Nicaragua – The Belt of Fire

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“Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.” – Gustave Flaubert



From Antarctica to Zambia….. From 21,486 feet above sea level (on the Bolivian Altiplano) to 131 feet below the surface of the ocean (diving off the coast of Easter Island), from leaping out of a plane over the Namibian desert to cage diving with Great White Sharks in South Africa, from eating guinea pig (Peru), dog (Vietnam), and insects (Thailand) to staring into the jaws of a 100kg anaconda in Venezuela, from camping with hippos and lions in Botswana and Tanzania to camping high in the Andes or trekking the Karakoram Highway and the more you do, see, taste, try, experience and assimilate, the harder it is to get the same ‘fix’. I guess it’s like being addicted to drugs…. you are always reaching out for something new to give you that buzz. Chasing that sense of “goddamit, I am truly living my life” – anything other than a day in the office at Corporate Towers, eating a ”microwave meal for one” whilst watching TV crud and where the highlight of your week is discovering that Tesco are loss-leading on a 5kg box of Persil washing powder.

Interestingly I may have alluded on a number of occasions in previous blogs on this Central America trip that I have been not as excited by some of the experiences compared with past travels. It’s difficult to explain without sounding like I'm namedropping but since I started this unconventional existence in 2009 during my sabbatical, I have lived to explore these past few years and have loved blogging and photographing it. But now, more than before, I am starting to think about possibly taking a break from the travel quest and my determinism to get round the entire planet - clothes washed regularly in Persil is most alluring!

But then, something happens to blow your blazé travel attitude away, to make you vibrate with the thrill of the adventure, to give you goose-bumps and make the tears flow with the sheer overwhelming emotion of the experience….

Nicaragua and its Belt of Fire has done that to me. This is a country born out of flames and revolutionary spirit. The anarchy of the earth has sculpted these lands and my experiences of the past couple of weeks have shot into the highlights of this trip so far. I have stared into the guts of the earth and seen the churning, molten lava that makes up this planet. Visceral, terrifying and enthralling at the same time. But I am skipping ahead of myself here….

We had a long day of chicken buses travelling from Lago Yojoa in Honduras all the way into Nicaragua with the easiest border crossing yet. We try not to travel at night wherever possible as it just adds another element of danger to countries where the guidebooks urge caution on every other page. With the sun starting to set we decided to halt the journey and hopped off in the dusty, gringo-free town of Ocotal and found a place to spend the night and at last a supermarket selling Flor de Cana – reportedly Nicaragua’s finest rum. Treating ourselves to the 7 year aged dark variety on the top shelf we sat down with huge pizzas for dinner and the half-bottle between us. Well, I am not a rum connoisseur but without a doubt my memory of Cacique de Anejo (drunk in Los Llanos wetlands in Venezuela) was far superior.

The following day, we travelled a further number of hours in infernally hot temperatures to the city of Leon and our base for a week so we could explore the mighty range of Los Maribios – a 40 mile chain of volcanoes that runs from the monumental Momotombo on Lake Managua all the way to the craggy heights of Cosiguina on the Gulf of Fonseca.

The volcanoes we had set our sights on climbing were firstly Cerro Negro (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerro_Negro ) – Nicaragua’s youngest volcano which was formed in the mid 19^th century and remains highly active with 23 eruptions in its 160 year history – the most recent being in 1999. At 2388 feet, Cerro Negro has become a destination volcano for those wishing to partake in the adrenaline sport of volcano boarding. An Australian guy came up with the idea in 2005….perfecting the board itself – a basic piece of rectangular wood with a rope at the front to hold, ridges nailed on to wedge your bum and your feet, and the underside tacked with a sheet of metal for minimal friction. Having sand boarded in Peru and Namibia and grown in confidence I was up for the challenge. I also wanted to test my fitness with the hike to the summit in the desiccating heat of the sun as a test for climbing the second volcano we had our eyes on – Telica.

It took about 1.5hrs to climb to the peak with our boards lodged between our back and rucksacks. The climb started off on rocky ground with giant lumps of black igneous rock as our path. At the first crest, the wind really kicked in and it was battle of strength to stay steady on the now shale/dusty path. In the distance, clouds of steam from sulphurous vents drifted upwards and the ground was covered in bright yellow sulphur crystals. Continuing on along the side of the main crater we eventually reached the top to a magnificent view of the peaks of the Cordillera. In the distance, the cone of San Cristobal (Nicaragua’s tallest volcano at 5725 feet) stood haughty and proud belching out steam and gas. Here the sheer magnitude of the earth’s tectonic activity could be seen in all its glory. The Cocos Plate subducts under the Caribbean Plate causing the land to buckle, bulge and the chain of volcanoes is a marked line in both directions. The landscape was desolate – black dirt, greys and reds – a sense of being on another planet. And so we reached the summit and gazed down at the almost 45 degree angle slope we were to zoom down. Nervous is how I would describe my mental state. I was chuffed at reaching the top (as though travel may be good for the psyche it’s not so good on one’s fitness) and peered down the black incline. There was no turning back.

