KK's Adventures in Nicaland

Let’s just avoid the obvious “it’s been awhile” and move on to the guts of it. The reason I haven’t written is simply because life is routine here, it’s normal, it’s Nicaragua. I have been here since May of 2010, and I’ve adapted. What might seem interesting to you is everyday for me. Is that a scorpion on your floor? You actually like bucket baths? Are those holes in the wall? Are all the chairs broken? Do you understand what they’re saying? Don’t those metal roofs get noisy? Yes. It’s easy to overlook once you’ve been here for 9o weeks, and sometimes I just need that reminder of “Hey! This is kind of EXTRAordinary,” in order to realize that just because I’ve gotten used to it, doesn’t mean it isn’t interesting.

For me, that reminder came when my little sister, KK, came to visit me in Nicaland. She came on a Friday, accompanying me on the flight as I had just gotten back from visiting America (FunFact: Here, some people get offended if we don’t specify North America from the other Americas. You see, they are taught that North, Central, and South America are all one continent, and think us selfish for labeling ourselves Americans. Interesting eh?). The mission was to show her the beauty of the Pacific side in 5 days. Bring on the challenge.

On Friday we took a taxi from the airport to a bus terminal in Managua, the capital of Nicaragua. Our plan was to visit a friend down south in Granada, but the trip there would end up being slightly more memorable for KK. As we got on the bus, I told my sis to take the window seat. She didn’t argue. Ten minutes into the trip, the bus was so packed that I had to remind myself I was human as opposed to the side table my standing neighbor had confused me for. A few minutes after that, my sister got the most horrified/confused look on her face; staring out the window was a beggar performing tricks for tips, dressed in a cow suit complimented with a clown-painted face. I guess after seeing vendors pile on busses to sell their watches or fruit or just their stories, I wasn’t fazed by this clown cow man. My sister’s face however, made me question my own sanity as I realized that the normal state of things depends on where you are and how much you’ve adapted. We proceeded southward… After an hour, we had reached our destination: Granada. Our host greeted us with open arms, which we then piled our suitcases into. For the purposes of this story, our host will be labeled Chocolate Thunder.

That night, KK wanted a quesadilla, so we found a restaurant and sat down to eat. As we were finishing up, I realized the quesadilla was only ¾ finished, and had to ask why. KK explained that the cheese tasted “off.” Oho. That. I guess I should have explained that the cheese here isn’t cheddar or American, it’s not blue cheese or mozzarella…it’s Nicaraguan. It’s Nica. And it’s a few steps down from the tasty varieties we’ve gotten accustomed to in the U S of A. My bad. But hey, after she washed the taste down with Nicaragua’s version of Bud Light, she didn’t seem to mind.

Saturday morning arrived full of promise and adventure. We ate at Kathy’s Waffle House, a must do if you are ever in Nicaragua and are hankering for some good eats. After hardy breakfasts and full cups of coffee, we headed down Gringo Street to see a man about a monkey. Well, actually the monkey was a bonus which came later. We found a fellow who gave us the skinny on taking a boat ride through a group of islands, which included transportation to and from the lake. Sign us up! Our transport, a beat down red pickup with no seat belts, drove us leisurely down a potholed infested road to our second ride. We shared a boat with two other touristy types, and were on our way. As we headed out, our guide was explaining how the islands came about, who owns the islands, how you can rent the islands, the names of the volcanoes in the distance, and how the lake that we were gliding on is the only remaining shark-infested fresh water lake around. Of course it was all in Spanish, so KK only got the tidbits I was patient enough to blurt out. She seemed to enjoy herself all the same. At one point, we slowed as we edged a peculiar island with “No Soliciting” signs posted around it. This was Monkey Island. On this day, we saw 3 monkeys, yet one in particular stood out. Her name was Lola and was apparently good friends with our guide. (Yes I remember the name of the monkey. No I don’t know the name of our guide). She hopped on our boat, and began eating the mints and apple pieces that were given to her. We were told to keep anything we didn’t want stolen tightly sealed, and then the silly little monkey came up to our side of the boat, where she instantly made friends with KK. After trying profusely to get into my sister’s bag without success, the monkey settled with stealing the lotus flower our guide had handed KK in the beginning of our journey. Lola roamed up and down the rows of chairs for a bit longer, allowing us to pet and admire her, and then our guide decided that that was enough time playing with his monkey, so he told her to scram. KK’s final words on this subject were, “That monkey stole my flower.”
When we made it back into town, we thanked Chocolate Thunder for letting us crash at his place. About an hour later, all three of us had decided to go to Leon, 2 busses and 2 ½ hours away from Granada town. Let the adventures continue.

