Cruisin' along on the Caribbean coast


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Published: March 30th 2010
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And so to recount, it was a bus then a bus then a taxi then another bus, or was it a van?? I don't really remember, but somehow we ended up in the halfway town of Juigalpa for a night. A pleasant little town where we managed to find a great 2nd storey bar from which to enjoy the sunset over a nearby mountain range and eat some good cheap food. The next morning it was another squished bus ride and a few hours later we were in El Rama - gateway to the Caribbean!

In El Rama the great travelling spectacular was to continue, not by any form of land transport, but instead by panga. Back home we'd refer to a panga as a 'dinghy' but in these parts of the world they seem to think of them as legitimate, comfortable forms of passenger transport! And thank god they do, for our first experience in a panga was a great one. After a 20 minute wait out in the boiling sun (ok, not great so far) the panga took off at high speed down the Rio Escondido. Tropical trees lining the banks, broken only by small sandy beaches filled with herons looking for lunch. It was late afternoon and the sun was setting and at last we weren't stuck on a bus anymore and the river was wide and it was all very beautiful. The only problem was it was getting dark a bit too quickly and we had read that our point of arrival - the port town of Bluefields - is not the sort of place you want to arrive after dark. Not that there was anything we could do about that now.

Bluefields, and in fact all of the Caribbean coast of Nicaragua has a very distinct history and cultural composition to the rest of the country. Essentially cut off by road, and with its very Caribbean history of pirates and slaves and revolts and the English trying to take a piece of the colonial pie from Spain, Bluefields has become a very distinct and very interesting port city. Thanks to the above history, most inhabitants of Bluefields speak English, or at least a creole based variety of it. Of course with very thick Caribbean accents to boot, which at times made understanding the locals just as hard in any of the Spanish speaking areas (and gone was the excuse of it being a different language)!

Our first introduction to Bluefields -like many travellers before and since we must supsect- was the big smile and glint-in-the-eye welcome by Spicer, general man-about-town and pest or friend to any traveller entering town via the port. We hadn't so much as dropped off our bags in a hotel before Spicer was asking for a dollar for his kind welcome and helping with our bags. A few minutes later we had made our way across town for some dinner, and who should accompany us at our table, but Spicer. Soon he was recounting all sorts of local stories to us; telling how the guy sitting behind us fishes for lobster on this or that boat; how the gringos up the back corner are from Germany and they've been in town for 2 and a half days now but are leaving tomorrow afternoon and will you give me another dollar?? 'No Spicer, but how about you take us on a tour around town tomorrow and we'll give you a few dollars for that'. Ok!

Going against our word the next day, we skipped town on a whim, and caught another panga north through the coastal backwaters to the sleepy fishing village of Laguna Perla. Upon arrival we had another dockside welcome, this time from Canadian Darren, who at the sight of other tourists arriving in town (he had been the only one for a couple of days) was asking if we all wanted to chip in and get a boat out to Pearl Cays, a series of small islands offshore in the Caribbean Sea. So we planned that for the next day, then set about seeing Laguna Perla. In about five minutes we had reached the outskirts of the small village, so continued on a track past the local school and out through some wetlands (which exhibited a marked gradient from freshwater marsh to saltmarsh and mangrove wetlands - how exciting!). Along the way we passed a whole lot of school kids heading into town for their afternoon classes, with many of them calling out 'Catch my picture! Catch my picture!' as they saw me get the camera out for some photos of the wetlands. What could we do but oblige? Before long we hit the tiny village of Awas, a settlement of indigenous Miskito people. As soon as we arrived one of the local rastas introduced himself, climbed up a coconut tree to grab us a refreshment and started telling us all sorts of stories, interspersed with 'swims' in the extremely shallow bay. We were under no delusion that he was leading to try and sell us something, anything, and Jen was quite happy to buy a nice seed necklace. We also met Mr Orlando, one of the elders of the village who was also very friendly and welcoming.

The next morning at the crack of dawn we awoke to roaring winds ripping through town. But what about our boat trip to the Cays?? The fact that the driver didn't even turn up to the dock confirmed that the weather was too wild for a trip out on the ocean, so instead a sailor's day off was had - lots of sitting around, possibly a dash of rum or two and some beers. A final walk to the other outskirts of town the next morning with Darren was made hilarious when a very young and very crazy horse repeatedly charged at us at high speed! None of us knew whether to be scared or to laugh, so we ended up laughing..And then when a kid stacked his bike nearby, we couldn't help but laugh some more! It ok, he was laughing too!

