Ok so it’s been a while, the
last two months have been pretty crazy. We will endeavour to be more proactive
with this blog and keep it up to date, but sometimes there is so much going on
it’s a battle just to keep everything together without a demanding blog to
write.
We were in El Salvador on a black sand beach surfing, which apparently we
are pretty good at for beginners and life was good. Beer was cheap, you could
eat for under 5 dollars a day and the surfing was amazing. We had just got out
of the water and decided to get on Facebook and found out there was a Tsunami
heading for El Salvador . Gees, what a way to wake up in the morning. A 7.2 Richter earthquake hit Costa Rica destroying a number of homes and setting the whole
region on a Tsunami alert. Apparently, unbeknownst to us, it was supposed to hit
while we were in the water, but it turned out it was only a few centimetres
high and so we are still alive writing this.
The earthquake hit in central Costa Rica and everybody south of us had stories of where they
were when they felt it. We escaped unscathed but the repercussions of the quake
set off a number of volcanoes in the region, erupting from the new magma
pressure underground and which we were to get a very unnerving first hand
account of in the following days.
We got on the road for our
four hour ride into the west of El Salvador to a small town called Alegria, perched precariously
on the summit of an active volcano. The town was beautiful and we walked the
narrow streets with amazing views of the valley and forest and lowlands far
below us. We hiked up to the crater which, legend has it, has a mermaid living
in there which will abduct attractive males and drag them into the depths for
three days before letting their lifeless bodies float to the surface. We were
game and went for a swim with locals looking on in concern, but for whatever
reason she didn’t strike. Probably
because Annette was there. On the walk back down we found the entire town (and
much for the surrounding region) in the grips of some manic party. It was the
Miss El Salvador beauty pageant final being held that night. It was so surreal that such an American
influence could reach such an unlikely and remote place. The girls were pretty
impressive and the party went on well into the night.
We left Alegria the next day
for Nicaragua , a ridiculously long way away, over 9 hours ride
with two international boarder crossings in it. Maybe we were naïve, maybe we
were optimistic, but we should have known we were never going to make it.
Fellow motorbike traveller, Michael (mentioned in another blog) said those same two
borders were some of the worst he crossed in Central America and labelled us masochists for even attempting it.
But attempt it we did. We left early, and after two hours hit the border of Honduras , we were met by a massive line of people trying to
cross and moving nowhere. We settled in and after an hour and a half, and being
sent back once by an official for a police check on the motorbike, eventually
crossed into Honduras . We set about riding the 5 hours to Nicaragua but the road was utterly atrocious. Not in a dirt
road kind of way, but a bitumen road with potholes so deep you couldn’t see the
bottom, and so regular they took up most of the road. The result was one
mistake would swallow the front of the bike, snap it in half, and send us over
the handle bars. Everybody forgot road rules and just tried to avoid these
things, and in some bizarre ritual ensued where everybody forgot everything they
had ever learnt about driving and just tried to keep alive. They were so bad
that cars and trucks would get instant flat tires if they hit one and have to
pull over. If it was bad for them it was Russian roulette for us.
We finally hit the Nicaraguan
boarder that afternoon but despite having a Guatemalan bike and still being
inside the C4 border where we shouldn’t have had a problem crossing, Nicaragua
was having non of that. The border was a joke, spread out and utterly
confusing, you could just as easily accidentally cross and then get sent back
by angry officials as you could do the right thing. When we finally photocopied
and stamped everything in the correct order it was getting late. We crossed at
about 4pm and rode into what looked like the apocalypse.
That earthquake in Costa Rica had just sent the biggest volcano in Nicaragua into a violent eruption and we were riding straight
into the ash cloud. The storm looked massive from over 50km away and just got
bigger and more menacing as we got closer. Just before we hit the sheer
vertical face of it we decided to pull over and get our rain jackets on before
we inevitably got slammed by what looked like the end of the world. Rain
jackets help in apocalyptic scenarios just so you know. As we put them on the
wind howled and sent everything that wasn’t tied down flying, then the rain
came down in massive torrents. We found ourselves pretty much alone as we rode
down the road through this thing, and with great difficultly staying on the
road. Then as abruptly as it started it stopped. Then it got weird. We still
hadn’t realised this was no ordinary storm, but we did now. There was no rain in
the air, and for at least 50km in all directions it was clearish down to about
300m above the ground. But it was replaced by a weird greasy brownish haze smeared
across the sky and bolts of truly terrifying lightning coming out of it.
