Our last 24 hours in Panama City started with a trip to Panama Viejo in a death mobile. One of the tires had no air, there wasn't enough pickup to make it up a hill without being passed by an enormous water truck, and the driver may have been speeding but we wouldn't know for two reasons. First, the speedometer stayed on 5mph the whole time and second we got kind of dizzy with all the exhaust that was pouring in from the engine. Oh, and we shared the cab ride with another woman who needed a ride to the police station.
While I'm on the subject, let me take a minute to discuss Panamanian driving. First, there are about 7 traffic lights in the whole city (population of the metro area is about 1.3 million) and even those are largely ignored. If you want to turn onto a street you simply start edging yourself in until the traffic coming at you is forced to slow down and allow you to enter. Truth be told if DC drivers could learn to merge a little aggressively like that the traffic circles wouldn't be so miserable around here. A telltale sign of how frightening the streets are in Panama City is that we did not see a single biker in the city, even though the flat landscape and distances just out of walking range would seem to make it a perfect place for bikers. What really amazed me was how all of our cab drivers seemed to try to get where they were going making as many turns as humanly (but not humanely) possible, as if they enjoyed the rush of a near death experience. Or maybe it's because turning into one lane of speeding cross traffic is easier than crossing a street of two lanes. Though when our drivers did want to cross both lanes they simply edged into the first lane until the oncoming cars had to stop and wait for them, then repeated to cross to the other side. Then, in turn, they get pissed off and start honking three seconds later when another driver does the exact same thing to them. One thing to the credit of Panamanian taxi drivers is that even when they charge the tourist 'tax' (lord how we longed for a metered ride where we actually knew we were being charged the right amount) it was only a dollar or two more than they'd charge a local. Unlike in SE Asia where the rates could jump 500% (or more if you make the mistake of telling them you're staying in a real hotel). There are few buses to speak of, and they are almost exclusively modified chicken buses like the ones in Nicaragua. The only difference is they are newer (or at least less old) and decorated much more aggressively. The Nica drivers personalized their space with Jesus stickers and occasionally some bold paint colors on the sides. The Panamanians went all out with hyper detailed Looney Tunes graffiti and paintings of mostly naked ladies all up the grill and windshield of the bus (leaving a six inch horizontal stripe across the glass in order to see the merging taxis), as well as neon lights and shark fins on the roof.

