Ayyyyyyy what's up ya'll!?
I am typing away from my old casa in Boca Raton, Florida, having returned from my trip a few days ago. It's so weird being back. So dull here compared to living in Nicaragua the last several weeks. But maybe that has something to do with the fact that I'm hanging out in my parents house in Boca. Hmm...
Anyway, about a month ago I took a trip to the Island of Omotepe in Nicaragua. I had been meaning to go there for quite some time, as it is one of the major stops among the backpacker crowd, or the "gringo trail" as they call it. And rightfully so - it's an island of two volcanoes that rises up into the skyline out of Lake Nicaragua, the 9th largest freshwater lake in the Americas. In fact, it is the largest volcanic island within a freshwater body of water in the world. Pretty cool. Oh yeah, and the lake has bull sharks in it...which adds to the mystic. And sawfish. Creepyyy.
We began our adventure with a long ferry ride to the island.
As the skies greyed and the silhouettes of the two volcanoes, shrouded in mist drew closer, someone remarked that it felt like we were sailing into skull island from that cheesy King Kong movie. We chuckled, cause it was true.
After about an hour and a half we finally made it to shore.
Tentatively, we exited the safety of our ship and stepped foot into the unknown. Thankfully, instead of being greeted by this:
...we were greeted by a swarm of taxi and shuttle drivers jockeying for our business. Much less menacing. We got to our hostel, bought a cheap bottle of rum and some coke, and after a few drinks we meandered through the pitch darkness to the party hostel down the way.
Upon arrival, the girls were approached by a large intoxicated Swedish man wearing women's clothing, who apparently needed a kiss to complete the drinking challenge he was participating (alone) in. Gotta love backpackers.
The next day we rented bikes and rode a few miles to some mineral springs we had heard about. My bike had a bum chain which I couldnt get out of first gear, so I was peddling like a maniac and not really going anywhere. Theres me, way in the back, having much less fun than the girls.
Upon arriving, we were informed that once upon a time a ninety year old man took a dip in the springs and after swimming around for a while, felt like he was forty again. Amazing. We had discovered the fountain of youth, and it only cost us $3 to get in.
Miracles abound, soon enough I was walking on water.
This was something special. And what started off as a normal civilized affair, using utensils and proper table etiquette quickly went out the window as our animal instincts took over. Like a wake of vultures, we stripped those fish to the bone in record time, snarling at each other through clenched teeth as we faught over the last few edible bits.
Fat and happy, we made our way back to the hostel to sort out the details of our big hike the next day - the main event, Maderas Volcano! This was the main reason we came, which makes it all the more puzzling why I failed to pack any sort of footwear that even remotely resembled something I could hike in. Truth is, I didnt even own anything suitable for something like this, since my trusty vibrams had been stolen a few months back (still a little butthurt about that). And this was no joke, it was a tough 8+ hour hike with steep elevation gain through slick muddy terrain. I knew this. As I was packing for this little trip, with nothing more than a pair of flip-flops, the thought did cross my mind but I figured ehhh I'll figure it out (my default response to something I don't feel like dealing with at the time). The universe will provide right? Well it did, sort of. Quickly shooting down my proposal of hiking in flip-flops, our guide offered to lend me his old pair of boots, to which I warily agreed.
The next morning rolled around and we filled our bellies with a nice big breakfast for the day ahead. As our guide strolled up with my loaners in hand, I cringed. For the past few years I've subscribed to the minimalist mindset in regard to footwear - favoring my vibrams and other super lightweight designs for all activities. What the guide carried in his hand looked like something you would wear for moon exploration. But it was a really nice gesture on his part, and it was my only option so when I stuffed my foot in and felt my toes mash up into the front of the toe box I nodded. "Yep these'll work", through a fake smile.
Needless to say, within the first two minutes of walking I could feel the blisters beginning to form. We made a quick pitstop so that I could address the issue. Sensing the severity of the situation at hand and the propensity for it to worsen, the team came together in a combined effort to tend to their wounded comrad.
It took a lot of courage, but like Curt Schilling in game 2 of the 2004 World Series, I dug deep. Amidst all the doubts and concerns, after a few layers of bandaids and a shoddy tape job, I rose to my feet, determinted to continue.
So on we went, and after passing some random petroglyphs, we began our muddy ascent.
It was a pretty sweet hike, as you can see from the pics:
Especially as we started getting up into the cloud forest, near the top of the volcano.
It was like we were hiking through some sort of enchanted forest, cool and misty with a layer of moss covering just about everything. But nothing could compare to reaching the top. The crater lake. Wow...it was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Definitely the highlight of the trek for me and one of the coolest things I saw in all of my travels through Central America. So cool that I was like ok bust out the camera, it's VBlog time.
Oh snap!
It had been a while since I had done any VBlogging so I was a little rusty, and I had a crowd staring at me so I was a tad nervous and didn't hit on all the points I wanted to but still I thought it came out pretty cool for being so spur of the moment. As you could see from the video the crater lake was completely enveloped in fog when we first arrived. No joke it was like being on a different planet or something, it was so freaking cool. And totally different than what I expected. I envisioned this small little pool atop a barren, rocky summit, not a huge lake surrounded by this incredibly lush forest, encased in a dense fog. Really incredible sight!
It was pretty darn chilly at the top, but of course we had to take a quick swim. I mean, when was the next time I would get to swim in a lake formed in the crater where a volcano had erupted? Probably never. Shivering, we peeled off our sweaty clothes and inched toward the freezing water. Did I mention I hate cold water? Ughhhh we took the plunge and after a few moments I had had enough. I wanted out fast, but as I tried to do so I sank waist deep into muck which slowed that whole process down.
We were riding high most of the day up to this point, but a low point came when, cold and wet, it was time to put our sweat-soaked clothes back on. I would have died for a set of fresh dry socks and boxers and I was kicking myself for not thinking of that. But the worst part was getting my feet back in those damn boots, or "blistermakers" as Tom referred to them as. I remember staring down at them like look I dont like you and you dont like me, in fact we hate each other, but we are going to have to coexist for the next few hours and then I swear you'll never see me again, ever. By this time the tape and bandaids which served as crappy mediators in our toxic relationship had worn off and so as I squeezed my foot back in and felt the raw blistered skin slide across the rough unforgiving hell that was the inside of those boots, my heart filled with a mixture of anger and resentment. Everyone was waiting on me now, and as I slowly and begrudgingly laced up the boots I did my best to conceal the scowl on my face. From here on out it was all business. Just get me to the bottom. Needless to say, the hike down was not fun. And it seemed to go on and on forever, tormenting us. We were told the entire hike would take about 8 hours and figured since we were a pretty fit group we could make it in about 7. Well the 7 hour mark rolled around, then the eight hour mark, then the nine hour mark. At about the nine and a half hour mark I couldnt take it anymore - I ripped the boots off and put on my flip-flops, which thank goodness I brought along just in case. That gave me a bit of a second wind, at least enough to finish but at that point I was completely over it. The damage was done.
Finally, at nine hours and fifty minutes we made it back to the hostel. We had no sooner arrived than I grabbed the nearest can of gasoline, doused the boots, and cracked an evil smile as they went up in flames (I wish).
Haha but no seriously, overall it was an awesome day with such a fun group. But would I do it again?
Is that a joke...?
:)
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Ross - since you're putting this out in cyberspace hope you don't mind me sharing. The blogs are great!!
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