Report from the island of Ometepe

Just after moving to my new home in Matagalpa, I had the opportunity to do some traveling with two friends from the States, Kelly and Erinn. Kelly is easy to distinguish because she has the best laugh in the Northern Hemisphere—her only rival is Dean’s friend Michelle, from New Zealand. I’d give just about anything to see those two girls in the same room together. Will it happen someday? I’m sure of it. When Dean gets married (hypothetically speaking), I will do everything in my power to make sure that both are in attendance. Then we’ll have a laugh-off, and it will be the event of the century.

Kelly is best friends with Erinn. They are so tight that I sometimes confuse their names, much like others did when I lived with Luke Hartley (some suspected we were a gay couple) or when I lived with Nick (we were self-described Siamese twins). My connection with the girls is that Erinn’s boyfriend is Todd, Todd went to high school with Nick, and Nick introduced me to Kelly when she moved to the Bay Area. The fact that Todd, Erinn, Kelly, and I are all in Central America at the same time is quite remarkable. It certainly helped that Todd has a job with the State Department in Honduras and that I withdrew from graduate school for a semester, but nevertheless, the timing was uncanny.

Now, to the travels. We met up in Masaya and headed the next day to San Juan del Sur, world famous for its surfing. In all my time in Nicaragua, I had yet to go to the beach, so it was really nice to float around in the ocean and cool off. I also liked the fact that we could stay in a beach-front hotel for four dollars a night. But the real highlight of our time was when Erinn and Kelly treated each other to grilled lobster, fine wine, and for dessert, banana splits. It was truly an Epicurean delight.

Next we went to the island of Ometepe, located in a gigantic lake, the largest in Central America. The island is composed of two volcanoes, Concepción and Maderas. Of course, since they were there, we had to climb them. We chose Maderas, and we were not disappointed. It had rain forest, cloud forest, howler monkeys, birds, and to every girl’s delight, chocolate growing on trees. I had never see monkeys in the wild before, so I turned to Kelly, a real animal lover, and told her, "It feels like we are at the zoo!" She didn’t find it nearly as funny as I did. To be honest, what I liked even better than watching the monkeys was watching Kelly watch the monkeys. It was like watching a girl eat chocolate—it’s way better than if I eat it myself, because I just can’t appreciate it as much. Anyway, besides the great wildlife, the climb itself was formidable, and it took us nearly five hours to get to the top. But we were rewarded with a beautiful crater lake, and though we were surprised by the two feet of mud beneath the water, it made for a refreshing swim. Getting down was no small feat either. By the end of the hike, I was totally shredded, operating in survival mode, and my legs hurt for a week. I loved it.

Part of what had made my legs so tired was that the day before the hike, I went on a ridiculous bike ride. We had been staying in the town of Altagracia, and there was no ATM in sight. We heard rumors that there was one in Moyogalpa, about thirty kilometers away. Taking the bus there would be about an hour each way, and we had had plenty of bus traveling already. So I volunteered to ride a bike over there and withdraw some money for Kelly. Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been a breeze, but in this case, I needed to get back in time to catch the last bus to the other side of the island, where we would start our volcano hike. So I took off at breakneck speed, or at least as fast as I could go on the rickety bike I had borrowed from a kid off the street. I quickly discovered that the shifters didn’t work, which meant that I had to stand up on all the hills, much like Nick on his BMX. While it was fine for about the first fifteen minutes, after a while I thought my legs would explode. The other trouble was that the bottom bracket was either seriously loose or cracked, which meant that every pedal stroke uphill sounded like a dying animal. Nevertheless, I made it to my destination in good time. Dripping with sweat under the scorching tropical sun, I rode up to the bank security guard and asked him where the ATM was. Quite earnestly, he replied, "There are no ATMs on the island." Quite dumbfounded, I continued to prod, hoping that I could somehow conjure one if I asked the right question. Then he told me, "Well, we actually do have one, but it’s brand new and doesn’t have any money in it." He was right. There, in a small, air-conditioned room was the machine, lifeless and inert.

Still searching for answers, I realized that I had biked five minutes past my point of no return, the time I thought necessary to get back to Altagracia and catch the bus. So I quickly chugged a bottle of orange Fanta and set off in the direction that I had come. The last thing I wanted was to come back empty-handed AND miss the bus. Miraculously, the rear shifter started working, so I didn’t have to stand up on the hills on the way back. I didn’t check my watch at all while cycling because it wouldn’t make me go any faster, so when I got back to Altagracia, I had no idea if I was late. I found the girls eating lunch in the shade with a rather bemused expression on their faces. "What time is it?" I asked. "It’s 1:52, you’re twenty-two minutes late, and the bus already left," Erinn responded. Waiting for the effect to register, after a long pause, she added, "But don’t worry, there’s another bus coming at 2:30." Thus concluded my one and only bike ride in Nicaragua.