We donned protective goggles, gloves and huge green boiler suits and listened carefully to the guide’s instructions on how to steer the board. Bearing in mind, this was the location for the world’s land-speed record (by an insane Frenchman) for riding a bike on dirt – he got up to 171kph cycling down the slope until he hit a rock, the bike disintegrated, he broke 5 ribs and spent a week in hospital and that the fastest board speeds have been calculated at 89kph, I was feeling somewhat trepidatious (have I just made that word up?). Yet, this was it…I was going over the edge and down……realising that you can really control your speed by using your feet for friction, I started off carefully and slowly. With the flat land of the dried lava fields some 800metres away I had plenty of time to build up speed. The slope of the volcano is made up of millions of pieces of volcanic debris and depending how much weight you put on the board, how much of it is in surface contact with the slope dictates your velocity. As gravity pulled me down, I started to accelerate….. but still within my comfort zone. I was not here to break speed records but I did want to push myself a little bit. However, I misjudged my control halfway down and wiped out rolling over the gravelly surface and lost my board which continued on down the slope without me. Bollocks! I was stuck halfway down the bloody volcano. It gave me an opportunity admire the views until the guide very kindly caught up with me and gave me his board to finish on. I slid down the rest of the slope in a somewhat disjointed way, absorbing what felt like half the volcanic debris on the slope into my socks and hiking boots. Sandy had gone much slower and more carefully than me so made it down in one hit and one of the other girls in our party of 4 had gone so slowly, a snail on valium would have got to the bottom quicker than her. But for us it wasn’t about the speed…it was about the experience and boy, what an experience – sliding down the slope of an active volcano. It would have been brilliant if we could have given it another ride but walking back up was an impossibility and so one shot only did we get at this bizarre, adrenalin sport. I remember getting up to 66kph in Namibia on sand-boards and that was fast enough thank you very much.

From volcanoes we hit the Pacific Coast for the weekend to enjoy the beach at Las Penitas – a stretch of black sands where the waves of the ocean mercilessly beat the shore and the sun beat down to fry anyone foolish enough to try and sunbathe. The temperatures here are phenomenal – late 30’s in the shade and without the ocean breeze, one would simply wilt and die. However, with plenty of hammock shaded areas we simply lazed around heading back to Leon for Sunday evening to shop for our second volcano trip – an overnight hike to the top of the 3481 feet high Telica (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telica_(volcano).

Having done a fair bit of research on the trekking options we decided to stick with Sonati (where we were staying and who we did the volcano boarding with) as all monies raised go into environmental change projects. With Nicaragua being the poorest country in Central America and with its turbulent political history, the tourist $$$ are yet to pour in so any money brought in by gringos could easily be absorbed into people’s pockets and disappear. Sonati (http://sonati.org/en/ ) is one of the charities in Leon whose aim is to use environmental education as an important and efficient tool to increase care and awareness toward the environment and eventually to bring about conservational change. This is such an important agenda at a time when the country could fall into the trap of destroying the things that will bring the tourists in – the lakes, the canyons, the parks…..

Carlos, the Manager there (a lovely Nicaraguan guy but when he smiled revealed a set of knashers that made you feel you were staring into the face of a Grand National winner) talked us through the hike and we decided that carrying all our gear – food, tent, camping equipment and 9 litres of water EACH was going to give us a coronary in the heat and the steep ascent. So we decided to hire horses and ride to the base of the volcano. This was not a foolish idea as our rucksacks weighed about 15kgs each and riding would make the 25-30kms journey there marginally easier.

We set off at 8am, walking with our packs in the already intense morning heat to catch a crowded chicken bus with our gorgeous (but sadly coupled) guide – Turner, an American volunteering at Sonati. We jumped off the bus at San Jacinto - a field of steaming, bubbling mud pools – and met Marciel, our horse guide. Horse being an overly ambitious for these poor, bedraggled, skinny beasts…. Let’s just say that after 5hours of trekking the poor animals seemed ready to collapse. We were genuinely worried about their condition but Turner assured us they were used to the work and the load…. In fact, with the packs on our own backs, the trek was tough going climbing around the dormant volcano of Santa Clara and up into the fincas (farms) where oranges, avocadoes and pineapples were growing on the volcanic slopes. The views were stupendous – volcanic peaks to the west and to the east, the Pacific Ocean towards the South and not another soul in site. Occasionally, we would pass through a collection of rural dwellings where pigs and chickens ran amok, children played in the dust while the parents toiled the land all in the shadow of the adjacent volcanoes.