Anyway. Luckily we made it to the old city, gasping for oxygen, but in one piece. The museum there was about 1/3 translated into English, enough for us to learn that there used to be a settlement there. Then the Spanish built it into a big capital. Then pirates looted it. Repeatedly. Then they moved. Now it is rocks. The end.
Outside of the museum is a trail that passes through some ruins on the way to a restored cathedral tower, but we were a bit delayed when the skies opened up and began dropping sheets of rain upon our heads. We hadn't seen rain this hard since...well, I suppose we've seen it a bunch of times this trip. But it was still really hard. After playing some cards(we always come prepared) in the Artisan Market o' Crap the rain let up enough for us to walk through the ruins and climb the tower. It was fine. Not the most impressive ruins we've ever seen, since we've spent more than our fair share of time surrounded by piles of rocks, but nicely done and well taken care of. After stuffing ourselves silly at another kosher place for dinner (the third Darna restaurant we've eaten at on this fine planet of ours) we got to bed early to wake up for another early morning jungle walk.
This time we headed to a closer park, the Metropolitan National Park within the city limits of Panama City but still a pristine rain forest. One minute you are driving through city streets and the next you are in the jungle. Walking through the thick jungle with cicadas and birds making a racket in the canopy is a good way to start a day, though the small prop planes landing in the nearby domestic airport sounded like helicopters flying overhead and gave me some bad flashbacks to 'nam. Some of the bird calls we were hearing in the trees were totally unique and interesting - I'll practice them on the plane so make sure you ask next time you see me. Reaching the top of the hill in the park we were greeted by toucans bouncing from tree to tree and about six Geoffrey's Tamarins, a tiny little primate about the size of a small cat. (Or about 2/3 of a Raya). We actually had much better luck today than in the more distant jungle yesterday, making us think maybe we should have spent the day yesterday at the beach, instead. Oh well. There's always next time.
After yet another restaurant lunch (though not as good as the others we've had) we killed time playing skeeball and air hockey in the mall, now we're waiting for the taxi to take us to the airport. <Sigh>. We liked our driver so much this morning that we asked him to pick us up at the jungle when we were ready to come home, then to come back later and take us to the airport. He was very friendly and chatty, though it was a bit over the top when he took out the pictures of his kids (while driving on the highway) to show us how proud he was of his older three children. Not the youngest though, all he told us about him was that he was short and fat. Oh, then he told us there are too many Columbians entering the country and the stores in the malls we passed were all owned by Jews and Muslims who took all the money. Nice guy, though.
Well, now we're home and ready to start planning our next trip. Any ideas?
P.S. - Our trip home featured an American teen tour (ugh) that surrounded us at our seats in the waiting area at the gate to form a circle and start sharing their end of trip emotions. Now I wouldn't have minded had they asked us to move over a bit to give them room to sit as a group, but was it nice to completely ignore us and pretend we didn't even exist? I don't think so. I hope they all get very mean teachers this year in school. On the plane we sat next to a college student with an IPad and the attention span of a flea. He watched a few minutes of a movie (one of the Bournes, which really took us back to Thailand), played a game, switched to reading Harry Potter, went back to the movie, played some Angry Birds, went to a different book, then switched to another game. All on his IPad, all before we even left the gate. Kids these days and their toys. Speaking of which, the sweet little munchkin in the seat behind us turned out to be stark raving mad, spending most of the flight screaming his adorable little face off and kicking the back of Adina's chair. Then he took out a DVD player or something and started this horrible kids program (lady, give that's why they give out headphones). Then, after deciding to kick Adina's chair a bit more he went back to his favorite game of screaming. It wasn't the "ouch, I'm hurt" scream, or the "my ears are popping and it scares me scream" or even the "I'm a little hungry and I could use a cracker" scream. It was the "I've got nothing better to do so let's make every one miserable" scream. Even his sister couldn't take it anymore and switched seats to get away from the little runt. I'm pretty sure this is the kid the book was based on. When the drink cart passed by for a second time I slipped a little Jack in his apple juice and it got better from there.

A man, a plan, a canal, Panama!

Sunday morning we awoke at the Fundillo crack of dawn to catch a ride to the airport and head to Panama.  The very nice taxi driver in Panama City stopped being so nice when he couldn't find our 'hotel' in the 'charming' neighborhood of Casco Viejo, then became downright surly when we discovered our 'hotel' was a hovel of crap and had him take us to a few other hovels in the area before bailing on the neighborhood and heading to the other side of town.  In the end we did luck out with a great place which makes up for what it lacks in comfortable beds with awesome showers and a decent kitchen and common area.  Though our first room was bright yellow and gave me chilling reminders of school (my classroom at Wakefield is in the yellow hallway and is painted obnoxiously bright).  First thing we did after unloading our stuff (and being told how boring Panama City is by the Israelis leaving the hostel as we checked in) was head back to Casco Viejo to do a bit of a walking tour.  The neighborhood used to be the classy part of town (and the first one rebuilt after the original settlement was destroyed a few centuries ago) it was allowed to rot for a while and is now in the slow process of being rebuilt.  You can find gorgeously renovated French colonial building next to rotting shells of centuries old brothels (at least that's what I imagine them to be.)  We also hit up an enormous mall (bigger than the court and plaza combined) to replace some of the stuff missing since last week when our little Nica friend stole our bag.  Adina was quite happy to have real shoes again.  

Highlight of the day, however, was without a doubt the delicious al ha'eish place we went to for dinner in the kosher neighborhood right in the center of the city.  In one shopping center we found the Israeli grill, a bakery, two dairy/pseudo Italian restaurants, and a Japanese fish place (which was dinner on Monday night, and was excellent), and all of this is just a couple of blocks from an enormous all kosher super market that puts 7 mile to shame.  It felt good to be full for a change, but we decided that since there was so much kosher food around we couldn't apply vacation rules anymore, so we decided not to have Cinnabon at the mall.  

