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Published: March 26th 2008
Nica Pride
Our first glimpse of the smoking cone of ConcepciónDia 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 in hopes of meeting our friend Jess.
No luck there so the next morning we threw on our packs and hoofed the 8kms to our intended destination, a permaculture farm/hostel called El Zopilote.
We figured the long, dusty walk under a midday sun would be good conditioning for a volcano climb; we were right.
Arriving hot and sweaty we rented a tent and a camp space under a banana tree and felt right at home.
Although we planned to volunteer on the farm, we felt our time on the road growing short
The whole island from the ferry
Concepción (on the left) is almost exactly one mile above sea level and last erupted in the 1950s.
Maderas is around 4,000 ft., dormant and the one we chose to climb.
Wusses. and had no trouble filling our days with fun.
The first day we walked to the isolated, curving beach of Santo Domingo.
The sand was slightly black and spattered with small, porous volcanic stones - some black, and others the deep umber of old brick.
While we sat in the shade and enjoyed the peace and quiet, we watched farmers herd their horses and cows to the shores for a quick drink.
We swam and read and talked to little boys with horses while the perfect cone of Concepción softly belched clouds behind.
El Zopilote
Zopilote is a very cool place & we highly recommend it to anyone traveling to Nicaragua.
The guy who runs the place makes jewelry and keeps the farm functioning - he lives with his wife and daughter, and his dad lives in acabaña up the hill.
With the help of volunteers, they produce a majority of what is sold to guests in their small store: vegetables in season, fruit preserves (banana ginger!), coffee & chocolate, rums flavored with both, homemadenutella, cooking oil, pastries, bread, honey, etc.
A couple times of week they cook gourmet pizzas
in their wood-fired oven... which are delicious.
There are cabañas scattered across the hillside among banana trees and pineapples growing along the ground; paths wind throughout and near the top there is a unique Japanese-style shower - a spiraled 'room' of living bamboo leads past a sink and up to two spigots over broad smooth stones; the torso-sized green leaves make it seem like the rainy season has come to just one spot; we were Adam and Eve of the jungle under the full moon.
Dia Dos
The next morning we met a guy from Portland over coffee and decided to go for a bike ride (rather appropriate, don't you think?).
The bike ride was thrilling and at times scary, beautiful, dusty, long, and sweaty.
Our goal was a nice, cool swim at La Cascada de San Ramon, which was on the opposite side of the island - a nice 'n' easy half-day ride!
We heard the ride had taken one fellow two and a half hours; another couple said four for the whole island, so we thought we'd be back for a late lunch.
Neither Honoré nor I had really ridden
mountain bikes before, and it was quite jarring.
The change from our road bikes on the smooth streets of Portland to crappy mountain bikes on dirt roads covered with rocks from the size of golf balls to bowling balls was, to say the least, frustrating.
I felt as if I'd never been on a bicycle in my life: every bump and jerk over gravel, rocks, and sand rattled my entire body.
I was unsure of the capabilities of the almost-brakeless bike and was sure at every rock I would be sent soaring over the handlebars.
The island was rather hilly and it was easier to push the heavy frames on the uphill than exert the energy to cycle, even if we could have changed gears!
The downhills were always exhilarating and horrifying - trying to keep enough speed to get momentum up the next rise, while traveling slow enough to keep control of the bike.
It was rewarding to see so much of Ometepe and there was one incredible view after another as we slowly circled the lush volcano, Maderas, which showed a different face at every turn.
We saw colorful flowers abounding,
shady groves of trees, families relaxing together, and had continual visual access to the stunningLago de Nicaragua.
At a few points we passed exotic, prickly-barked trees on our way to wash off the filth of the road at water's edge.
By the time we reached San Ramon it was late afternoon and we were famished, having had only a granola bar and a cantaloupe between the three of us.
We feasted on delicious, slow-cooked food, and ice-cold water which kept us from reaching the entrance to the waterfall until nearly 5:00 (mind you, we left our hostel at 10:00 that morning), and it was about to close.
Bummed, and yet knowing we had much island to conquer before arriving back at Zopilote, we opted for a quick swim in the lake.
It was amazing - we were in the warm-ish lake, refreshed, with no one else around, under the watchful gaze of two volcanoes, as the golden dusk surrounded us.
