Los Pueblos Blancos and a night in Managua

Last Thursday, J and I had a fun morning of exploring Los Pueblos Blancos, a collection of towns on the west rim of Laguna de Apoyo, each with their own shtick (and variety of tourist souvenir). My favorite was Diriomo, which had this incredibly colorful town square and amazingly full-of-character cathedral.

 

Diriomo is also apparently the "witch capitol of Nicaragua." My guidebook said to ask at the town hall if you wanted facetime with a local witch. We asked at a café, just to see what would happen, if there were any witches in town who spoke English. We were given a name (Andrea), a direction to walk in, and encouragement to keep asking other people along the way exactly where she lived. It didn't seem to be anything underground or secretive. But the first time we checked in with someone (a fruit vendor) to make sure we were going in the right direction, she got all hush-hush and started telling us (I think--this is all happening in Spanish, and my Spanish is barely functional) that Andrea isn't that good and she would take us to the best witch in town. We said that the most important thing is that we need a witch who speaks English. The fruit vendor promised that the best witch speaks English and aggressively hustled us into a little motorized rickshaw (which, of course, we were expected to pay for) for a ride just a few blocks away. She ushered us into a local house, where a stern, grumpy man/witch replied yes when I asked him if he speaks English, and then told me (in Spanish) that he charges US$20--an outrageous sum that is certainly at least 10 times what a Nicaraguan pays to talk to him. I tried asking him in English if he would accept $10 but it became clear that he spoke not one word of English, and J and I weren't really sure how this works anyway (is he like a fortune teller? Or does he cast spells? He seemed to be waiting for us to ask him questions, but we didn't know what to ask or how) so we apologized and said we can't understand Spanish and would have to leave. The fruit vendor was pissed that she wasn't getting her cut of a gringo witch visit and forced us into two other homes for similar experiences (though the next two witches were nicer, at least) before we had to cut off the proceedings since no one seemed to be grasping the issue of us not speaking enough Spanish to be able to benefit from a session with a non-English-speaking witch. When we finally extricated ourselves from the grasp of the fruit vendor, some other guy pedaled by on a bike and, in a whisper, offered to show us where Andrea (the original witch) was--but by that time we didn't really believe anyone when they said she or anyone else speaks English, and we didn't want to drop that much money just out of curiosity. Oh well. Rest assured, if you are ever in Diriomo, that it is quite easy to find a plethora of witches.

We also stopped for a walk in the sleepy town of Dorio, with it's view into Laguna de Apoyo, before moving on to the most visited town, Caterina, which had an even better view of the crater
.

Then it was back to J's parents' house to pack up, as life in the lap of luxury was over, for real, this time. We rode with them back to Managua for their flight home and spent the night at the home of...well, it's hard to explain who she is! As even the most faithful of my 2.3 readers might not remember, I couchsurfed in Ottowa at the beginning of July with a Frenchwoman, C, who took me on a hike in Gatineau with her French Canadian friend, M. On that long-ago hike, I already knew that I was headed to Nicaragua in 2014, and M put me in touch with a fellow French Canadian, MC, who lives in Managua with her boyfriend and their two kids. So I've been e-mailing back and forth with MC for about six months, and I finally got to meet her and her crew!

I love crazy travel connections like that. Thanks again to you both, M and MC!

Laguna de Apoyo

One of my yoga teacher training friends (J) and I hatched a plan to travel around together for a bit after the training, as both of us had a few weeks left before our plane tickets home. In the meantime, her parents decided to come to Nicaragua for a visit to the condo they own in Laguna de Apoyo, near Granada. So leaving Ometepe...

 

....I made my way to lovely Laguna de Apoyo to rendez-vous with them. What a treat to stay in such a nice place with such an amazing view, not to mention great company.

We had all kinds of fun over our few days there, including finding a very tarantula-like creature (see it up by the ceiling?) that the maintenance guy insisted was "just a spider."

Granada is only a 15-20 minute drive from Laguna, and with J's parents' rental car, a very easy trip for dinner and other activities--such as watching this band of breakdancing kids.

We also took a boat out to Las Isletas, a group of (they say) 365 islands (aka the "Calendar Islands") that were created by rock flung from nearby Volcan Mombacho in a long-ago explosion. Today, many of these islands are privately owned and have ridiculously beautiful houses on them.

