Granada Granada Granada Granada, then Leon Leon Leon

We arrive at the lovely and welcoming Hostel Oasis, but the first order of business is a nap and then a healthy dose of relaxation/pool lounging.

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.

I was so scared

Now for the equally terrifying part: boarding down the steep, rocky hillside.  Mike volunteers to go first, but I linger back.  When my turn comes, I'm really nervous about injuring myself, so I plant my feet and try to go as slowly as possible (and it's still too fast for my liking!) I clock in at measly 35 km/hr while the fastest in our group hits a staggering 85!  Nonetheless, I watch nasty spill after nasty spill and I am grateful for my snail speed.

Still so scared

Relieved to be alive and with adrenalin pumping, we slam our free beers in the tailgate to old school hip hop.

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!

Isla Ometepe - Scorpions and Tarantulas and Spiders (oh my)

Finally, it feels like time for us to move on so we plan for Ometepe Island and begin sorting out bus and ferry schedules.  Our buddy Alex decides to join and convinces Maelle to come as well.  Now that there are four of us we can easily share a cab to the docks in San Jorge.  There are two sailings for two different boats: 1:30 for the small boat or 2:30 for the ferry.  We're eager to get there so we opt for the earlier, smaller boat.  We watch it arrive across choppy Lake Nicaragua and it's practically sideways.  We pop a couple preemptive Gravols.  They load the tiny boat with people, building materials, whatever else they can cram on and I gratefully pass out.  We finally arrive and hop in a cab to Santa Cruz.  We don't know where to stay, but had heard Little Morgan's is a cool spot so we tell the driver to take us there.  On the way, a massive rooster nearly jumps in front of the truck and narrowly avoids getting hit.
"El pollo es loco!" laughs our driver, "Es suicida."
I laugh, a lot.

We arrive at the hostel and it's a massive property in the jungle overlooking the lake.  They have a pool table, tree house, and restaurant.  They tell us they have a private house available that the four of us can have to ourselves.
They start us a tab and it immediately becomes apparent that the bartenders are excellent sales people.
"Let's all shot gun a beer!" Shal yells after we check in.  He convinces all of us, plus a few other onlookers.  It's easy to forget that none of this shit is free.  On top of it all, they have a bunch of drinking rules including Buffalo Rule which means if you get caught drinking left handed, you have to slam your whole drink.
They talk me into signing up for unlimited rum punch and a pig roast dinner so I don't make it far into the evening and I can't remember who won the Superbowl.

View from the tree house at Little Morgan's

In the a.m. Mike and I rent a dirt bike and explore the island and eventually decide to hike up to the San Ramon waterfall.  The hike is way longer than we expect, plus we're hot and a little hungover, but when we finally reach the pristine pool of water, it's all worth it.  To top it off, we spot a family of Howler monkeys on the way down.

We rush off to get the tank filled before returning the bike at 5:00, but find ourselves stuck in a herd of cows casually meandering down the road, being followed by a 10 year old on a horse.  We make it back to the hostel a mere minute before the guy shows up for the bike.

In the morning we say a sad goodbye to Maelle and Alex who are headed to their respective homes.  Mike and I go to Ojo de Agua which is an incredible natural spring pool surrounded by lush gardens, but we don't stay long on account of the aftermath of the horrible breakfast we just ate at the restaurant on property.

Ojo de Agua

We catch a chicken bus back to Little Morgan's only to discover that there are three different people celebrating birthdays, including the Morgan.  A wild night ensues.
We chat with a Californian named Drew and mention we want to go to Granada in the morning and he decides he'll join.  The 7:30 am pick up time looms closer and closer and Drew starts to hesitate, "Maybe we should stay one more night..." he keeps saying.  Nah, we got this.  Hangovers be damned!

When our alarm goes off a mere few hours later we wonder aloud if Drew is going to ditch.  To our delight, we meet him as he's coming down the path.  We settle up (surprisingly our bar tabs aren't as bad as we expect) and wait for the cab which is already 20 minutes late.  When we finally hit the road we drive at an incredibly slow place towards the ferry, over an hour away.  We originally planned to eat breakfast before the boat, but now it looks like we might not even make the ferry.  Especially when our driver slows to stop and tells us the van is overheated.
No matter, he's called a buddy who has been trailing behind and we're ushered into the awaiting vehicle.  We make it just in time to buy our tickets and get on the boat (the bigger one this time, thankfully), but not before I discover a hitchhiker on my backpack in the form of a GIANT cricket.  We get to San Jorge and find a cheap cab to Rivas right off the boat.
Lucky for us, Drew is a strong Spanish speaker and asks the driver to bring us to a decent comodor that's still within walking distance of the bus depot so I'm able to indulge in my favourite Nica breakfast.

We saunter off to catch the bus to Granada but it seems there are no micro buses, only the infamous chicken buses.  All three of us are hot and hungover, plus Mike and Drew are really lementing the hot crowded chicken bus, so we pool our resources and spring for a cab, off to stunning Granada.