The microbus to Leon (a large minivan that fits 16), is a much easier ride compared to others because you pay for your seat and there is no standing room. Also you’re on a highway the majority of the time and thus don’t get visually abused my freaky dairy clowns. It was evening when we approached the city, and finding a place to crash was easy enough. Here we met up with another friend, female this time, who I will call Travel Buddy. So Travel Buddy, KK, Chocolate Thunder, and I got settled into our hostel, and went out hunting shortly after. We ended up going to Barbaro’s, another everything restaurant and personal favorite of all gringos. This time I ordered a quesadilla, American cheese-filled, and KK just exclaimed “This is the quesadilla I wanted last night.” You win some you lose some. I just shared. Once we were full, we headed back to the hostel to crash, with dreams of the approaching Beach Day filling our brains.

After breakfast at Desayunazo, gringo-packed as well, we headed to the Beach and made camp at Playa Roca, a hostel/restaurant/bar. Feeling sassy, we got specialty fruity drinks and told stories about our lives in this strange country. After eating at the taco bar, we watched as the bus approached to take us back into town. We watched as more and more people packed on. We watched the workers barely being able to close the doors. And then we watched the bus go by without a second thought. “There will be another one,” was the general consensus. Well, five minutes later, our hopes were realized. A giant, slightly enclosed pickup truck approached to give rides to those willing to stand the half hour ride back into town. We, the four gringos, were among the willing. KK’s thoughts on the subject: “I can’t believe you guys do this.” But hey man, she did it to! And I was so proud of how easy it was to convince her. To us, it was lucky that this truck was working its rounds when it was. The wind knocked the tears out of our eyes the whole way, but the ride was lovely. Once we got back into town, KK wanted to eat at Barbaro’s again, and we didn’t mind at all. Sleeping was easy as it often is after a day in the sun, but anxiety for the next day picked at me menacingly throughout the night. You see, the next day was Volcano Boarding Day, and I had never done it before.

On Monday morning, we said our good byes to Travel Buddy as she had to get back to her site. Chocolate Thunder stuck around though. We wasted away the morning…I actually don’t remember what we did, but for good reason. I had to slide my ass down a volcano in a few hours so my thoughts were a little preoccupied. Finally, we scurried over to Big Foot, a hostel that offers Volcano Boarding among other touristy things. For $30 each, we got transport to and from the volcano (called Cerro Negro), rented a jumpsuit with goggles, got a free breakfast, got a free night stay, got a free beer, got 2 free mojitoes, and got a free t-shirt. We call that a bitchin deal where I’m from. At 1:00 pm, we piled onto the truck, 20 or so of us from all different countries, and took the one hour trip from Big Foot to Cerro Negro. On the way over while combating fits of nausea, I listened to our guide explain the speed records. He held the fastest at 89 kph, and dared anyone to beat him. Needless to say, I wasn’t among the few who raised their hands when asked who was willing to try.