We rode with multiple bolts
coming down every second everywhere. You might think it was a good time to pull
over, but the road was built for wet seasons so was elevated about 10m above
the surrounding country side. There was literally nowhere to pull over that
would offer any protection, and there were almost no trees due to the farming
land around. This word is bantered around a lot, but this was Epic and truly
awesome. Sheets of lightning would smash into everything and everywhere. The
dark sky would turn into blinding light like a strobe at a nightclub. Then the
most terrifying thing I think we have ever seen from Mother Nature happened. It was like God (or your chosen deity) had
thrown an electric net over the world. The lighting wasn’t coming down anymore,
it was everywhere at once in the sky. It was so alarming we slammed on the
brakes and got off and crouched on the ground as this electric Frankenstein lit
up the world. Worse, you could see the
lightning net tracking through the sky above your head, tearing through the
atmosphere with sonic booms and shocking compression waves. We’ve never seen
anything like it. Then a massive bolt came down and the world turned into
blinding light and sound. It was so close to the bike I thought we had actually
been struck by lightening. It was so close and there was so much static
electricity in the air that there were static shocks coming off the handle bars
of the bike into the metal on the bark busters.
For obvious reasons we didn't want to wave our camera around in the air but it looked a little bit like this, but even more spectacular and terrifying |
The time for standing still
was well and truly over, and we got back on the bike and rode as fast as we
could through the mayhem hoping to just get out of its path. It was adrenaline fueled riding, with continuous bolts and shock waves, at one point we found a
truck and pretty much drove under it trying become a lower target and glad for
something else to be higher. After about an hour and a half it was still going crazy
as we approached the edge of the storm but it was getting dark and we had gone
as far as we could feasibly make it that day. We settled for the first hotel we
came across, keen to get dry and decompress from what was probably the most awe
inspiring natural phenomenon we have ever witnessed.
The hotel was four star and we
were very unprepared for the change of pace; from drenched, smelly and almost
killed backpacker to lap of luxury table service accompanied by a large pool. Apparently,
neither were the staff, who gave us truly wiltering looks at the shabby state
of us. It was the most unwelcoming stay we have had anywhere in Central America …
We left the stares and
uncomfortable comments about our smell and set out for Leon and the nearest laundry. We rocked up an hour later
to our hostel and walked through the bar
past backpackers drinking stupid amounts at 10am and past the tiny bath sized
pool with turtles swimming in it and were at peace. We were back with people we
could understand.
In that vein, the Big Foot
hostel ran probably the most outrageous sport known to mankind; Volcano
boarding. Picture a plank of ply wood, poorly nailed together, a very large and
active volcano, and a bunch of drunk people attempting to slide 700m vertical
meters down said volcano. Sounded good to us, so we signed up for the next day
and joined the general debauchery at the bar.
We woke up early and climbed
into the back of a modified ex army truck and headed towards the volcano. The
track there was terrible and it was nice for once not to have to ride through
the sand and rubble and let someone else worry about the road conditions. We
ducked and dived as the truck smashed through low hanging trees and slid in the
deep sand and got our first look and Cerro Negro; a 700m high mountain of
volcanic rock that through some quirk of geology and wind throws most of the
bigger rocks and lava into a valley while the wind blows the lighter stuff to
the other side. The result is a massive mountain of volcanic sand and ash that
we were about board down.
The guide handed around beers
from a cooler as we all contemplated our life choices while looking up at the
summit. Resolutely we necked the last of our beer and started the hour climb to
the top. A bit after half way we got a look into the still smoking crater while
our guide chatted offhandedly about how it is overdue for an eruption. We have
done a lot of ‘extreme sports’, bungy jumping, sky diving etc, but this was
something else. The record in 90km and if you come off you get hurdled down the
coarse ash at frightening speed for a frighteningly long way. To make matters
worse our guide wasn’t boarding down today because he had come off at speed a
few days before and showed us some very bad scrapes and gravel rash all over
his body. You could cut the tension with a knife as we all looked down the
incredibly steep slope and the tiny truck far below us.