Travels in Nicaragua - Saucy San Juan Del Sur

On our way out in the morning, we stop to talk to the guy at the front desk who advises us to get off the bus at the main highway, flag down the bus to Liberia, transfer to the Puerto Blanco bus, walk across the boarder and then attempt to find two other people to share a cab straight to San Juan del Sur.  Simple enough.

At the station we're approached by a twosome.
"Excuse me, were you guys staying at Pension?" the girl asks in an accent I can't quite place.
Turns out they had the same conversation with the guy at the front desk mere minutes after we did and were told they should try to find us.
Shaz is Kiwi, Jose is Spanish and we join forces with a few other travellers: Michele, Kristy and Vlad and begin our bus journey to the boarder.

I'd heard that this particular boarder crossing could get chaotic, but things go fairly smoothly (other than having to present our passports to about 10 different people) that is UNTIL we get to the baggage scanners.
They begin questioning Jose about one of his bags and pull him aside to begin an intense discussion in Spanish.  It seems to be regarding his drone, namely, that he cannot bring it into the country.  The guy questioning him tells Jose he can have his drone if he directly pays the guy $75.  Jose begrudgingly agrees.  Then suddenly the story changes: $75 and the guy will bring the drone to his house and keep it safe there.  Riiiiight.  Eventually Jose talks to a (hopefully) more credible employee who has him fill out some paperwork and tells him they will hold his drone for pick-up within 20 days, effectively messing up his travel plans and leaving him less than optimistic about ever seeing his drone again. (Side note: he did eventually get it back.)
Nevertheless, he uses his Spanish soap-star charm and talks our cab driver down to $5 a person for an hour drive to San Juan Del Sur.

We arrive in the happening little surf town and after promising to meet up for a well needed beer, we head to our hostel and Shaz and Jose head off to check out theirs.

Upon entering Javier's House our faces literally drop.  It's dark and depressing, the only furniture in their 'common area' is literally rows and rows of uncomfortable wooden rocking chairs (why so many goddamn rocking chairs?)  The 'kitchen area' is small and looks inaccessible as it is currently being utilized as the check-in desk.  There are tons of rules posted everywhere and it is apparent that Javier's entire extended family is living in the hostel as well.

A man approaches us angrily asks us what we want in Spanish and I meekly say, "Tengo un reservation por Francesca..."
He screams for a girl (his daughter I guess) who emerges from another room, looks at us and lets out an audible disgruntled sigh.  We struggle in Spanish for several minutes to ask about the cancelation policy and finally she asks, "Would you prefer is I speak in English?"  That was an option this entire time?
She tells us we can pay on a daily basis but won't receive our deposit back from Hostel World.  She shows us to the room: it's small and dark with crowded bunks with thin, cartoon character adorned sheets... they look terribly uncomfortable.  We can't help but notice several mattresses cooking on the tin roof and when we examine our beds, a bed bug runs along the side of our mattress, hardly trying to hide itself.  The tiny bathroom is full of mould, the upstairs smoking area is full of more rocking chairs and I kid you not, we are the only two people staying there.  We don't even want to put our bags down on the ground.
At that moment, the sky clouded over and our moods plummeted to an all-time low.
"It's okay, we can still salvage this," we rationalize.  "Let's hit the streets and find somewhere else to stay."
We wander around aimlessly, but are having trouble differentiating between good and bad hostels, they all look the same.  We see a poster for Casa Oro, the hostel recommended to us by the amazing staff at Pension in Monteverde.
We enter the lobby and are greeted by a huge open lobby, a cafe, modern decor and a giant tree growing past the winding stairs and up into the rooftop balcony.  The price is virtually the same as Javier's.  We ask to see a room and they tell us to go ahead upstairs and check it out.
We peer into the first dorm (which is gorgeous with its canopy bunkbeds with colourful curtains for added privacy and a private balcony) and who do we see?  Shaz and Jose!
"Are you guys staying here?" we ask.  They tell us that the place they looked at was awful and we all laugh at our similar experiences.  There are two bunks left in the room, so we sprint down to reception and beg for them to be held for us and rush down the street practically giddy with glee.
We expect a bit of a fight when we gather up our things and tell the girl we want to leave.
"Okay," she says, unfazed and she cuts off our wrist bands.  I get the impression she's seen many people flee this establishment in a similar manner.  We drop our things and hurry off with Shaz and Jose for a much needed cerveza or two.

Yowza!

