La Regressa del Rey

And so it ends, my latest Central American escapade. True to form, the final leg proved to be the most arduous, time-consuming, and soul-shattering travel day yet...

August 7th began bright and early on gorgeous Little Corn island. My east-facing cabana afforded me one last magnificent sunrise over the Caribbean, although I had to be up at five to take it in. One last bucket shower (have I mentioned that yet? Showers at Derek's consist of a 50 gallon drum of water and some small buckets. You dip yourself a bucket full, and douse yourself to your heart's content. Lather up, then rinse the same way. Simple, yet effective.)then a last bit of hammock sitting and into the distance staring before heading into the village for the 7:00 boat to Big Corn.

Seas were considerably choppier on the way back, and the panga felt considerably more overloaded. As we hit some large waves I began to worry about capsizing and couldn't help thinking of ferry disasters and missing bodies. I began to inventory what would happen in the event of capsizing: ipod, camera, journal- gone. I'm a strong swimmer, so I wasn't to worried about that. I would, however, miss the flight, to Managua and my connection to Miami, and I imagined that rebooking with a possibly lost passport and soaking wet cordobas would be an enormous pain. However, we made it to the dock just fine. Taxi (this time) to the airport and settled down to wait for the morning flight from Managua to arrive. The turnaround time from it arriving, passengers disembarking and luggage unloaded, to us boarding along with our baggage and taking off was less than 15 minutes.

Arrived in Managua (where I had an initial 4 hour layover) only to be informed that we were delayed 2 further hours. As my connection did not leave until 7 the next morning, I wasn't too worried about missing it. I was, however, bummed about spending 6 hours in the Managua airport. A guy I had met incidentally around the island and I decided to head out to the local mall to kill some time. Managua's largest mall is open to the air (kind of sweltering) and it's main department store provided the perfect example of linguistic dissonance: It was called Carrion. Similarly, the Chevy Nova always sold horribly in Latin American countries as No Va literally means doesn't go in Spanish. Anyway, after a vaguely cardboardish burger at Hamburloco, and a tiny, watery espresso from Cafe Latino, we headed up to the movies where I finally broke down and saw the one where Diane Lane plays some sort of FBI cyber crime expert who eventually becomes the target of an internet super killer or some other such plot device so ridiculous that not even I bothered seeing it. The movie was predictably awful (although it did feature the loathsome Colin Hanks dissolved in a vat of battery acid), but it did succeed in finishing off the rest of our waiting time. Cab back to the airport where we found our flight had been delayed another hour.

We finally boarded and were off to Miami around 5:30. With the time change we made it into Miami around 10:30. We were one of the last international flights arriving that day, so the trams to passport control were moving slowly when they were moving at all. I managed to get at the very end of the line of several hundred people who were on our flight and made it to passport control behind a group of 45 or so identically dressed teen missionaries in Maroon polos with "Teen Mission Launch Team" emblazoned on the chest. At this point I was a little loopy, so I had to, with great effort, resist the urge to ask them "was it accomplished?...your mission?" and then giggle hysterically. They were also identically equipped with black military style duffel bags, and blue handled rolly backpacks. Waiting for my bags to go through customs I was one of the last 10 pieces of luggage to come off the carousel.

Customs was a breeze, and by a little after 11 I was ready to look for a place to bed down for the night. Unfortunately, the security checkpoints were closed, so I couldn't make it out to any of the terminals. I had to settle for the main (garishly lit and loud) section of the airport where you purchase your tickets or claim your bags.

Here are some of the many things that can keep you awake in the Miami Airport:

1. The surgically intense fluorescent lighting

2. The local time (preceded my a loud chime) is literally announced every 15 minutes

3. The bathrooms your are trying to sleep next to will be cleaned at least once an hour by loudly chatting Cuban employees from 12-5 AM.

4. Peole will constantly be paged to meet their parties on lower concourses despite the fact that it is 3:27 in the morning.