On Monday we got a bit of a lazy start (Adina had to resort to some pretty forceful poking to get me out of bed) and went biking along the Amador causeway at the edge of town with great views of the city on one side and the entrance to the canal on the other.  In the afternoon we hit up the canal, which is just a little cooler than we'd thought it would be (which was already pretty cool).  The best place to watch ships pass through is at the Miraflores Locks where they built a little museum and visitor's center.  We got there at the perfect time to watch a ship full of cars (we assume.  It was a Hyundai ship) be lowered in the locks from the lake to sea level.  It amazes me that 120 years ago some one said, "let's just lift the ships up on one end, flood the entire region to make the biggest man made lake on the planet, cut through millions of tons of rock and mud (while periodically watching the trench be filled with jungle mudslides), and lower them again at the other end" and wasn't laughed out of the room.  While the canal is certainly a momentous feat of human ingenuity and perseverance and has made world trade far more efficient, it seems a little strange to me that it's pretty much universally accepted that it was worth the tens of thousands of lives that it costs to construct.  I'd like to think that sentiment would still be widely held even if they were mostly white people's lives, but I'm really not so sure.  I also didn't realize that the U.S. still controlled the canal right up until the turn of the century.  Seriously, what business did we have doing that?

This morning we headed out to Soberania National Park in the canal zone for some early birdwatching.  It turns out we don't have the patience for birdwatching.  But we did manage to see some fantastic birds.  Here is a short sample:  Rainbow chested super-parrots, bumble-bee doves, flitterfly hummingbirds, and long beaked helicopter pelicans, so named because it sounds like a helicopter taking off when they fly overhead.  Luckily, we were without a guide so we were free to make up whatever names we wanted, just like the monkey squirrel we saw on San Ramon.  Speaking of San Ramon, our giant blue butterfly friend must have sent his cousins to watch over us, because they kept us company the whole time.  We also saw some unnamed mammals, which we were possibly anteaters or maybe tamirs.  There is a slim chance that they were ROUS's, but we didn't come across any fire swamp, so I'm not too sure.  Of course, there were also monkeys in the trees to watch for a bit, until one got cranky and started throwing branches at us.  We figured that was our cue to keep on walking. 

We're now starting to see that those Israelis had a point - there is a shortage of things to do in this town.  We would like to go the Metropolitan National Park in the morning (a rainforest right in the city!) to see some toucans, and perhaps we will go to Panama Viejo (the long abandoned original settlement) this afternoon.  Other than eat more kosher food and perhaps throw some money away at a casino, there really isn't much left.  Which I suppose is a good thing, because we head home tomorrow night.  Luckily that gives me plenty of time to rest in Thursday before the midnight premiere of Harry Potter.  Not so much luck for Adina, who has to go to work.  

Hasta Luego, Nicaragua

Thursday was arts and crafts day at camp, so we decided to head to the Pueblos Blancos, a series of small artsy towns and Masaya (their capital of sorts). There are a good half dozen of them, each with their own specialty craft, and the market in Masaya is where they all go to jack up the prices for tourists.

We started in Diriomo, which specializes in cajeta (a milk based candy) and witchcraft. We bought a bit of the candy, but steered clear of the witchcraft - we think we've toed the line of our religion quite enough for this trip. This town also has a church. We looked at it. The we did the unthinkable and got into a tuk-tuk (even though I once swore I never would again) to take us to the next town.

Our next stop was San Juan de Oriente, the smallest of the Pueblos. This is an entire town (some 4000 residents or so) dedicated to pottery. It's all they do. Some of it was really cool looking and different (when your whole town exists only to shape clay, it gives you some time to come up with creative new ideas), but I think you have to be a bit better at Spanish than we are to invited yourself into their workshops to watch them work. Though they were gracious enough to welcome us into their regular shops and invited us to buy many things.

Across the street was our next town, Catarina, whose residents are obsessed with flowers. Most homes have a garden out front and sell flowers, plants, and cacti right there on their front porch. After walking up to the town overlook (and wishing we had caught a tuk-tuk up to the top) over lake Apoyo, we sat down and ate our PB&J amongst the growing crowd of Nica teeny boppers on a school trip.

