200 years of Nicaraguan History in 200 words or less...

Ok, to fully understand the next post, you need to read this post. Sorry, maybe it´s just the teacher in me. Here goes...

Nicaragua gains independence from Spain in 1821. For a while things are okay, but then the U.S. steps in looking to build a camnal. Panama becomes the canal location, but then the U.S. sticks arund looking to maintain its interests- supremecy in the region- By the turn of the century Augusto Sandino begins to organize resistance to the U.S. forces. During the depression, the U.S. is forced to withdraw its troops, but not before putting Anastasio Samoza Garcia-described by FDR, ¨he may be a son of a bitch, but at least he´s our son of a bitch.¨- and his Guardia Nacional. The Somozas would rule Nicaragua brutally over the next 40 years or so. 1957-Somoza is assasinated in Leon, and is succeded by his two sons. By the 1970s opposition to the Somozas is growing, especially in the form of the Sandanista Party, named for Augusto Sandino. After a devastating earthquake on Christmas Day 1972, Somoza funneled almost all of the relief funds to himself and his friends. This single act of national betrayal legitimized the opposition more than any number of speeches or rallies ever could. From that point on the FSLN-Frente Sandanista Liberacion Naccional, or National Sandinista Liberation Front- became the major opponent of the Somoza regime. After years of brutal Civil War, the Sandanistas finally gained victory on July 19th, 1979, a date still celebrated as Nicaragua´s independence day. While the victory was lauded by human rights groups the world over, it was quickly folowed by regime change in the United States. New President Ronald Reagan certainly didn´t like the left leaning Sandanistas, especially after they nationalized many of Nicaraugua´s industries, and he provided millions in funding and training for former Guarda Naccional soldiers who became known as the ¨Contras.¨ This lead to another decade or so of Civil War in Nicaragua. After congress cut off his funding, a surreptitous arms for hostages deal was arranged with a young Colonel named Oliver North
in what would soon become known as the Iran Contra Scandal. Peace in Nicaragua was finally secured in 1993, after decades of several different Civil Wars. No one has given me any grief about being American thus far, but they certainly havce every right to. Leave the actual number of words in the comments section if you´re a stickler for post titles corresponding to the posts themselves.

Ascending Mt. Dagobah

La Isla de Ometepe (see map) is a dumbbell shaped volcanic island in the Lago de Nicaragua (Colibolca, or ¨The Sweet Sea¨ in the original Nauhautl)bookended by to volcanos: Concepcion -larger and active- and Maderas- smaller and inactive. I had heard nothing but great things about it, but I neglected to initially make much of a oplan for getting there, as it was barely 70 km away from Granada. Even by Central American time standards, that should be an easily surmountable distance, right? As I am not a good enough writer to ¨show not tell,¨I will come right out and tell you that I am foreshadowing travel misery to come...

OK, misery is a strong word. Perhaps exasperation would be more appropriate. I just wanted you to keep reading. Is that so wrong? Nobody wants to read about the trip where everything went according to plan. Chicken Bus from Granada to Rivas left on time, but I got there late and had to stand in the aisle for most of the 1.5 hour ride. After an hour a seat cleared up, but over the wheelwell (the bus being your typical appropriated 1970s era schoolbus)which ended up being even more uncomfortable. Picture me with my knees forced up to around my chest and you can start to get the picture...

At Rivas hopped right on a shuttle to San Jorge where you catch ferries out to Ometepe. Upon arrival, found out the next ferry left in an hour. Bought a ticket and settled down to wait in the not unpleasant ferry office. Started reading more in depth about Ometepe, and found out that Merida, where I had hoped to make it that day, was another 2.5 hrs away by sporadic bus service. Like I said, not really miserable, but certainly exasperating.

There are two classes of boats that run passengers to Ometepe: ferries like you would imagine that are capable of carrying cars, and then launches, considerably less seaworthy-seeming, and much more succeptable to the waves that the lake was capable of generating. As departure time approached, the wind picked up and whitecaps could be seen offshore. It also became evident that I had not, in fact, purchased a ferry ticket, but rather a ticket for a launch.