The volcano in the not-so-distance:

And our own little boat, at a fraction of the cost of what the Granada tour companies charge for the same trip, with the drawback being that the captain spoke only Spanish, and I had to be the translator, even though I don't really speak Spanish! Oh, well, we still had fun.

Back to lovely Granada for another lovely meal (this is the life, I'm telling you).

Though we also had a whole lot of fun making our own meals. J and I bought a couple of plantains from a supermarket, some cashews from a local vendor, and--using coconut oil also sourced from Nicaragua--made ourselves a ridiculously tasty breakfast one morning.

 

Then, that evening, we took a Thai cooking class with one of the other owners at the resort.

Okay, there is more, but this post is already too long. Too be continued....

Isla de Ometepe

I was a little sad to leave the familiar comfort of NicaYoga retreat center...but also so excited to set out on a new adventure. My first destination was a spot that was highly recommended to me by almost everyone I asked for advice on Nicaragua. Isla de Ometepe is a Lake Nicaragua island comprised of two volcanoes, one of which (Volcan Concepcion--and sorry that I can't figure out how to use the accent marks on this computer keyboard) is still considered active and the other of which (Volcan Maderas) dormant and now has a crater lake at its peak.

 

The trip to Ometepe from the mainland involves a ferry ride, and by "ferry," I mean something like this (I was really glad to be on a bigger boat, which could actually carry a truck and several other vehicles on the back):

 

Safely docked at the island's principal town of Moyogalpa, I checked into a hostel where I intended to stay for a night or two before checking out other parts of the island. But I really liked Moyogalpa and ended up staying there all four nights of my visit, doing the rest of my exploring in day trips.

One of my first tasks was to find a post office to mail the postcards I'd had for nearly a month, since it turned out there's not actually a post office in San Juan del Sur (at least according to the bus driver I asked directions from). One of the Moyogalpa hostel managers told me to walk almost all the way out of town on a particular road and then look for a "Correo" sign, and that would be the post office. Skeptically, I followed his directions (aren't P.O.'s usually in the center of a town?), found the sign, and nervously entered what appeared to be the yard of a family home. Just as I was about to hightail it out of there, an adorably energetic woman bustled out of her living room and directed me to a side room (AKA, the post office), featuring this desk piled a foot high with paperwork. It took her several minutes to even locate the stamps amid all the chaos, and once she found them, she began a painstaking process of trying to fit the four stamps required into the one-stamp space I'd left on each card. She cheerfully rejected my help and sent me on my way after I'd paid and watched her spend nearly 10 painstaking minutes putting stamps on the first three (of many) of my postcards. She might still be at it as I type this days later, and I'm pretty sure my postcards will be swallowed up by that desk rather than actually being sent anywhere, but I tried!

My "work" done, all I had to do for 3 days/four nights was to explore the lovely island. I feel like I barely made a dent and am going to have to come back here someday, for sure. Maybe I'm just getting old, but I didn't feel very interested in doing the tourist things (the 10-12-hour ascent of Concepcion just sounded like torture, and that despite my psychotic love of volcanoes), and though there were some completely affordable daytrips available, all I wanted to do was ride public buses around and take long walks and say hi to everyone I came across and see what happened.

 

So that's what I did. A tour guide who roped me into listening to his spiel suggested that a good solo walk from Moyogalpa would be the three miles out to a gravel isthmus called Punta Jesus Maria. So on my first day there I made that walk and loved the amazing views of the spit and the mainland, the volcano, and the lovely scenery along the way.

 

After this and every hot, sweaty day, I got to shower with banana trees overhead. Literally.

On another day, I rode a series of public buses from Moyogalpa (on the Concepcion side of the island) to the Maderas side to see how the other half lives.

Maderas is definitely the quieter, less populated half of the island, which is saying something. I loved walking from Santa Cruz to Balgue, watching impromptu baseball games in the street...

...and trying to make friends with everyone possible.

I know this sounds trite and cliché, but the people here are just really SO NICE. When I've said hello to a stranger or assaulted anyone's ears with my poor Spanish, nine times out of ten they've been nothing but kind and generous and smilingly polite to me in return, helping however they can. So lovely. And the food is right up my alley.