I did manage to briefly pass out for 45 minutes or so until I was prodded awake by a man driving an enormous industrial carpet cleaner who wanted to clean the 6 square feet of carpet in the corner that my prostrate body occupied. Suffice to say, I never made it back to sleep.

I whiled away the rest of the hours watching Gossip Girl on my ipod. (Don't judge me, I had an itunes gift card.) I actually enjoyed it tremendously, reminiscent of the fish out of water perspective of the Walshes in the early 90210 seasons or season 1 of The OC. Take away the terrible Jenny subplots (send her to Choate or something next season!) and Serena's histrionics toward the last couple of episodes, and you've got a damn fine season of television. Plus, Chuck Bass is the sleaziest piece of amoral good-timery that it's been my pleasure to stumble across in the last couple of years.

Finally checked in around four and made my way through security (airport was packed with the members of a sold out flight to Port au Prince at 4:30 in the morning.) Got on the plane on time, but we were forced to sit and wait for an hour (bear in mind I've been going for over 24 hours at this point) as technicians ineptly struggled to replace oxygen canisters on the plane. While we sat and stewed, our pilot, who may be an expert at maneuvering multi-ton fixed wing aircraft, but gamely attempted to keep us informed.
Uh, let's see. The technicians are still working. Flight time once we get going will be uh...just under 3 hours, but if we take a land route, because weather over the seas is tricky, then the time will be...just under 3 hours. Clouds at 5000 feet but we, um...will be flying higher than that, and winds out of the SE...will have no bearing on us at all, we'll be flying due north over Florida...Georgia...South Carolina, and then um....some other States. Then we'll fly over New York and begin our descent into Boston...ok, still no word on the technicians so...

We finally got off and watched 21, the god-awful adaptation of Bringing Down the House. Nonetheless, it distracted me from my exhaustion, and I finally made it home thanks to another ride from Gina. She really earned her rock, although given what happened to me on Cerro Negro, I guess you could say I payed for it in blood, or at the very least skin.

I'll add pictures to previous posts, and then email out invitations to my shutterfly stuff once I get them uploaded.

Dem Crazy Island Riddims

Sorry about the delayed posting, the title of this post seems to apply to more than just people's ideas of appropriate clothing, but to the internets as well. While I have been able to check emails over the past few days, I have not been able to access any blogspot sites, including mine own.

I've been sequestered on the ridiculously beautiful Little Corn Island for the last four days honing my reading, napping, swimming, and hammock lying skills. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Left Leon bright and early (ok, around 10) and caught a microbus to Managua. They had a spot for my pack, and I was able to get a window seat, so it was actually sort of comfortable. In Managua I took a cab to the airport for my La Costena flight to Big Corn Island. I was worried that I may have exceeded my 30 lb luggage maximum (all of my gear almost certainly weighs more than that), but even after weighing me with all of my stuff, they didn't blink and handed me my boarding pass. Flight was exclusively gringos in a double prop plane that was probably new back before the Sandinistas started stirring up trouble for the powers that be. Nonetheless, it took off without a hitch and we were headed east. Flight took a little less than an hour and a half, and we landed on Big Corn Island. Decided (everyone else got to the cabs first) to walk to the Panga dock for the boat to Little Corn. Big Corn reminded me of what I imagine Kingston or Port au Prince must look like, eg no place I wanted to be on foot with a giant backpack very long. One wrong turn later, I made it to the dock and readied to board my 3rd different mode of transportation of the day (unless you count microbuses and cabs as two different modes of transportation, in which case the Panga would be my fourth.)

The panga ride was about 25 minutes, and as soon as we got around the protected side of the island, became bone-jarringly bumpy. Thanks to the advice of a Swedish dive instructor named Karl, I sat on my life jacket the whole way. It was still pretty bumpy, but fortunately my spine absorbed most of the remaining impacts.