We were all shuttled into the lower level, while luggage was strapped to the upper deck. There were reasonably comfortable benches below (actually, they had clearly been removed from a schoolbus)and I settled down for the ride. Two people behind me, Joe and Iliza (not a typo), who I had brainstormed island destinations with back in the ferry office, immediately began to look queasy. Iliza put her head between her legs where it remained for the rest of the trip, but Joe soldiered on stoically at first. As we moved into open water, the launch really started to move up and down as it forced its way through the waves. Despite the tarp strapped over the windows next to me, every third wave or so found its way through and got me soaked, including one that landed perfectly in my crotch, but nowhere else...After 15 minutes or so Joe asked me if I wanted to switch seats with him. He was next to Iliza and out of the range of the incoming waves. I thought he was offering to bear the brunt of the water, and as he was a virtual stranger at the time, I felt very awkward accepting and tried to thank him but decline. He said, "Actually I think I´m going to throw up," and I switched seats immediately. The poor guy spent the rest of the hour-long ride with his head hanging over the side.

It should be said, however, that Joe and Iliza were awesome people who I spent a fair amount of time with over the next several days, and that is the last that I will embarass them in this particular forum.

When we actually made it to the island, we hopped one the first bus pulling out of town. There are very few direct buses from the larger, more developed side of the island to the smaller less developed side where most of us were headed. This bus stopped in Altagracia on the northwestern side, and we ended up waiting there for over an hour for the next bus to arrive. The roads on the other side of the island are unpaved, and going was maddeningly slow at times. At Santa Cruz, Joe, Iliza, and a bunch of others got off and headed to the Finca Magdelena (more on that later) whereas I continued on to Merida.

Finally, around 5, I arrived at the lovely Hacienda Merida, almost 9 hours after I had initially set off from Granada. Booked myself a room, and made it down to the dock (built by the Somozas apparently) just in time to see the sun set over Concepcion.
The HM is a beautiful and secluded place that I wish I had had more time to experience. Unfortunately, I´m on a kind of HURRY UP AND RELAX!! whilwind tour, so I get nervous spending too much time in any one place. However, I highly recomend it for anyone looking for pleasant Nicaraguan destinations. I booked a tour to climb the Volcan Maderas, had a delicous dinner, and then went to bed as I had a long day of climbing ahead of me tomorrow.

Started up the mountain around 7:30. My plan was to leave from Merida, climb the mountain

, but to descend down the other side into the Finca Magdelena where I would maybe see Iliza, Joe and some other people from the bus the previous day. Initially km was a gradual ascent through banana groves and grazing land, but always Maderas loomed ahead of me, its summit shrouded in clouds. It should be said that although Maderas is only about 1390 m tall, we started from the shores of the lake, aka exactly sea level, so we climbed every single one of those vertical meters.

As we started to make our way into the forest that covers Maderas all the way to its summit (as its inactive, nature has long since reclaimed every inch of it)the path became steeper and steeper. As we continued to ascend, we moved out of the lower tropical forests and into the cloud forests, in this case so-named because we where literally hiking through clouds. The weather turned and became incredibly windy and wet (not really raining, but misting to the point that we were all pretty soaked.) At this point the trail became even steeper, and very very muddy. At times (and by "at times" I mean the last 25% of the ascent)we were reduced to crawling upwards, pulling ourselves along by the surprisingly strong roots of trees along the trail. On several occasions I found myself wiggling under, or crawling over a warren of tangled roots and fallen limbs like where Luke failed in his intitial training with Yoda that lead to the title of this post.



Eventually, soaking wet, exhausted, and buffeted by typhoonesque winds, we reached the highest point of the crater´s rim. Since Maderas is so lushly blanketed in vegetation, and since we were inside a cloud, the view was less than spectacular. We then began a slow and slippery descent to the crater lake. It took a while (and a few falls,) but we made it back down to the lake where we enjoyed a much deserved lunch. Well, everyone else did. My sandwich was slightly moldy, so I elected to pass.

Going down, the trail was even muddier, and keeping your balance was nearly impossible. At one point, the soles of my shoes were so coated, that they hight as well have been pats of warm butter for all the traction they were affording me. Suffice to say, after 8 long hours of hiking, I made it to the Finca Magdelena muddier and more tired than I´ve been in a long time.

The Finca Magdelena is another amazing Ometepe locale that I would highly recommend to anyone. It is a working 100% cooperative and organic farm that is completely self-sufficient. They also offer clean and basic rooms and incredible ambiance overlooking the lake. It was the perfect place to relax after the exertion of Maderas. It took about 4 showers for me to get completely clean, and I thought I was going to have to throw my shoes away until I had the bright idea to take them in the shower with me. Thanks to elbow grease and the hippie magic of Dr. Bronners hemp/almond soap, I was able to salvage them. At least until I do my last hikes in Leon later this week. Spent another lazy day at Magdelena the next day
A typical Nicaraguan Breakfast: Gallo Pinto, Eggs, Fried Cheese aka Heaven...


which was good considering I was probably too sore to travel anyway. Lots of hammock lying and book reading.