Ometepe also boasts a 17-kilometer-long beach (Playa Santa Domingo). Not the most gorgeous beach I've ever seen (horseback is a popular mode of transportation here, and people seem to like riding on the beach as much as anywhere else, so you're just as likely to step in horsecrap as you are fresh sand), but certainly impressive in its length, not to mention the backdrop, and fun to see just as many locals as gringos enjoying it all.

I'm already planning my return trip (scheduled for: someday), when I'll stay on the Maderas side of the island, visit a waterfall that's supposed to be nice, check out the public hot springs pool, and maybe even drum up the guts to tackle some or all of one or both of the volcanoes.

Long (not lost) friend

A little aside here to acknowledge how crazy-excited I was to get out my big camping backpack when I was getting ready for this trip. I can't remember when I got this pack, but it's at LEAST twelve, and potentially more than 20 years old. It's possible that I got it to go on a backpacking trip to the Porkies when I was in middle school. If that's right, then this thing definitely has nine lives. Especially when I lived in Madagascar and traveled around southern and eastern Africa for nine months afterward, this thing was my constant companion. It was tossed carelessly (by others!) into more bush taxis and chicken buses than I can count. It's been a chair, a pillow, a beast to carry, and the revered container of everything I needed to survive whatever circumstances my come, for months at a time. I remember being disgusted by how thoroughly, impossibly dusty and filthy it was when I got back from Africa. All of the traveling that I've done since then has been more minor and more cushy, accomplished with a smaller pack or even a suitcase. I was SHOCKED when I dragged this thing out of storage and it looked almost like new. I guess a good seven-year rest does a backpack good. There's a broken strap, no zipper on the side by which to access things at the bottom without unpacking the whole dang thing, and I'm sure that in time it will start to show its age and use once again. But it sure is fun to see you and be on the road with you again, friend.



 

(SS--do you remember me?!?)

 

Last Days of NicaYoga

This post is nearly a week late by now, but on Wednesday night we had our "graduation" ceremony (I'm officially a yoga teacher!), and on Thursday morning, we all said our goodbyes and dispersed--some bound for home in North America, some to continue traveling (or even living) in other parts of Nicaragua. In the next post, I'll start tackling tales of my onward adventures. First, the final days of Yatra Yoga and NicaYoga....

 

We learned a bit about Thai massage, the best part being practicing on each other. Here, my classmate R is pounding my feet in the Thai tradition, which felt WAY better than you'd expect.

 

We also had an evening of Kirtan (call-and-response chanting/singing) with a visiting guest, the friend of one of our instructors.

The next day--our third and last day off during the training--some of us struck out south to another of the amazing beaches outside of San Juan del Sur. This time we went to Hermosa Beach, which I loved even more than Maderas because of its ample shade, hammocks, and less-pounding music coming from the speakers at the little beachside lunch area. I had a blissful, perfect day, though two of the people from my group ate some bad fish for lunch and probably don't have as lovely a memory of the excursion, in hindsight.

As we had four, and then two, and then just one meal left at the retreat center, we were feeling highly nostalgic about the amazing meals prepared for us by Maria and her husband Sasha, Russian orthodox immigrants who had no idea what they were getting themselves into when they were hired to make vegan meals for our group for the whole month. They did an amazing job and I almost cried when I dished up my last plate and had to face the fact that my next meal would not be magically served to me when I walked a few feet from the yoga practice space to the dining area.

Okay. Time to say goodbye to yoga training. Just one other story before I go:

On one of the last nights of the program, my two roommates had already turned out the lights for the night when I got back to the room. So, in the dark, I quietly grabbed my bath towel from where I'd hung in on a window frame to dry and headed to the bathroom for a shower before bed. I'd finished and toweled off most of my body when I noticed a dark splotch on the towel and looked closer to find a small-ish scorpion clinging to it. I don't know what guardian angel saved me from being stung when I obliviously carried the towel to the bathroom and then rubbed it, along with the scorpion, all over myself. But I am grateful. Word on the street is that Nicaraguan scorpions are not deadly and the sting isn't too much worse than a wasp's. But still. Yeesh.