We're seaside, enjoying the sunset and enjoying the two for one margaritas when Shaz recognizes a girl from our hostel and insists she joins us.  Her name is Maelle and she's from Montreal.  We stroll the beach, stroll the streets, pick up some beers and head back to the hostel where we're abruptly told we can't drink them on the premises, we can't even store them on the property, so we go for a walk and try to figure out our next move.
People seem to be drinking openly in the streets so Maelle asks a local lady who tells us as long as we don't gather on street corners in big groups or drink in the parks, then it's fine.  Great news!  We drink a couple and hide the rest in our back packs and purses.
We get back to the room and meet our other roomies: a Canadian named Andrew and an American named Lauren.  They're drinking contraband beers and tell us as long as we're discreet it's not a big deal.  They're both participating in a bar crawl starting at the Canadian bar entitled: The Loose Moose (I couldn't make this up if I tried.)
At first we hesitate, but then realize that we
a) haven't partied yet on this trip
b) are with a cool crew
and c) have no where to be in the morning.
We have an unreal time and even run into Gary and Reed, the Albertans we met in Costa Rica.

I wake up with a splitting headache and manage to drag my ass out of bed before eventually heading downstairs to catch the shuttle to Playa Madura.
The shuttle is packed so the driver says five people have to go in another vehicle.  There are five of us so we happily volunteer and turn the SUV into a massive sing-along, much to the chagrin of our driver.
We stop and pick up even more Canadians, Kevin and Maddy, who are actually from Nanaimo!  Small world.  We all spend the day swimming, lounging and attempting to surf.

The next day it's Maelle's birthday so we figure we should do something special for the day.  We want to rent dirt bikes, but Mike and Jose are the only ones comfortable driving and there are five of us.  Neither of the girls is comfortable driving a scooter so I bite the bullet and volunteer to drive it while they double on the bikes.  I'm a bit nervous at first since I haven't been on a scooter since Bali, but I quickly get the hang of it and we speed off towards Playa Yankee.

All goes well until the flat paved road becomes loose gravel and rolling hills.  My scooter is definitely not equipped to handle these massive stones and steep hills and I slow down, fearful of falling, but wrongly assume we are almost at our destination.
I eventually take a spill and the scooter lands on top of me.  Maelle jumps off the back of Mike's bike and comes running to help.  In her rush to help me lift the scooter, she hits the accelerator and the wheel starts spinning in her direction before flying off out of control.  We surround her and see that she's hurt; what appears to be a massive burn blister is forming on her shin.
We head back to town to the pharmacy and pick up ointment and bandages to attend to her wound.  We all feel awful that she just got maimed on her birthday, but she just laughs and tells us, "It's nice!  I'll just drink lots of tequila tonight and it will kill all the germs."  What a trooper.

Birthday crew

Everyone wants to head back out, but all the beaches we want to visit involve crossing similarly sketchy roads.  Feeling a little sick and a lot shaky from my spill, I tell them to go on without me and I get to work trying to clean and fix my severely damaged rental scooter.  At the end of the day everyone gets back and the time has come to return our vehicles.  I am terrified of the huge bill I'll inevitably be slapped with once they see how fucked up my is.
I sheepishly roll in and they begin inspecting the bike, so I start making small talk and joking around in an attempt to distract them.  It's the end of the day and the guys are obviously eager to close shop, because they barely give it a once over before one guy turns to me, grins and says, "Looks perfect!"  Perfect?!  I grab my credit card and literally speed walk away, feeling as if I just got away with murder.

That night we hit the bar with a few other people to celebrate Maelle's birthday.  We're not sure where to go so a bunch of us are standing on the street, trying to formulate a plan when and older American man approaches us and insists we check out his friends bar.  He says it is the most happening spot in town at this time of night and that the bar crawls all end there.  We thank him for his advise and say we'll maybe check it out, but he refuses to leave unless we accompany.  Normally I appreciate tips, but this guy was insistent to the point of rudeness.  Reluctantly, we follow him for what feels like forever and he leads us into a bar with literally three other people in it, none of whom are dancing and a DJ who appears to be in her 60s (not discriminating, just trying to paint a picture.)
"Oh man!  I guess there's no bar crawl tonight, sorry guys."
We're all thoroughly annoyed so we do a couple shots of tequila, despite the fact this lying shyster just succeeded in getting us to spend money at his friends bar.

We decide we should check out Naked Tiger as it's meant to be SJDS's ultimate party hostel and bar, surely something's going on.
We all managed to cram into a cab and head all the way up there only to find out they're closing the bar early cause it's a quiet night.  Luckily we're told we can jump onto their shuttle and go party at PachaMama with them.  It's a fun atmosphere and we have a wicked night.

The next day we hear rumours that the surf shop down the street is having a massive sale, so Lindsay and I go to check it out.  They're giving out free rum punch and the bikinis are $5!  I desperately need a bathing suit and despite the fact these suits are clearly made for women with no breasts or curves, I manage to find a larger size that gives me some sort of coverage.
I run into Reed who tells me that they had their van broken into while parked outside the hostel and that all of Gary's clothing got stolen.  They're not letting it affect their plans and are headed to Ometepe in the next couple and invite us to join them.

The following day I have a bad cold, so we spend our last day in SJDS chilling at the beach and hiking up to the Christ of Mercy statue to glimpse the 360 views of the area.