From there we took the bus (after a taxi driver wanted an astounding 8 dollars) to Masaya and visited the super sketchy lakefront park before heading to the hammock district. Masaya is apparently the hammock capital of the world, and in one particular neighborhood every house is a hammock workshop/store. After checking out the artisan market in Masaya we headed over to the entrance to the volcano to meet up with our tour from yesterday.

The volcano was one of the high points of the trip. You know a tour is good when even though the two main selling points don't happen (we didn't catch and parakeets heading to their nests inside the steaming crater and the lava glow was too faint to see because of the moonlight) every one still walks away raving. After making it up to the same lookout point as yesterday (right before it started raining) we continued from the smoking crater to the extinct ones that are lush with vegetation (making an awesome contrast to the desolation of the active holes). While Adina did not appreciate walking along the narrow lip of the crater with pretty steep drop offs on both sides, naturally I loved it. We then headed into a couple of ancient lava tubes. One to walk deep into the blackness and the other to sit at the mouth of and watch the bats fly around and over us. We also found a boa constrictor at the entrance to the cave that had just eaten a bat. Or so we were told - it's easier just to trust them when they say this stuff. We headed back to the active crater and tried to watch some lava flow, but the night was a bit too bright and the lava a bit too sleepy, so no one (except my camera) was able to see much. Of course what we missed with our eyes was more than evident to our ears, as the volcano was consistently burping up mini explosions the whole time we were sitting there.

Friday morning we finally did a few of the Granada sightseeing stops (nothing to write home about. Although I suppose that's exactly what I'm doing right now.) and then headed to Laguna de Apoyo, a pristine crater lake which is also the deepest spot in Central America. Or at least the bottom of the lake is (70 meters below sea level). We did not make it that far down, but we did find ourselves some hot spots by the shore while we were kayaking. Since the last major earthquake there in 2000 there has been an upturn in thermal activity, making Apoyo our fourth active volcano of the trip (and fifth overall). The waters of the lake are the type of clear that we've only ever seen in Lake Tahoe - if there was a bit more light you'd be able to see all the way down. Adina also enjoyed a pedicure by the lake, the woman was able to reduce the size of the golfball blister she had developed wearing crappy shoes, just one more way the little bastard on Ometepe messed with our trip. The place we stayed in was a small little group of cabañas on a steep slope leading to the lake. The first night there were only 4 other people staying there (including Josh and Gavriel who were happy to join us in Friday night kiddush). The manager of the place is American woman that has either led one of the most interesting lives on the planet or is so whacked out of her gourd that the line between fantasy and reality mean absolutely nothing anymore. My guess is it's somewhere in between. But closer to the gourd side. We were the only people there Saturday night, so we got in some nice quality time with before dinner. Her 'husband' was 'out of town' so we didn't get to meet him and verify some of her stories. The woman was once married to a Seventh Day Adventist, so she was super accommodating about Shabbat. The only thing I knew about 7th Day Adventism was that they also took the SATs on Sunday with us, so it was a little interesting to hear about it. Overall it was the perfect place to spend Shabbat and we felt quite rested after a day rotating back and forth between hammock and lake. Well, until we had to wake up at quarter to 4 on Sunday morning to get to the airport. But it was nice while it lasted and a great way to end our time in Nicaragua.

Overall we really enjoyed Nicaragua and the truth is that other than the little madre fuckers who stole our stuff on Ometepe the people here really were quite friendly. It was a little harder for us to see that because of the enormous language barrier (thanks for nothing, 4 weeks of Rosetta Stone 3 years ago), but the people we were able to communicate with were generally friendly and open. Our guide on Masaya spent the entire way back to town translating Nica revolutionary songs that were playing and explaining the national political scene to Adina. Apparently he hasn't appreciated my reign as president and believes I'm a bit of a corrupted power seeker that lives off of cronyism. Oh well.

On to Panama!

Granada, a lovely colonial town whose name loosely translates to 'sweating like a chazer in July'

When we last left the Alperts, they were very grumpily heading back towards the colonial town of Granada with slightly lighter luggage than when they headed out to Ometepe. Let's see what they've been up to...