Got to little Corn late, but found a hotel no problem in the "village" the main congregation of hotels and restaurants on the island. Dinner was a nice curry made worse by a very smug group of Austrians who were delighted about how poorly the dollar's doing internationally. I wanted to tell them that blaming me for the actions of George Bush was like me blaming them for the actions of Hitler. Little Corn exhibits a fascinating intersection of Latin and Carribean cultures. About half the people speak english with a thick West Indian accent, while half speak spanish. Some people even speak some sort of West Indian/Spanish patois which is super confusing (although possible) to follow.

The next day I made it up to Derek's Place, a place so sublimely beautiful that to witness it firsthand will make you stare slack-jawed in awe as I did for the first hour and a half or so I was there. It's on the north side of the island, and it's a half hour walk up a muddy sweaty jungle trail. However, once you make it you are welcomed by a shady grove of palm trees right on the beach. There are probably 5 or 6 cabanas, a kichen/dining area, shared bathrooms, Derek and Ana's (his wife) house, and assorted outbuildings. The only sounds you hear are the waves, the breeze in the trees (situated where it is, Derek's Place is always breezy, cool, and mosquito free) , and the occasional cooing of various pigeon like birds in the trees. I cannot recommend this place highly enough for those of you who are looking to truly "get away from it all." It is a bit more expensive then some of the other places I've stayed, but that also means that it's off most backpacker's agendas which is great because I was really starting to burn out on them. Sorry perpetual student hippies, try getting a job!

My cabana is perhaps 25 feet from the edge of the water. It has electricity, a covered front porch and a hammock. The view from said hammock would make you weep with joy. A similar place in the states would be close to five times as much a night, if not more. It faces directly east, but my efforts to see a sunrise have been consistently thwarted by the fact that it tends to rise around 5 down here!I'll post some pictures when I get a chance (some older posts now have pictures too, but I've had some uploading issues) but check out the link in the meantime.

Heading home tomorrow, but thanks to a 12 hour overnight layover in Miami, I won't actually be back until Friday.

The Movie Goer

The other night I couldn´t take the heat (plus avoid some of my charmless hostel mates) and decided to take in a movie. On the one hand, not exactly the best use of my increasingly limited time in Nicaragua, but on the other, an authentic cultural experience, the chance to do what everyday Leonians do on a weekday night. The cinema is just around the corner from my hostel, housed in a complex that also contains a grocery store and two fastfood restaurants, Hollywood Pizza, and Tip Top Chicken. There is also a vaguely Starbucksian coffee shop called Cafe Latino (not a made-up name, I promise.) My first night in town I had stumbled into the place, exhausted and starving from a long day of travel. I must have been really hungry because I couldn´t find an open restaurant (this was around maybe 6:30) and decided to try Nicaraguan fast food. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) both of these establishments, despite clearly being fast food, are sitdown restaurants with waitress service. I gave both a try but they were filled with Nicaraguan families, and subject to the same lax service (from an American perspective) that all Latin American restaurants seem to have. Eventually my hunger overwhelmed me and I ended up having a strawberry ice cream cone for dinner. god I love being a grown up.

Anyway, I made my way back to the theater for what I can only assume was the World Premiere of ¨The Mummy 3: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor.¨ The theater showed a bizarre combination of Brand New releases (Mummy, Dark Knight, X Files 2), and movies that have long been out on dvd in the states such as Hannibal Rising, release date February 9th 2007, Shutter, release date March 21st 2008, and the one where Diane Lane plays some sort of FBI cyber crime expert who eventually becomes the target of an internet super killer or some other such plot device so ridiculous that not even I bothered seeing it.

As soon as you step into the theater you are blasted with startlingly intense conditioned air, a welcome relief from Leon´s relentless heat. My ticket (remember this was for the Mummy, a brand new release that technically didn´t even come out in the states until the next day) was a little more than two dollars, and then I went to the grocery store to buy some candy to sneak in, just like home. I was definitely the only gringo in the audience. I guess Rob Cohen´s latest directorial vision of supernatural evil confronted with lots of guns and quips (at least he didn´t make Jet Li try to speak English)could not overcome the siren song of cheap beer and dollar mojitos.