A few guys volunteered to go
first and took off in a cloud of ash as they flew down the mountain side, there
were some sickening accidents and a lot of limping to the bottom. By the time
we were up it was hard to hold on through the sweat pouring out of our palms. Then
it was time. We slid off and picked up an alarming amount of speed, the trick
is to steer with you feet by tapping your heels in to turn, easier said than
done. About a third of the way down Jack picked up a lot of speed and started
turning; I dug my heels in but the finesse needed was way beyond the amount of
adrenaline pumping through my system and I went into a full stack. I tumbled
for about 30m, spat out the mouthful of rock, regained my composure and started
again. This time I was more successful and held it straight and fast all the
way down. Annette’s speed was 37kmh and Jack got a very respectable 56kmh. We
were greeted by more cold beers at the bottom and there was a very Victoria
Bitter advertisement scene with a bunch of filthy looking people smashing a
cold beer after doing something tough. We got back to the hostel and the
drinking and tall tales went well into the night.
We picked ourselves up the
next day and headed to the capital of Nicaragua , Managua
for some much needed repairs on the bike and some electronics that couldn’t
fair the dust and humidity. Big cities, especially capital cities have a bad reputation
over here and for good reason. The societal cohesion and family ties break down
in the cities and they have some of the highest murder and robbery rates in the
region. We rode to our hostel through a decidedly dodgy area where kids were burning
tires and throwing bottles at the flames. We arrived and managed to find an
opulent shopping mall within the city with all the traps and wares from home,
including the replacement electronics and hard to find batteries.
The next day we set about
putting the bike into a mechanic for a new rear tire and a remedy to the
ominous sound coming from the engine. It turned out that it was a national
holiday and every single shop was closed. We ended up talking to a guy out the
front of the hostel (later found out to be a taxi driver) who assured us that
he knew a spot. Jack ended up taking him on the back of the bike through the
back streets of Managua to his cries to ‘VAMOS VAMOS! (GO FASTER!)’ (later
found out he and everyone else was drunk). Three hours later and a lot of extra
fees for people opening up their shops we had resolved most of the problems
except for that engine rattle. We found out that the carburettor had come loose
from the air intake and that from Honduras to Nicaragua the engine had been sucking in unfiltered air. We
must have ridden over 2000km since then including through that volcanic ash
storm… But we had a desperately needed new rear tire and for the place we were
about to go we were going to need it.
Lonely planet describes it as
a ‘fairy tail place’, where two active volcanos have erupted in the middle of a
giant freshwater lake and created an island. The two volcanos rise out of the
lakes surface to 1300m and 1600m respectively and are covered in jungle and
wildlife. Cloud shrouds the peaks of both volcanos giving it a mystical feel
and the two islands have been joined by a massive eruption which has left a
piece of land between them. The island is called Ometepe in southern Nicaragua , and we had heard so much about the place as we
travelled south we had decided to look for work or volunteering there.
We left Managua , stayed a night in Granada and then headed two hours south to Rivas, where you
can catch a ferry out to Ometepe. Once
on the island we headed straight for Little Morgan’s hostel, where our friend
Ruth was living and of which we had heard fantastic reviews from other
travellers. The hostel is a beautiful
lake-front property with uniquely designed wooden buildings and a communal bar
area. The owner, Morgan, is a friendly
Irishman and the hostel is named after his 5 year old son, Little Morgan.
Ruth had mentioned to Morgan
that we were interested in working at the hostel, so we were keen to make a
good impression. As it turned out, the
interview process consisted of Morgan sitting down next to us and asking ‘are
you the Australians?’ followed by a hearty welcome and him listing off all the
free things we would get whilst working for him. Our job consists of checking in guests,
serving food and drinks and just generally socialising. We work 3 days on, 3 days off in return for
free accommodation, food, alcohol and a profit share arrangement after the
first month.
Whilst long term travelling is
full of excitement, fun and new experiences, after a while you begin to miss
some of the comforts of home; a place to unpack your belongings, a steady group
of friends surrounding you and the same bed every night. After only 5 weeks of working there, Little
Morgan’s has become that home away from home for us, a place where we feel
settled and welcome. Of course, it
certainly hasn’t lacked in fun and excitement, but we’ll leave those stories
for next time.