The first thing we did upon returning to Granada on Monday was head to the market to buy some shoes for Adina, since we didn't think that our b&b owner's frocs (fake crocs) that were three sizes too big on her would be enough to get by on. On our way we stumbled upon a treasure trove of used/rejected American t-shirts for sale, so I naturally bought all the ones that fit. In a little shoe 'store' Adina successfully negotiated the salesmen down from $23 to $22, so we felt pretty good about buying some crappy knockoffs to tide her over until we got home. On Monday night we continued our search for food we can eat and found that the lack of crunchy-granola-live-off-the-land-hippy-expats that were so abundant on Ometepe meant veggie food much harder to come by. We settled on a place that tripadvisor swore was veggie friendly and had a very chatty owner that tried (in vain) to teach us a bit of Spanish while we waited for our food. He said the key to picking up a language was repetition, so he had us say "My name is Daniel, what is your name?....My name is Adina....It is a pleasure to meet you....The pleasure is mine" about nine times. Not surprisingly, the guy also teaches in his spare time (are we all that annoying?) We ordered the veggie version of 'typical Nica food' and decided there is a reason you don't find hordes of people lining at the door to Nica restaurants across the world.

Tuesday we set off on a chicken bus which dropped us off at the side of the road promising we'd find Mombacho Volcano if we just walked up that hill over there. While on the bus we must have stumbled into an alternate universe or something, because we got a picture of a Nica man wearing an Eagles Super Bowl 39 World Champions t'shirt. After the 1km walk up the hill we entered the national park and started the 6km hike up the steep road to the top from there. About 80 meters later Adina changed her mind and we decided to wait an hour for the truck to take us up. We were super glad we did it that way as 70 minutes later we passed the girls who had set off hiking right before us with the steepest third of the hike still in front of them. Suckers. We were very happy to have saved our energy for the two hour hike through the cloud forest at the top. The plant life up there was phenomenal. Among other things we saw both the smallest and the largest orchids we've ever seen, as well as a plant that goes to sleep when you touch it and a tree with 55 different species of plant growing off of it. We had a guide walking with us who also told us about 30 different scientific names of plants that I'm pretty sure she just made up on the spot. We also stuck our arms into a warm fumarole spewing sulfur steam (right before it started pouring rain on us and we had to run for the cover of the forest again), got a great view of the clouds covering the volcano's craters (which looked very similar to the clouds covering the volcano on Ometepe, so we just took extra pictures to make up for the stolen camera) and hiked up to (just about) the highest point on the volcano. Which was covered in very scenic cell phone towers. And of course, monkeys! This time we caught some white faced monkeys traipsing through the trees off in the distance and a family of howlers (including a tiny baby riding his mother's back - and no, I'm not just assuming it's the mom because it's the woman's job to take care of the kids. I could tell because the other howler just a few branches over was VERY clearly the male. Our photos can back that up if you like.) relaxing in the trees right over our heads.

Wednesday we had a fantastic 4 hour kayaking tour of Las Islettas, a group of a few hundred islands in lake Nicaragua that were all made when the top of Mombacho blew off in an eruption 20,000 years ago. I can see the steam blowing out of the ears of some of my elementary school teachers hearing me say that. A few thousand people live spread out on the islands, but the more interesting ones are the gorgeous private ones owned by super rich Nicaraguans and Americans. There was some cool bird life, a few turtles, and more monkeys on these islands. What's that you say, monkeys can't swim? That is correct. These monkeys are people's pets and are pretty much stuck on their islands (except maybe for the one that likes to hop on boats and once bit the finger of our guide). One of the ones we saw was actually on a leash, but another island with three howlers and a white face actually belongs to a veterinarian that took care of these monkeys and sees to it that they are ok. That island doesn't have any houses or docks on it and it made us feel a little better about it.

This evening we were supposed to do a night tour of the Masaya volcano, but not long after we got there it got washed out by some serious squalls, so we'll have to try again tomorrow.