Back into Bluefields and it wasn't long before we ran into Spicer again, and after our apologising the tour of town began. It was actually really interesting. He took us down to a fancy restaurant where we admired the view of the bay, and assured the waiter we'd come back for dinner - here Spicer sung for us 'Bahia de Bluefields' ('Bay of Bluefields'), an old song written by the old musician who lived and tutored guitar in the hotel we were staying in! Spicer also pointed out all the different types of tropical trees as we walked, and the variety of Christian churches in town, and on through the poorer area of town known as 'Holding'. Back in the day this is where the poorest of the poor lived, but the wealthier citizens nearby didn't appreciate the riff-raff living nearby and so repeatedly tried to have the poor people removed. Apparently they kept resisting, wouldn't budge, held on and hence the area got its name 'Holding.'

Our last night in Bluefields was spent down at the reggae bar by the bay, under a full moon, Toñas and Victorias in hand. Here we made another friend, nicknamed the 'Lion' who actually worked at the bar but spent most of the night hanging out with us drinking beer and filling us in on Caribbean reggae. A fantastic way to end our stay in a town which started out seedy, but showed itself to be a very friendly and interesting place!

A 25 minute plane trip across the Bahia de Bluefields and across the Caribbean Sea saw us on Big Corn Island. If you're to believe the guidebooks the Corn Islands seem to be one part 'fishing village', one part 'tourist heaven' and one part 'shipping route for drug cartels'. Thankfully we only saw the first two parts during our stay. Having just warmed up in our fix of Caribbean reggae we chose to spend our first night, a Saturday, right nextdoor to the famous Reggae Palace. Rocking up at the club at 9pm was clearly too early, as evidenced by the lack of people inside and several confused looking gringos outside. But thankfully two of those gringos were Colby and Steve, two young northamerican guys we had met in Laguna de Apoyo. We received word that Reggae Palace didn't hit its stride til 11, so we all grabbed a taxi to the otherside of the island where a beachside bar was pumping out the reggae tunes. We shared a bottle or two of the fantastic local rum, with ice and lime watching the moon over the water (again!), then finally made our way to the Palace. Inside the place had picked up, full of locals trying out their dance moves. Here we couldn't help but notice Carla busting out the craziest moves in the room. Soon she had befriended Jen, and invited her to the dancefloor. Carla was clearly impressed with Jen's booty-shaking moves, pointing out to all the other local girls 'check out this white girl, she knows how to dance!!.' Stopping only to regain breath, the dancing went on and on into the night. We managed to get away around 2am but even then could her the music going on for hours afterward - the downside of staying next to the club!

A day or two later we took a very packed, and very bumpy panga ride across to
the scene of the crimethe scene of the crimethe scene of the crime

complete with passed out reveller!
Little Corn Island, which has a far smaller local population, and is a bit like a Caribbean resort for poor, dirty backpackers. We fit right in, enjoying more local Rum and beer by night, chewing the fat with Victorian Dave and Canadian Rhianna. By day we explored the island, and when the sun finally came out enjoyed an awesome snorkelling session right offshore from our beachside shack, spotting eagle rays, and all sorts of fish and coral. Jen even managed to unknowingly adopt her own suckerfish, which swam around under her leg for the best part of an hour, all the way back to shore until she got out! I couldn't help but comment, 'Yes, I can see how you'd be confused for a whale shark underwater!'

The weather became windier and we thought me might be stuck on Little Corn as the pangas stopped running, but ridiculously, one was leaving when we made our way to the dock. Thankfully the wind and waves were coming (mostly) from behind us and so we had one hell of a fun and scary panga ride back to Big Corn. One more night out enjoying the reggae with Colby, Steve and a newly returned Andy and it was a flight all the way to Managua and the end of our Caribbean adventure... For now!





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the beginning of a typical Caribbean night!the beginning of a typical Caribbean night!
the beginning of a typical Caribbean night!

Flor de Caña 7year old rum, delicious!
an early wedding?an early wedding?
an early wedding?

an abandoned wedding gazebo, complete with withering flowers


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