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Published: June 17th 2011
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From León we decided
Ometepe would be a good bet. A pair of volcanic islands - a couple of volcanoes really – in the middle of Lake Nicaragua, the largest lake in Central America. It sounded like a good place to spend a few days just relaxing and...stuff.
We'd been moving pretty quickly for a while, so we figured a short break was in order.
To get to Ometepe we had to catch a ferry from San Jorge. There was a couple of options, but this seemed the easiest. From León there were a number of bus changes, but eventually we got to San Jorge. At the last change we had been scammed, but only slightly – the tout bloke had assured us that the bus would go directly to San Jorge – instead we were dumped on the side of the road in nearby Rivas. A moment of panic, but not more than 1 minute later a taxi drove past and we took it the last 5ks to San Jorge.
The ferry was as ferries are – a boat with people going somewhere. The only things of note were a Nicaraguan-American bloke and a loud American woman spouting
right wing talking points about the ability of the free market to save the world.
The taxi we had grabbed on the mainland inevitably had a driver who had a friend on the island – a quick call and we ended up with a grinning Nicaraguan bloke in a very loud shirt waiting for us with a sign held up as we stepped off the ferry. It was a bit exciting for Klaire and I – never had that before. Even better - Coles was spelled “Cool”. We hadn't been sure if we needed a taxi, but it turned out to be a good bet. The place we had booked was way out from town – the islands look somewhat like two boobs sticking out of the lake. Picture, if you will, a bumpy journey around the bottom of the left one, almost to the bit where the cleavage would start. Well, that's where we were.
The drive itself was great – the road was all paved with bricks, so a bit rough, but the countryside was interesting, particularly the floodway type signs warning of lava crossing areas. Unlike back home they lacked the depth indicators – I
guess when your car's melting into the ground it's a bit late to worry about the depth of the liquid.
As the Hiace turned off the paved road onto what looked like a dry creek bed, and then past some very basic looking farms, we beheld the hostel in all its glory. First impressions weren't great – it looked basic, really – a few simple buildings arranged along a beach and a central area. No hot showers, no tv, no internet. But for $15 a night, right on the beach with a hammock on the front verandah – it looked like life was going to be tough this week – really tough.
The hostel was a long way from anywhere, so it was lucky that the place had its own restaurant which served some excellent tucker. Generally it was only us in the place, apart from a couple of blokes who seemed to be environmental workers who would rock up from time to time, mainly to flirt with one of the girls there, I think. There was a family living on site who were very nice, and the other residents were horses wandering through, nosy chickens, a playful
dog and a friendly cat.
The week was spent as planned – that is to say, with no real plan in mind. We read our books, drank beer and rum, swung in the hammocks while we watched the horses wander down to the lake for a drink, just on dusk. We tried every combination of food on the in house menu – fantastically done local fish (tilapia – actually introduced here too, and a pest like back home, some may be interested to know), beef, pasta, chicken, and the ever present plantains (same family as bananas, only not sweet – one of the three main sources of income for the island, the others being tourism and beef).
Nights were spent spraying a bit of Rid around, although not too much as the mozzies weren't so bad; watching 'Treme' on one of the computers (I recommend this show); being woken by the slam of huge seed pods on the tin roof (the only complaint – a different tree choice would have been ideal); and, um, sleeping.
We ventured out for a spot of kayaking at some point. This proved to be less than relaxing, involving a paddle against
the wind across the cleavage of the islands, up the river in the middle. I wasn't too concerned, to be honest. Sure, against the wind on the way there meant wind at our backs on the return leg. The wind, of course, changes direction in the afternoon.
Two person kayaks are to be avoided, too, being notoriously difficult to control. The guide was swanning along, excitedly pointing out colourful birds, trees, and tiny crocodiles (caimans, actually – a little underwhelming after Adelaide River), while we were being attacked by savage plants and low hanging branches. It was a very nice way to spend an afternoon, though, after the exertion of that day the plans to find some horses and go riding about the place, or maybe hike up to the summit of one of the volcanoes (the nipple, if you like) were shelved. Hammocks were just too inviting. We spent the last day sitting, fresh water lapping at the black sand beach (I would like the beach so much more if the ocean was fresh water), and tried to figure out how to get to South America.
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