After another two hours of pedaling - cursing every rock, bump, and steep hill - a flat tire, and a mile on foot, we returned the bikes I am happy to never see again.
It was well after dark by the time we stumbled up the hill to our tent in the light of the nearly full moon.
Dia Tres
Absolutely spent from the length of the ride and intensity of the sun, we spent the whole next day kicked back, napping in the hammock, reading, eating homemade bread and fresh fruit (mmm... papaya), and (I) complaining.
The palms of my hands were swollen and bruised from being jammed into the handlebars for eight straight hours, the backs of my arms and hamstrings were sore, and we both cowered in fear of the sunlight like vampires - no mas! no mas!
Looking back, it was a worthwhile day, if not for the physical challenge and constant beauty, then for the priceless knowledge that I never want to mountain bike again.
Dia Cuatro
We awoke before dawn to prepare for a hike to the top of Maderas (1300 meters, dormant, with a lagoon in its crater).
We were joined by three young Germans who had been volunteering in Costa Rica.
Our friendly guide, Mathais, expertly wielded his machete while climbing the whole mountain in
Caballeritos
The kid on the left said he owned the horses and was letting his buddies ride. They were so small they had to use a rock to dismount, using only blankets for saddles. sandals.
Crossing farmland and banana orchards, we passed petroglyphs, a millennium old, carved into dark, black stones half submerged in the soil as if the top of Maderas had blown to pieces and pummeled the ground, forming Mother Nature's graveyard.
Cresting the final hill of open pasture, we entered the forest as howler monkeys roared, and the clouds benevolently held back the heat of the morning sun.
The ascent was somewhat mild for the first hour and those who wanted to collected walking sticks (quite handy in spots).
The monkeys continued to wail as we passed through their territory and turned up a trail with a far steeper grade.
After another hour, the clouds that were once above us, became a white wispy fog all around us.
Although it resembled lowland fog, it had somewhat different characteristics: for one, it was purely white and not yellow or dingy; secondly, when the wind blew, as it did with force among the trees up there, it succeeded not in dispersing the mist, but simply in pushing it this way and that so you could watch the wind patterns like drops of food coloring in a glass
of water; lastly, it was not dry and heavy like fog, but light and living - ever so softly dampening our skin and clothes to keep us cool.
The phrase 'cloud forest' finally had real meaning for us.
It got muddier as we climbed higher, and the track sometimes narrow down to the width of our hips.
We scampered over roots and rocks and slopped across mud pits until we made our final muddy slide to the misty lagoon, filling most of the age-old crater.
Many young Nicas were laughing and picnicking, or kicking a soccer ball around.
We could barely make out the far side of the lake for the fog.
Looking back up the last bit of wide, bare trail, the bright red clay was striking in contrast to the thick, strong green around it.
After a chilly lunch in the crater, we marched down for three or four more hours, our legs pleading vainly for a touch of uphill again, but finally settling for a leisurely stroll over the wide open fields below under a warm afternoon sun.
-----
Our four days and nights were some of the best
we've had.
Taking rolling lanchas over choppy waters to get all the way to a volcanic island in an endless lake in the middle of Central America gives one a feeling of adventure and shared experience that combine to bring your guard down quite a bit.
As we said, we met a cool Portlander, and also a fun chick from Seattle, three of the four girls from BC who had turned us onto San Andrés (where we did our home-stay), a gal from Pennsylvania with a warm heart and smile, the two Austrian brothers who worked at the hostel and made us feel instantly at home, our hiking buddies - biologists from Germany, a nice chick from Connecticut, a fiery Spaniard and his girlfriend, aCannuck and a Dane who were always up for a drink and a game of chess, plus a smattering of Europeans and South Americans whom, unfortunately, our poor Spanish kept us from getting to know better.
This was by far the most happily-social stage of our journey - it was fun to just kick back, share travel stories and tips and make some friends, temporary or not.
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Maura
non-member comment
Wow
Truthfully. The scope of what you are doing and the photos and narrative are so out of this world (my world) it is hard to come up with a coherent comment. Perhaps I can just leave it by saying Bravo, congratular, pavor. Absolutely beautiful entry. Bellaza.