Coming back we managed to make it onto the actual ferry (Much to Joe and Iliza´s relief) and for the entire time we were shown videos by my new favorite band, Oro Solido (Solid Gold). I dare you to watch the entire video for their classic "Maria, Se Fue." (Maria, She Left.)



In front of Ometepe, note Concepcion and Maderas in the background

One more brief travel thing: back in Rivas to transfer back to Granada, there was a guy who walked around touching everyone, local and gringo alike, on the shoulder. It wasn´t to get their attention, apparently it was just some compulsive need he had. I thought he did everyone once, perhaps counting them, but then I started to notice him doubling up. As I had already been touched once, I began to try to put myself in his path, but he seemed to be deliberately swerving out of my way at the last second. When he tapped my shoulder a second time right before I got on the bus, I was bizarely relieved

One last night in Granada. While eating dinner, we were approached by some kids who said they were going to do a presentacion de breakdance (I don´t need to translate that one, do I?). While there moves actually weren´t half-bad, they needed serious lessons in hypemanship. While one would dance they others would arythmically and half-heartedly clap, while occasionally calling out a particularly desulatory "whoah." after a nice move. Afterwards they were overjoyed to to be given the leftovers from our dinner and didn´t even ask for money.


Left Granada this morning for Masaya, reputed to be Nicaragua´s finest market town. Spent the afternoon shopping, and did come up with some interesting purchases, but was overwhelmed overall. There was, however, erotic frog art, and literally a hammock district, which was pretty awesome. Tomorrow, I push on to Leon, and then amazingly I have less than a week left.

Isla de los Monos? More like Isla de los Strung Out Junkies!

I know, I know. If you´re going to do a ____________? More like ________! post title, then it should be a pun. Trust me, I worked through all of the possibilities for puns on Monos (Monkeys in Spanish). Phonos (phonies) Homos (homophobic and not at all indicative of the actual behavior of the monos) Mopos (not even really a word) etc... Leave a better Pun Title in the comments if you´re so smart.

Returned to the Zona Turistica today to search out a trip to Las Isletas, particularly Isla de los Monos (I´ll tone down the self-righteous indignation on the Spanish translations a bit). I was once again struck by the weird abandoned playground equipment everywhere. Varied from brand new to rusting and overgrown, but I saw maybe three children playing over the course of two days on probably twenty five separate apparatuses. Apparatti? It had the air of a J.G. Ballard story minus the eroticized car crashes and mastabatory Ronald Reagan assassination fantasies. My favorite building was the hilariously titled "Optomisticas of Nicaragua" school of sailing instruction that was rundown, abandoned, and all but boared over. However, the inside was still full of windsurfing gear and other sailing equipment. Pictures to follow as soon as I can figure out how to put them inside this here fancy computer machine.

Anyway, walking along I struck up a conversation with Lester, who, as it happened, owned a launch that he wanted me to book a tour on. His quote was slightly higher than others I had spoken with yesterday, but he was very pleasant, and I enjoyed talking with him. Like many native speakers, he made sure to praise my clumsy pigdin Spanish, and god knows I´m a sucker for facetious words of praise. What follows is my attempt to translate his conversation for yor reading benefit. Note: I´m recording iut as a monologue, although technically it should be punctuated with uh´huhs, sis, and clumsy, childlike questions on my part.

Yeah, so my dad has done this launch thing for 30 years, and I´ve been helping him out for the last 5. But that´s not me. Really, I go to school. I study some english (author´s note: as near as I could tell he couldn´t speak a word.)and cumputers. But what I really do is music. I play guitar, and a bit of the piano. I write music, and also sing in a chorus where I´m totally the first tenor. You could say that music is my life.

So as you can see, it´s not beyond the realm of possibility that we are forging some sort of connection. I´m happilly plugging along, beaming inwardly at my successful window into the personal life of a real live Nicaraguan. When I tell him what I do, he laughs and says that all primary school teachers in Nicaragua are women because men are needed to keep the older students in line. (By the way, on the way to the lake you walk past a primary school.
It´s been filled with screaming children each time I´ve gone by, and I can´t imagine any teaching or learning actually happening. That being said, it surrounds a central courtyard, and the open to the air windows are all barred. I guess that´s to help some of the less imaginative children complete the school as prison metaphor that sustains so many of them.)

