The next day is Mike Bye's birthday and we feel refreshed so we set out to explore the busy city. We marvel at the brightly painted pastel buildings and crumbling cathedrals.
We reach the main square and are surrounded by guys trying to sell tours, we politely decline and carry on to the Cathedral of Granada. That's when we're approached by a suspiciously friendly local who starts fast talking us. He wants to know who we are, where we're going, and if he can point us in any direction. We thank him and explain that we're happy wandering the city on our own, we walk towards the church and he follows us He natters on about how he was an alter boy at this particular church and constantly insists he's just a friendly guy who isn't looking for any type of payment.
He follows us up the bell tower, droning on the entire time.
At the top, he asks again where we're going and please can he show us? Uneasy, we re-iterate that we wish to explore by ourselves.
"Okay, okay fine. But before I go, can I have a few dollars for a beer?"
We're not at all surprised. Mike grabs a handful of change and hands it to him... he asks for a bit more. What a guy.
We go to leave the cathedral, slightly annoyed, and the security guard calls us over, "That guy, es no bueno."
So we've gathered.
The next night we eagerly look forward to viewing the very active, magma filled Masaya Volcano.
We all pile into the minivan and drive and drive and drive until we make it to the entrance of the national park. We wait in a long queue behind other vehicles while vendors offer us beer and other goodies. We finally get into the park, but we're still in line. The bus driver asks if anyone speaks Spanish and there is a Swiss girl onboard who speaks it quite well. She translates for him: apparently there are only 60 people permitted on the volcano at any time so we will have to wait up to an hour. There's nowhere to wait, no bathroom, and nothing to see or do. We're all pretty crestfallen, but to our elation, the wait only ends up being 15 minutes.
We pull into the parking lot and all run towards the guard rail to witness the flowing magma waving in a slow hypnotic manner. We snap a couple pictures and after what feels like a minute, we all get called back to our respective buses as it's time for the next group to come through.
When we return to the hostel, the power's out, so we cook our dinner on a propane stove in the dimness of our headlamps.
Our intention is to go to the Corn Islands the next day, but we waited too long to book our flights and as it's a small aircraft, we have to book a flight for a few days from now. We have time to kill so we decide to check out Leon.
We take a microbus to Managua and then another to Leon. When we arrive at the terminal it's an absolute shit show- buses arriving in every direction, drivers yelling destinations, vendors calling out their fares. We climb out and get mobbed by cab drivers, one grabs at our bags, while another tries to usher us in a different direction, while yet another yells over all of them, "I speak English! You must trust me!" Okay buddy...
I'm hot and sleepy and entirely overwhelmed. We manage to break away, but they still follow us for a while. We're sick of sitting in a cramped bus so we decide to walk the 20 minutes to our hostel, despite the protestations of the cabbies who insist it's impossible.
We check into Bigfoot Hostel and end up in a dorm with only one other girl and we have a huge loft area to ourselves. Yas!
We hurry down to the Cathedral de Leon and the white sandstone structure is beyond stunning. We meet a couple American Airlines employees who are also staying at our hostel and we all frolic on the cathedral rooftop, but become concerned when homemade fireworks start shooting in our general direction.
We return to the hostel and enjoy some fresh mojitos and play pool with some more Americans.
It's Saturday and the hostel bar is hosting a reggae night with live music. I'm excited until I quickly realize apparently 'reggae' means nonstop Rihanna and Sean Paul and 'live' means a guy yelling 'Come on!' into the mic every so often. It's a nice bar but it's too small to be a club, plus its awkward seeing all the gringos on one side of the room and all the locals on the other. I opt to go to bed early since we have volcano boarding in the morning.
I rise nice and rested and start getting ready only to discover my running shoes are nowhere to be found. I'm not sure if they fell out during our bus transfers or if someone jacked them (I keep having flash backs to all the people grabbing at my backpack) but whatever the reason, they're gone and now so are my hopes for volcano boarding. To add insult to injury, ONE of my walking shoes is also missing, ONE! There's no way they'll let me participate in flip flops, so Mike and I go on the hunt for an open store but it's Sunday at 8:30 am so our prospects are grim.
I tell my conundrum to the girl at the front desk and ask if they have any shoes in the lost and found that I can borrow. They say no, but one of the girls, Marina, asks my shoe size and we're close in size, so she offers to run home and grab some for me. She is an absolute angel and saves my day. We all hop into the flatbread truck that is our shuttle.
Our guides, Manny and Archie are both feeling worst for wear after last nights activities and so are the two Americans so they drink beers and smoke while we all dance to beats bumping from the massive subwoofer.
When we arrive at Cerro Negro we're told we can each pay $5 to have a local carry our boards to the top. Mike and I actually didn't bring enough cash, plus we are used to carrying snowboards, so we don't think it's a huge deal.
The hike itself isn't bad, we stop often for breaks, but as we approach the final stretch across a steep narrow crossing the wind really picks up. It's everything I can do not to get blown off the volcano every time the wind lifts my heavy wooden toboggan. White knuckled, we baby-step it to the top.
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| I was so scared |
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| Still so scared |
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| Happy to be alive |
Back at the hostel they present us with free mojitos. The truck is taking people to the beach for the day, but Mike and I are already burnt so we go back to our search for runners. I find a cheap pair that look suitable for an 85 year old woman so I select a pair in hot pink.
We have another good night of pool and good company and leave in the morning for Managua. We see Manny and say bye and ask him where we should stay, he recommends the Backpackers Inn, which is somewhat close to the bust stop. Perfect!
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