As for the town of Granada itself, I'm not quite sure what to say. It's an interesting mix of old Spanish colonial architecture and run down dingy buildings pretty well interspersed. We did not find the supermarket to be as interesting and fun as some of the others we've visited in different countries, but we did manage to find the angriest looking Tony the Tiger you've ever seen and even more importantly some shoko b'sakit to cool us off, just as if we'd just gotten down from Masada. Many people really love this town, and while I do appreciate it's somewhat relaxed atmosphere compared to the cities in Thailand we went through, and I do like that the touristy areas and the local hangouts are pretty much in the same place, I just haven't been blown away. I'm far more interested in the volcanoes and lakes in the general area. Though to it's credit this town was certainly able to save our vacation and we are back to having a terrific time.

Tomorrow we head out to a series of artsy villages in the area that are each known for different types of crafts (pottery, furniture, hammocks) and then hopefully back to the volcano for a more successful night tour. After that we spend shabbat on Laguna de Apoyo and head to Panama on Sunday morning. This trip is WAY too short.

Our Journey to Ometepe, or Where the Sidewalk Ends

Cliff's Notes at the bottom of this long post.  Sorry, it's been a while and I'm out of practice

 

Sign number one that we are out of the traveling mindset - we order a cab directly to our house and promptly tell the driver that we'll be gone for two weeks.  After receiving a death stare from Adina, I quickly remember that I'm supposed to be thinking before I speak for the next couple of weeks.

 

Two flights and one hell of a lightning show in Panama City later we were on the ground in Nicaragua, getting into a van with some guy who promised to take us to our guest house in Granada.  The man had a piece of paper with our hotel's name on it, so we figured it was legit - though we did get a tad nervous when he took us off the highway and through some ramshackle barrios and seemed to head in the wrong direction.  We made it to Granada alive and to our hotel which really should mention somewhere on its website that there is no hot water in the showers.  The next morning we spent a good 15 minutes trying to figure out how to ask if we could leave our luggage in the office until we get back from Ometepe - I'm not so sure why Mrs. Baskin didn't teach Adina that one in high school.  We took a chicken bus to Rivas - sadly there is no fowl on board (or so we thought at the time) but it gets its name from it's bright yellow color.  Intercity buses in Nicaragua are all used school buses from the US and Canada.  And I do mean used.  These were buses that districts like Lower Merion (or Arlington) would have given up on in the 80's.  From Rivas it was a cab to San Jorge and a 1.5 hour ferry to Ometepe - 29 hours, three cabs, two planes, a bus, a boat, and one airport train later and we made it to our first destination!  Highlight of the trip so far was Nicaraguan Samuel L. Jackson on the bus that liked Adina's big floppy straw hat so much that he put it on for a bit for us to take a picture.

 

Up until this point we really hadn't come across much that was all that different to us ' but once we got on the island we realized we were so much farther off the grid than we've ever been before.  It helped that a little while after leaving the port town we reached the end of the road.  I shouldn't say that.  We simply reached the end of the pavement, as we have developed a much better understanding of the difference between a road and a street.  When some one says 'Oh, it's just a few houses down the street', they mean you can leave your house and arrive at your destination in a matter of minutes.  When your farmer/innkeeper says 'Oh, it's the next building down the road' she means to bring an extra pair of socks because you're going to be very muddy and tired by the time you get there. 

 

Though it was definitely new for us I certainly appreciated the isolation of our location (though the locals might argue that it's not isolation if you're just down the road from another farm) and got used to the idea of having to walk 20 minutes down a rocky mud path to get to the shop to rent bikes (our host's next door neighbors). I did not, however, manage to get used to having to ride my bike over that rocky mud path in order to get anywhere (did I mention hilly?)  Our guest house only had two rooms and was run by a super friendly couple that moved down from California a decade ago because they were 'sick of the rat race' and 'wanted to live a more sustainable life.'  As far as we were concerned, all that meant to us was that their kitchen was 100% vegetarian!  Woo hoo!  The shared veranda had a great view of the volcano (or at least the cloud cover over the volcano), and our private veranda had super comfy hammocks (which I only spent 15 minutes trying to figure out how to get out of) and its own great view of the mosquito nests.  We had the place to ourselves the first night, then shared with an Australian couple WAY out of their element - they were visiting their daughter who runs a hostel in the next town over and clearly were not vacationing the way they usually do.