We reached the base of Telica and dismounted our trusty steeds faced with a final climb to the summit over volcanic scree. Sandy went pinker in the face than I have ever seen her go (and she goes as pink as freshly grilled salmon) – it was a tough climb up with all the water and gear but we finally reached the top where the black rim of Telica surrounded in swirling , eddying gases awaited us. We pitched the tent in the shade of a sole tree and tempers were slightly frazzled when Sandy and I disagreed on how to erect the thing. My stance was, peg it down first before inserting the cross- poles to stop the wind taking it off…she was adamant it was the opposite and we had “words” – almost our first argument since October (not bad really when you consider we have spent 24hrs a day together) and I am sure fueled by the exhaustion of the day. A much needed siesta in the open air followed with the three of us crashing out to recoup energies before sunset.

With not another person in sight we had the summit of Telica to ourselves and witnessed a magnificent sunset which turned the rocks black to an orange glow. In the valley below, forest fires burned and the stark, straight slopes of the volcano were silhouetted as the light diminished. Although we had collected wood for a fire, we didn’t intend on ‘cooking’ (no way we were gonna carry pots n pans as well as everything else!) and I had made a risotto the previous evening which we munched as the sky darkened and the stars came out.

Then the moment came. The reason for this arduous and back breaking ride/climb….. the chance to peer over the rim of Telica, look down into its crater and see real lava deep in the bowels of the earth. In the pitch dark, with the light of our head-torches, we followed Turner up the slope to the very edge of this wonder of nature. Don’t think for one moment there were any safety precautions in place. This is Nicaragua. There were no security rails, signs of warning or anything to tie yourself to should the unthinkable happen. Turner instructed us to get down onto our stomachs and inch our way to the lip of the huge orifice – some 700 metres wide. Think Lord of the Rings. Think fire and brimstone. Think almighty hell. Think pits of magma - a crater of tectonic action. The earth’s juices, hissing and bubbling – some 800 metres below us and a sheer vertical drop down.

It was freakin’ terrifying. Turner suffers from vertigo so sat back whilst we peered, extremely cautiously over the edge. My heart raced. Thoughts of the rock crumbling away sending us tumbling to a certain death passed through my stricken mind. Would the gases knock you unconscious before the heat of the inferno sizzled your skin to bone and then to nothingness…. I had to mentally stop myself from this rumination and try and enjoy the glowing vision of the lava, far below me and listen to the roaring noise of the steam as it burst through the cracks – like an aircraft taking off.

I lay there, very still – aware of the infinite danger but mesmerised by this visceral sight - it’s something I have never seen before and boy did I get goose-bumps. THIS is why I love travelling. To see and experience such wonders as this. The fact that Telica last erupted in 2011 gave it that extra edge. You can’t get much closer to the wonders of this planet than peering over the rim of an active volcano. Gingerly hiking back over past eruption debris to the tent in the dark, I stopped and looked behind me at the angled slopes of this funnel of tectonic fury. Wow!

We slept appallingly in the tent which was buffeted and banged by the winds all night. The tent had seen better days and it felt like it would collapse on us but the sleeping bags were not warm enough to abandon the canvass and just sleep under the stars so we lay there, rotating like chicken on a spit on our thin sleeping mats failing to get any shut eye. I guess we must have drifted off at some point as Turner woke us at 5am to climb up to another ledge of Telica to watch sunrise over the Cordillera los Maribios. The main crater of Telica was billowing gas and now in daylight we returned to its rim. In the early dawn light, the lava was no longer visible shrouded in a cloak of noxious gases swirling up and out of the vent but you could see the vertical drop from the edge down into the depths below. My heart started to race again but it was nowhere near as petrifying as the night before. We managed to strike the tent (without any disagreement!) and set off at 7am for the 5hour hike down and back to civilisation. Still carrying a good 4 litres of water and all our gear, the rucksacks were darn heavy and it was a tough, dusty, hot descent. The hardest part being the last couple of kms along a shadeless dry riverbed in temperatures that you could have fried and egg on my head in.

But we did it! We bloody well did it. I need most of that 10kg pack of Persil washing powder to wash the volcanic dust and debris out of my clothes (god help my lungs) but it was an unbelievable experience and it seems fitting to quote JRR Tolkien himself ““Remember what Bilbo used to say: It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to”

There are more volcanic adventure tales to come but for now, (to quote the show I am currently addicted to Californication)....Conduct….out.

H x

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