Finally, we had arrived at the base of the volcano. Big, black, and beautiful, this hill looked down at me and sighed. If it had a face, it would have raised its eyebrow as if to say, “Seriously gringa?” I sighed back, hiked up my jump suit and goggle-filled bag, and began the journey. We trailed around the back side of the volcano where numerous explosions had created a natural walkway to it’s peak. After 15 minutes, I realized that I am not a good hiker. After 30 minutes, I finally took the help of one of the guides and couldn’t help but feel a sigh of relief as he carried my board up the remainder of the 15 minute hike. Sue me. And then finally, after 49 minutes of brutal leg lifts up a damn volcano, I had made it to the top. KK made it too. Now, usually my fear of heights is limited based on how fast the psycho driver is taking the turns around a rickety mountain road. But I also have a slight fear of heights when I’m looking down from the top of a volcano that is “overdue” for an eruption. Thanks for that tour guide. Along from making it down the volcano on a board that is the size of ONE leg, now I have to worry about not surfing in hot lava too. Awesome.

Before the big leap of faith, our guide took us to see some of the smoky craters. He also had us dig down about 6 inches, just so we could feel how hot the volcano was. It was cool. I mean hot, but you know, it was cool. He showed us how the volcanoes across Nicaragua actually made a line which was easily visible only from an aerial view… like the one we had on top of the fricken volcano. And then, we couldn’t put off the inevitable. It was time to go down. And the option of walking was eliminated. So we strapped on our orange space suits, trying to ignore the oh so many holes that covered them and the fact that the buttons did nothing as a means of enclosing, and listened to the directions. “Lay down. Tap your left heal to move right. Tap your right heal to move left. Tap both heals to brake. Keep your heals slightly up and ride.” Seems easy enough right? So what the hell, I decided to go first. I sat down, laid down, and I was off.

Now, unless you have a super strong center, it’s hard to lay mostly down and keep your heals 6 inches up. So I said, “F#@k it,” and put my feet on the board. That’s when I crashed. It wasn’t so bad. I got back up, and started going down, this time getting a little speed. Then, I got a lot of speed. Then… I freaked out. I started going to far left and couldn’t remember which heal to tap, and ended up screaming “DAMMIT!” as bits of black pebbles came into my mouth and my suit, resulting as the end of attempt two at volcano boarding in yet another crash. Well, I was half way down, or so I assumed, so just decided to try again. After three more attempts of crashing, I had finally made it down the volcano. I don’t really know how fast I went, but assumed all the crashing was normal. That was, until everyone else came down, not having crashed once…including my sister. What the hell?! Anyway, 20 minutes later, everyone had made it down. The fastest was Team France at 58 kph. I made 18 kph, and KK pulled in at 15 kph. Slow and steady wins the race… unless you’re competing for speed down a volcano. Then, slow and steady loses the race. Dually noted. So volcano boarding wasn’t my strong suit. But hey, I did it. And my little sis did it too! So at the end of the day, we went down as bad asses.

That night was not exciting. So we’ll just skip to the morning when KK and I broke away from Chocolate Thunder and enjoyed a nice bus ride to my site. Now, from the beginning, my sis made it clear that she had no interest in staying at my house. No interest in bucket bathing, using a latrine, or eating tortilla, rice, or beans. So it was a bit of a surprise when she told me that her favorite part of the vaca was visiting my little town. My friends made her fried plantains, legit chicken soup, and frescos (natural fruit drinks with lots of sugar). She chilled in my hammock, we went on a bike ride through the town center, and I was shocked because she even used my latrine, without complaint! Talk about a true adventurer. Unfortunately our nice day in the peaceful town had to end, and we caught a bus to Managua. The next day, I saw her off in the airport, and that’s all I have to say about that.

So, recap. After a vacation in a 3rd world country, my sister pet a monkey, sailed through some sweet islands, swam at the beach, surfed down a volcano, bike rode through a small town, and peed in a latrine. All of which make her officially bad ass. BAD ASS.

So, if you want to be a bad ass too, come visit me. I’ll be around. Until next time, share hugs and give thanks. Peace.