 

On our first day on the island we kayaked around Chico Verde - a very exciting moment for us because we're pretty sure its the first time either of us have ever been to a lake on an island in a lake.  We also got our first glimpse of some howler monkeys and got to break in our fresh package of anti itch cream.  Perhaps most exciting of all was the photo we took in front of the 'Vote Daniel para Presidente' billboard.  Apparently I've been the president here since 2007 and am up for reelection soon.  It goes without saying that I'm the presumptive favorite.  We hiked down the 'road' from our guest house to their neighbor on the other side who happens to be a British expat who used to be vegetarian and whose restaurant is very able to cater to crazy people like us.  In fact, we were told, the dahl is to die for.  After telling us he was out of dahl, the owner came up with some new dishes for us that were fantastic (and actually better than the dahl which we came back for a few nights later). 

 

Our next day was one our asses won't soon forget.  It started with nice leisurely ride - 'oh, it takes about an hour each way' says our host.  Uh huh.  Two hours of mud, rocks, hills, and muddy rock filled hills we arrived at San Ramon Biological Station for a 3 km hike up into the cloud forest to a waterfall.  Though it turns out the 3 km is just the distance straight up the steep road to the trailhead, yet another thing that should be made a bit more clear to visitors.  The hike through the forest was nice, even though we spent most of the hike tripping over our feet as we looked up into the canopy searching for monkeys.  We (especially Adina) would perhaps had been more prepared to enjoy without the combination of a sore bum and dread over the return ride home.  About an hour and a half into the hike we meet up with an American family on horseback heading the opposite direction - they tell us it's not much farther and totally worth the effort.  I say thanks but at the same time can't help but wonder if the horse that's doing all the work would feel the same way.  When we do reach the falls we have to agree that they are spectacular - a 120 meter drop between moss coated walls into a crystal clear (and ice cold) pool.  Slightly worried about making it back in time for Shabbat, the three of us head back down.  The third being our honor guard butterfly that escorted us all the way up the trail.  Or at least, we kept telling ourselves that as this guy was really distinctive - about twice the size of most other butterflies around the volcano and jet black on the bottom with a solid baby blue pair of wings.  We were certain there could only be one of these, until we were nearing the bottom of the trail and starting to say goodbye to our friend when an identical one landed right next to us.  And then a third.  So perhaps not as unique as we thought.)  Almost at the bottom of the trail - back on the steep road, in fact, we finally saw some monkeys!  It was the second most exciting part of the day, trailing behind the moment several minutes later when we learned a bus would be coming by in half an hour and we didn't need to ride our bikes all the way home.  And our butts breathed a sigh of relief.  This bus ride was also the birthplace of our new catch phrase: "That's not a pig, it's a third baby!"  It can be loosely applied to any situation when something you thought was true turns out to be quite wrong.  As in, that lady on the bus isn't sitting with a pig, it's just another child.  You see, we were confused because we saw her get on with two kids, then kept hearing what we though was a pig coming from next to her on the, but that turned out to be the dead chicken at her feet.  Which apparently was not dead after all, but clearly horribly ill. 

 

After a Friday night feast of packaged Indian food and mostly not moldy challah rolls (it's possible that the sell by date that Trader Joes puts on its food does not take jungle humidity into account) we had a nice lazy Shabbat of reading and playing cards, exactly as God intended.  Saturday night was one of the most interesting dining experiences we can remember.  A serious hippy farm up the road is a haven for college age backpackers and happens to fire up their brick oven for pizza three times a week.  Being told they can cater to vegans (the guy who took our order even offered to have the pizza ladies wash their hands before handling our food - I think he thought we were deathly allergic to cheese) we decided to give it a shot.  The walk up to the 'restaurant' was an adventure in and of itself.  Once we found the small gap in the barbed wire fence we had to walk 300 meteres along a winding stone path up the side of the mountain in the dark.  The flashlight was in our pocket but we were pretty sure Shabbat hadn't actually ended yet.  You get to a fork in the path and head down to the pizza oven to place your order (once Shabbat ended, of course), then back up past the fork, past the farm's communal kitchen to the registration to pay for your order and pick up soda and beer.  When we got to the registration the distinctly white man with distinctly dirty dreads magically already knew who we were and what we had ordered.  Apparently they use walkie talkies from the ovens to the cash register, which proved quite useful as the power went out while we were up there.  Then we hiked back down to the oven to pick up our food and try not to let it get too close to the dirty American hippies.  God knows what they might have.  Just as were finishing up the heavens opened and we ran for cover from the rain near the oven and watched the pizza ladies work for a while.  I'm not sure if they were just showing off because they knew they had an audience or not, but they seemed quite adept at catching moths with the pizza dough.  I guess it adds texture?  Also while we were standing there waiting we watched a gecko catch and eat a moth on the ceiling.  Those guys are real quick when they want to be.