So we finally make it to the port, and Lester tells me that it won´t be him taking me out, but rather his brother. He has to go back to town to prepare for class that afternoon. I´m slightly bummed to be parting company with my new friend with barely a ¨mucho gusto,¨but we´re off and cruising within a matter of minutes. His brother (who´s name I never caught)was monosyllabic until we were well away from the dock when he immediately began to try and change the agreed upon price with me talking about tides, the cost of gas, and some other ridiculous nonsense. What insued was a lengthy and draining argument wher eI conssitently refused his price. It took almost the entire way to Isla de los Monos for him to finally back off.

Isla de los Monos was tiny, but as soon as our launch started to approach, we saw rustling in the trees ahead. Monkeys!
Several of them, hardly the horde I had expected to see, but the Isla itself was pretty tiny. I noted to myself that it wouldn´t have been big enough to support more monkeys anyway. I didn´t think about how they had gotten there to begin with, or why they weren´t on other islands as well. As it turns out, they had been introduced there five years ago, and are now completely dependent upon food offerings from tourists. I got some great monkey shots because they came right up to the boat expecting a handout. One of them even held its hands out to me plaintively and only a "Will Fuck for Food" sign separated it from bums you or I might see on the street back home. I always get bummed out to see the natural order of things (animal or human) become twisted and dependant upon tourist dollars.

After a curt farewell to my driver I began the long hot walk back to town. (Note if you ever do an Isletas tour, spend the 40 cents on the cab back to town afterwards.) Had a delicious meal in a Mexican restaurant which I went to despite resisting the siren´s call (literally) of a local pizza place. They´ve hired a car to drive back and forth with enormous speakers bolted to the top blaring out the virtues of their establishment (La Pasta mas fresca de todo de Nicaragua!) and the sound is literally unignorable. Needless to say, the ploy did nothing but guarantee that I wouldn´t visit their establishment. After a couple of lazy relaxing days in Granada, I think I´m pushing on for Ometepe, a volcanic island further south in the Lake, tomorrow. It was Nicaragua´s sole entrant in last Summer´s new wonders of the world contest, and the signs urging people to vote are still up everywhere. Not sure what the interweb sitch is there, so I may be out of touch for a couple of days.

Soy El Americano Feo

Soy El Americano Feo. If you don´t know what that means, then click on the link. But if you don´t...seriously? In 2008? As some nobody once said "You don´t need to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows." That check is in the mail, so to speak. Start learning Spanish.

Got into Nicaragua yesterday. By all accounts I should avoid Managua as much as possible (the least damning praise I could find for it stated that it eventually grows on you. Hardly 2 thumbs up.)so I took a shuttle straight to Granada. Granada is Nicaraugua´s colonial jewel, akin to Antigua in Guatemala, or Arequipa in Peru. Over the years it (the conservative one) fueded ceaselessly with its liberal rival Leon until the Span ish finally stepped in and declared a previously insignificant fishing village, Managua, to be the once and future capitol.

Situated on the shores of the majestic Lake Nicaragua, Granada has a rich and varied history that includes several burnings, the last by William Walker in 1856. After his failed bid to create an empire for the South in Central America, he burned Granada to the ground upon his retreat, and left the now infamous sign "here was Granada.



Spent the morning (after literally sleeping for 12 hours, the most I´ve slept in as long as I can remember) exploring the lakefront in Granada. Unlike many other Latin American countries I´ve visited, Granada actually has a series of lakefront parks and playgrounds that suggest that its inhabitants have a leisure life beyond Sweeping their stoops and dogfights. Of course the artea is known as the Centro Turistico,so maybe it´s unofficially open only to gringo suckers such as myself as it was eerily deserted today. Of course, I was exploring it at 10 am on a schoolday, so maybe that explains the dearth of children playing. Pretty much the only people I saw where motor launch captains who wanted me to book a tour tyo Las Isletas with them. Las Isletas are a series of tiny islands (some say 365 one to explore for each day of the year) that are a popular day trip excursion from Granada. I´ll visit them tomorrow, especially Isla de los Monos as I´ll partake in anything that has ¨de los monos¨in it´s title. If your unsure about de los monos, then visit the translator from earlier.

It´s miserably hot here, but really no worse than New Orleans in the summer (90s really humid) so I´m not faring too poorly. What´s kind of excellent is the locals actually seem to be affected by the climate as well, not just those of us of the Northern European persuasion. I´ve seen many people carrying around parasols as protection from the heat of the day, including one otherwise all-business, shotgun-toting bank security guard. His was an amazing shade of purple, but despite the amazing juxtaposition, he looked super pissed off, so I was too scared to take his picture.