Latin American Johnslaught - #8, Nicuragua, Grenada, Posta Rojo Treehouse, San Juan Del Sur

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'Not the friendliest of places'
Ben, July 2011

Ben, TJ, Andy and I arrived in Granada, Nicuragua, after a rather long 10 hour bus journey with cheeky cab action on top. The bus journey was fine because there was so much room so we lucked out in that respect. We stayed at the Bearded Monkey Hostel which was naff but convenient in terms of getting to the centre of town. Granada is an old pirate town but, other than some interesting colonial architecture, theres little of interest there. Once we had established this, we decided to do what any respectable group of men would do and headed out to the nearest drinking hole. TJ bought a lovely cigar and Ben mixed his own Cuba libres. These were the good times. We toasted ourselves on the smoothness of the journey and hooted with glee. Ben drank more Cubas than he could comfortably accomodate and set about chatting up an American lass who had a few too many airs and graces for Ben's form of courtship (fair to middling flat out insults). Ben decided to take himself home and, being so close, we let him go. Alas, he was punched square in the chops, lost a shoe and had to make a dash for it. Andy and I only found this out when we got back to the hostel and employed our superior Spanish skills when talking to night guard. Luckily he was OK and even found his shoe (sans laces) the next day in the gutter. Naturally, we were none too enchanted by Granada. In the time I had spent there I had been propositioned by the same 14 year old looking prostitute and we generally didn't like the edgy punch in the face nature of the place. On then to our planned destination: The Posta Rojo Treehouse.

The easiest way to get to the Tree House is to go to Al Liberdad hostel, on the same road as The Bearded Monkey, and sign up for the free shuttle which picks you up at 12.30. The lovely staff will then take you as door to door as humanly possible given that the tree house is in a tree on a big hill. Once you have clambered up a fairly large hill, you will get to the dorms where it is recommended you dump your bags before ascending up to reception.

Posta Rojo is only about 8 months old and is a stunning place to spend a couple of days. It turns out we spent almost two weeks there, taking in the view, partying, watching the resident howler monkies and generally soaking up the jungle. It is dirty and pretty arduous in terms of getting around. Plan toilet breaks well in advance. The place is almost run as a co-op because there are more people working there than are guests. This does, however, make for a very friendly atmosphere and we all started to feel like a big family. We were there for so long, in fact, that Anja, whom I thought I had ditched back in Guatemala, was able to catch up with us. She had been travelling with a friend we had met in Xela. She arrived in time for what was an amazing, last night blowout of a party (see pics) and we all left together.

Some surfing types had come to the tree house to see what all the fuss was about. They worked at another hostel called The Naked Tiger in a place called San Juan del Sur. I had heard about it and fancied going so they let me and TJ ride back with them. Anja and her friend came as well and we dropped them off at Rivas, near San Juan which is where their ordeal began and our journey continued. Nice bit of dramatic emphasis there, not sure if you noticed it.

TJ and I had charming day by the pool, getting clean and eyeing up the impressive view. Then, by jove, Ben turned up! We all joined hands and pranced around with glee. The next day, Ben and I popped in to town to do some internet stuff and so that Ben could get a hair cut and look less like a weird jungle hermit. When we returned, TJ was in such a state of agitation that he had felt the need to recline in a hammock, dozing in the sun. When we finally calmed him down enough to talk he told us that Anja and friend had been robbed blind with only her passport in her possession. Naturally I was concerned but remained calm, if only to keep Ben and TJ strong.

She eventually turned up at The Naked Tiger, with her gargantuan bag still in check. They had taken her SLR camera, her point and shoot, all her money and had withdrawn 500 quid from her account. This is how it went down...

Anja and friend got dropped off by us and decided to search the market in Rivas for some food. A lady came up and asked where they were headed because A and Co. had big bags. The said they were headed to San Jorge because that is where you get the ferry to the island of Ometepe which is supposed to be really nice but which was latterly found to be a bag of pants. Anyway, moments later, a chap came up to them and said he was heading to San Jorge and would they like a lift. They said yes which was the Big Error. San Jorge is really close to Rivas so just get a proper cab and ignore offers of lifts from strangers. You know, like at home. Our heroines jumped in and were told they were picking up some girls on route. Fine, they thought, still unaware of the impending danger. So the chap picks up a load of fat ladies and then drive them around. After about an hour of our girls saying what the heck the fat ladies sprung in to action with knives and everything. They told the girls to close their eyes or they would get a knife to their throat. They rifled through the bags and Anja got a nasty sweat rash from a fat lady sitting on her for hours on end. Eventually, they were ejected from the car, a bus ride from the capital which was ages away from their intended destination. They happened across a weird cultish Christian group from California who were admittedly very nice and sorted the girls out to some extent. Anja was able to skype her boyfriend back in blighty in order to do all the banking stuff necessary. She got in touch with The Naked Tiger the next day but I was out and TJ could not understand her thick brummy accent. In any case, TJ told her to head to the Naked Tiger (he thought she was nearby in Rivas not miles away in horrid Managua). In any case, she manned up and public bussed it all the way back to us. Well done her. As far as we know, the friend is still in the clutches of the Californians.

We all had a day on the beach surfing (I got a triple lux off a 10.4er but I am not the type to brag) and then I accompanied Anja to Rivas police station to make a report with a mind to carry on to the island of Ometepe which was where they had been meaning to go in the first place. Rivas is dodgy as balls and the police station looked dodgier yet. Luckily we found an English speaking officer (we have fluent Spanish but Anjas terrible accent renders it almost obsolete) who took us to a nice air con office. He got Anja to type out her account and serenaded me with a rendition of Hotel California on the guitar he keeps behind his desk. The commissioner came in and said it was good we were in a nice cool office. Then he advised us it was fish for lunch. The officer wondered if Anja knew where teh crooks withdrew money so they could use CCTV. When Anja advised she had no idea the officer looked crestfallen before Anja pointed out she could use her bank statement. YES! he beamed, this was a very good idea. I sensed that this, and most other crimes in the area, probably go largely unsolved.

And so on to Ometepe. The first thing travellers should do when disembarking from the ferry is cry out in horror whilst being sick through their nostrils (this is often involuntary but a bit of the old fingers down the throat action should do the trick). Then travellers should rush back on the ferry for there is nothing charming about this island. Yes, you could climb the volcanoes but what on earth is the point? The locals are weird and stare at you and the gringo run businesses are all run by terrifying Old Greg (see The Mighty Boosh, series 2) types. We spent the night there fantasising about The Naked Tiger and made an informed decision to get back there as soon as possible the next day.

After another night back in the welcoming arms of our friends TJ, Anja and I set off for Costa Rica. Another story for another time but no one got kidnapped or punched in the face.

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Photos

Granada
Liking the pose!

Cool church, Granada
Note sleeping drunk, bottom left.