The theater rapidly filled to capacity with all manner of Leonese citizens: parents with children, couples on dates, and a pair of giggling teenaged girls who literally talked to each other throughout the entire movie. In fact, everything that you consider rude and annoying about going to the movies these days seems to be par for the course: talking, laughing, yelling, cell phone calls etc.. Nonetheless, the movie was blandly diverting (plus it had tons of kickass, although poorly rendered, CGI Yetis!) and the air conditioning was nice. Who knows, I may even take in a showing of Shutter later tonight... Tomorrow, I´m off to the Corn Islands, and I,m not entirely sure what the internet situation is there. I´ll post when I can.

Leon

OK, you all prepped from yesterday´s history lesson? Good, because the fit is going to hit the shan so to speak. I´m in Leon right now, and am hoping to leave for the Corn Islands on Sunday. Remember how Somoza I was assassinated here back in ´57? Well, the ruling elite never forgot it, and as a result, Leon suffered terribly during the Civil War. As a result, moreso than any other place I´ve been in Nicaragua, the wounds of the conflict seem fresh. The city is scattered with memorials, statues, murals, museums, FSLN flags, and other monuments to the War, particularly the fallen. Some of my favorite murals include one of Sandino with his foot on the head of Somoza, who is rendered as a dog, and its partner, a Sandinista with its head on Tio Sam (Uncle Sam), who is also rendered as a dog. Also there is a 30 foot high mural of brave soldiers doing battle with a dragon who is emerging from a helmet clearly marked ¨CIA.¨ I also visited the ¨Museo de Heroes y Matires¨(Museum of Heroes and Martyrs), which was devastating in its simplicity. It shared a building with a tailor, and it was comprised of little more than photographic portraits of each and every person from Leon to fall fighting for freedom. The dates stretched back to the earliest days of anti Somoza resistance in the 1950s, and went all the way through the Sandanista victory. I found its specificity to be particularly captivating, this wasn´t an abstract representation of the horrors of war, rather it was specific names, faces, and dates. I then visited the Museum of Folklore and Legends. The folklore it described was rather interesting, but its location was most fascinating of all. It is housed in El XXI, (The 21st Barracks) a former National Guard prison where horrible human rights abuses were commited. The walls were covered with pictures of water boardings, electrocutions, and beatings, and when I realized that I was litterally in the actual place where these events occured, I had to leave.

Today I went ¨Volcano Surfing¨on Cerro Negro,
Central America´s newest volcano. New in the sense that 150 years ago it did not exist. At first it was only about 15 meters high, but today, after pretty regular eruptions (the last was in 1999, hmmmmm...) every eight years or so, it stands nearly 800 meters tall. We hiked up the back face of it (don´t worry rock lovers, you´re taken care of) and in a little over an hour were staring down into its steaming, sulfrous crater. The air reeked, and if you dug into the sand an inch or so, the ground would be too hot to touch. Later, we made our way to the front face of the crater. The tour was billed as ¨Volcano Surfing,¨but volcano sledding would be a much better name for it. We were given tobbogan like devices with which to hurtle ourselves down the (I´m no geometry whiz) 70 to 80 degree slope of the front of the volcano. We were also eqipped with orange prison style jumpsuits to protect our skin, and high school chemisty safety goggles to protect our eyes. To accomplish this feat, we basically had to aim ourselves downhill, and let gravity take care of the rest. You were supposed to use your legs to balance yourself, but I still managed to wipe out several times. The face was not black sand like the descent of Misti (yes I just linked to myself, so what? I´ve been linking all over the place, why shouldn´t I get in on the action?), but rather tiny, black, pinky nail sized volcanic rocks. Unfortunately, the legs of my suit were a little short, so I got pretty bad road (volcano?) burn on the back of both calves.
I suppose that´s just the universe restoring balance to itself as I had manged to go the entire summer thus far without sustaining a similar kickball injury as I had in each of the previous three summers. Looks like I´ll be heading to the ocean and a nice salt water soak just in time. I´ll upload pictures when I get the chance...