, and Daniel and Jess and Tina “glittered up” sprinkling their hair and faces and arms. Staid old mama here refrained. My sweat was sparkle enough. Bed for me came at 10 pm. Bed for Jess and Daniel and Tina much later.