The week of Semana Santa (the holy week leading up to Easter) began for us with a long trek from Ometepe to Leon. We got up early, packed our bags, said our goodbyes, and hurried down the hill to catch the only bus before noon. After walking a mile and a half, we saw the bus pull up to the intersection 100 meters ahead. We had to make this bus! - as we started to jog, we noticed other people on the street doing the same, all in time to the Mariachi music pumping from a nearby house. We dove in [View Full Entry]

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Dia Uno After crossing the thinnest section of Nicaragua, from San Juan del Sur to San Jorge, we leaped onto a 40-foot boat and lugged off into choppy afternoon waters with our gaze steadily fixed on the smoking cone ofVolcan Concepción looming in front of us. The rugged old lancha rolled and bucked as wave after wave broadsided the hull. We did our best to hold on and not loo like land-lubbers, but it took most of the hour-long trip to gain our sea legs. The first night we stayed at an over-priced hostel on the water with a beauty sunset [View Full Entry]

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After two days in Granada full of relaxation, cooking our own meals, beautiful colonial buildings, and bars with names like "The Zebra Lounge," we were OFF! to the pinnacle stop in our trip...Isla de Ometepe! for volcanoes, farming, nature, and welcome isolation. We had planned all weekend to take the 3:00 ferry across the choppy, expansive vastness of Lago de Nicaragua (seriously, look at a map, it's huge) and were proud to arrive early to the dock (early for us, though it may have been 2:45) only to discover that the twice-weekly trip books up quickly... too quickly... and tickets had [View Full Entry]

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We arrived in Granada just before sunset and stumbled around in search of a good hostel for a bit. The wider streets and taller buildings with over-sized doors made it feel as if a smaller Nica city had held it's breath, puffed out it's cheeks and forced itself to expand a few feet in every direction. We found our way to the chaotic market district and a glorious old hostel run by a classic old couple (she called him 'Jefe'). The building was ancient and character filled with 15-foot ceilings, palatial hallways and an untouched living room that was part christmas-light-Jesus-shrine [View Full Entry]

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Miraflor The first of two organic farms we planned to WWOOF for, Finca Neblina del Bosque, was twelve-hectares on the edge of Miraflor Nature Reserve, 30km from Estelí. Only a year old, the farm´s fruit trees are just knee-high, they had only one chicken (with chicks), one pregnant pig, two horses, and a sweet collie named Fiona. It´s run by an interesting couple - Isabel is German and her husband Edwardo is Nica - who started the farm after selling some land on Isla de Ometepe. We volunteered doing mostly repair and maintenance work, while indulging in the [View Full Entry]

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It took us a day and half to reach the dusty mountain town and former Sandanista stronghold of Estelí, Nicaragua. Estelí was at the violent front lines of the war for independence in the late 70s and fierce patriotism still permeates the city. Once there, we realized we had brought more than memories from Honduras... we spent most of the next four days in close proximity to our private bathroom. When we finally re-emerged, we ran into a scraggly, Spanish-slinging Jess, a friend from Portland. With a little time to explore, we found Estelí to feel a bit like one migh [View Full Entry]

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We stayed at a picturesque family-run hostel called El Cortijo del Lago (The Farmhouse of the Lake) owned by an American ex-pat, his Honduran wife, and their children. It sprawled leisurely across a small valley away from the road and overlooking the lake. With the big, breezy screened-in common areas, books and board games, canoes and foosball, it felt a lot like summer camp. We managed to navigate a cobbled dock-boat out into the lake (to anchor and swim off) - it was a 6´x 6´ platform mounted and precariously balanced on a couple of narrow pontoons - it was rather [View Full Entry]

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Río Dulce After a wonderful week in San Andrés, we climbed back on the gringo trail and headed for the Honduran border. Our last stop in Guatemala was Río Dulce (Sweet River). It was a cramped and dirty town, centered around tourist buses and street stalls tightly packed on the only road in town - it was a very drastic change after our week in sleepy, non-touristy San Andrés. We took a small motor boat across Lago de Izabel (which empties into the river) to our hostel - a bamboo and thatch complex with a bit of a tiki-bar vibe. It [View Full Entry]

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We took a guided tour of a semi-remote Mayan complex called Yaxha. It was two hours from San Andres in a little red minibus driven by a sweet old couple. We were guided by a cheerful fellow from San Andres named Naftaly. After rambling over a severely bumpy road and through the front gates, we parked near the banks of a long, narrow lake. Almost no one was around - just a few Guatemalans who worked there - as it was all day. Naftaly, Brittany, and I strolled to the base of a long, broad stairway in the side of [View Full Entry]

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Getting there We were sitting in an internet cafe in Flores with our bags packed on a Sunday afternoon, not knowing exactly where we were headed. We had heard of a small village on Lago de Petén Itzá called San Andrés where classes were offered, but knew nothing else. We searched the web and found an interesting lead - a somewhat lo-fi website seeming to be more geared for volunteering but also touting language school. The other option in the village listed more touristy activities in your free time but we figured we´d rather work when not studying. So we [View Full Entry]

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