 

Sunday was supposed to be our big volcano hike, but Adina chickened out so we only did 1/3 of the volcano to a gorgeous lookout (our guide insisted it was quite pretty when the cloud cover isn't so total), then got back on some bikes (because we are gluttons for punishment) and rode to a quiet, peaceful mineral spring.  This ride was actually gorgeous (it went back towards the paved side of the island so once we got off the mud path it felt much better) and the springs were quite nice.  It is somewhat touristy but also really popular with the locals, although the drunk guy that failed to pick up the girls from Texas seemed really bummed about it.  After the girls left he was practically inconsolable, until his equally drunk friend joined him for some serious man cuddling in the pool.  I'm not quite sure how to say 'I love you man.'  'No, man, no, I LOVE YOU' in Spanish and it was pretty tough to make out their slurred speech, but it's a safe bet that they headed somewhere in that direction. 

 

So far our trip had been great - not quite what all of us had expected and a little outside the comfort zone of one of us - but beautiful, adventurous, and fun.  Then we awoke Monday morning to find our camera, last set of clean clothes, and 5 out of 6 of our pairs of shoes had been stolen overnight.  Not our finest hour, though we handled it relatively well - that is to say did not break down and cry or start throwing things.  Luckily almost all of our money was safe, and our passports were still there, so it certainly could have been worse.  And it's a good thing we travel with so many cameras, we can still take more pictures for the rest of the trip.  But it is VERY frustrating to lose the pictures we've taken, and we're pretty shaken that this happened here.  I mean, the thief must have had to hike for half an hour just to get to his getaway car.  And what the hell is he going to do with our filthy, wet, smelly keens?  He also took the hotels hand towel and towel ring from the bathroom - what the fuck is he going to accomplish with that?  Does Ometepe suddenly serve as a black market supplier to Bed Bath and Beyond?  Perhaps most frightening is he took our first aid kit, and if you read any of our stories from Asia you know we can get a whole lot of use out of that thing.  The property owner was very apologetic and gave Adina a pair of knockoff Crocs to get us through the day, then came with us to the police department to help get a police report which we can use to try and collect some insurance on the $800 of stuff we have to replace.  We then took the ferry back to Granada to try and mentally prepare to start our vacation over again.  Happy anniversary to us. 

 

So despite the fun we had over the weekend, we're leaving Ometepe with a really bitter taste in our mouth.  Especially because one of the things we really appreciated and kept hearing from everybody was about how friendly the locals were and how safe the island was.  It kills us that one of the friendly faces (probably some punk ass teenager.  God I hate teenagers) we met somewhere along the way was probably the same little bastard that is wearing our keens and trying to figure out how to use our camera. 

 

Ok, it's over with.  Now we go back to the mainland and return to our regularly scheduled program.  Adina has already bought some shiny new shoes and we're ready to go.  Coming up are more volcanoes, more kayaking, and a whole lot more monkeys.

 

 

Cliff's Notes

We started our trip on Ometepe, an island made up of two volcanoes in the middle of Lake Nicaragua.  The island is super rustic and we feel more isolated than we ever have on vacation before.  We've kayaked, hiked up the volcano to a waterfall, biked our asses off on some seriously rocky mountain roads, and seen waterfalls, lagoons, monkeys, and a dead on ringer for Samuel L. Jackson wearing Adina's big floppy hat.  We have also learned the true meaning of the term chicken bus.  Then our camera and shoes got stolen, and we've returned to the mainland to regroup, buy some shoes, and try to start having fun again.