Backpacker-type people will sniff about Granada being a town that caters to tourists.  This is indisputably true — but I say, it’s not such a bad thing to be catered to once in a while.

We already took a day trip to Granada when we were at La Mariposa.  Though we enjoyed it, we weren’t necessarily planning a return trip — until we did some calculations and found that trying to get from the cloud forest of La Miraflor to our next destination of Ometepe Island would involve at least three buses, four taxis, and a ferry, which we weren’t Herculean enough to attempt in a single day.  Luckily, Granada was in the middle, and a couple of days of city life, with all its attendant comforts, didn’t sound bad at all.

Granada is the perfect city for strolling, with its houses of every color, striking churches, and vibrant market.  Our hotel was right around the corner from a cobblestone street that was closed to cars (although, inexplicably, one still rolled by every now and then) and lined with bars and restaurants with outdoor tables.  As the lake breezes swept the heat of the day away, it was heavenly to sit outside with a mojito (2 for $2), listening to the roaming musicians and the Latin music drifting out of the bars.

Of course, the other side of the tourist coin is the street vendors that approach every few seconds, looking to sell you sunglasses, cashews, hammocks, and jewelry.  However, in almost all cases we find that they retreat immediately when we say, “No, gracias”, so they really aren’t so bad.  (Sometimes they’re even convenient.  One day the girls decided they wanted to buy sunglasses, and had them in hand about 5 minutes later.  And once we ALL were wearing sunglasses, the sunglass vendors at any rate no longer approached.)

Bob and I snuck out for happy hour around the corner.

And there is still plenty of genuine Nicaragua around the edges.  One day, looking to arm ourselves for a picnic, we headed into the huge street market, which takes up a couple of blocks with warrens of vendor stalls.  (Bizarrely, there were seemingly hundreds of stalls all selling the same types of fruits and vegetables — I don’t know how they possibly survived.)  There were booths with huge sacks full of beans and grains, being sold by weight (also dog food!)  We successfully procured avocados, tomatoes, a lime, and a stack of homemade tortillas.

Serenaded by street performers during dinner.  Bob was very excited about the lefty guitar player.

It was crowded and chaotic, but as with everywhere in Nicaragua pretty much everyone was polite and helpful to us.  And with the exception of cab drivers, we haven’t found anyone who has tried to cheat us, despite our sometimes shaky grasp of exchange rates.  (You can pay with dollars anywhere here, but you usually get your change in cordobas.)  Yesterday we were walking through another section of the market on our way to the bus station, weaving through the crowds and stalls while wearing all our possessions on our backs, and someone started shouting, “Rivas?  Rivas?”  (This is the name of the town where we were headed by bus.)  My instinct is to ignore things like this, assuming they either want to sell us something or somehow get our money, but luckily Bob has more faith in humanity.  He said “yes” to the man, who then helpfully told us that we should take a left at the next corner since the bus station is hard to find.  Not an experience I’ve ever had in an American city!

Parents are SO embarrassing

One of our family’s favorite children’s books is James Herriot’s Treasury for Children, with its funny and heartwarming stories about Herriot’s life as a country vet.  My favorite part is the gorgeous illustrations — and based on those, I’d say La Miraflor greatly resembles the Yorkshire Dales in the early part of the 20th century.

As you stroll down the rocky dirt track, you see fields and mountains rolling away into the distance.  All manner of livestock graze in nearby fields (or often in the road itself).  Dogs and cats stare curiously from the roadside.  There are no power lines or telephone lines, and almost

Our bungalow

no traffic.  Frequently people ride by on horseback, which is the main form of transportation.  A few times a day the peace is shattered by the bus, which rumbles slowly by while blaring its horn to alert the nearby house of its approach (and to encourage livestock to move out of the road).

We have had a tranquil few days up here, moving at the slow pace that the place seems to inspire.  We’ve had lots of time for reading, playing games, and playing with the resident animals (which include three dogs, two cats, a baby kitten, innumerable poultry, and several horses).  Our stay includes three large and delicious meals per day, homemade with ingredients from their own vegetable garden (and, in some cases, some of the aforementioned poultry).  Our favorite is breakfast, which starts with organic coffee grown here, along with a big pitcher of steamed milk from their own small dairy herd.  I have never had such delicious milk!  The girls have taken to drinking cups full of it with a small splash of coffee added.

Morning entertainment was watching Marciel shoe a horse. Like everything else, this was done the old-fashioned way, with a simple hammer and knife.

Bob gallantly helps harvest the bok choy.

Our latest adventure here was a horseback ride, which Nadia has been eagerly awaiting the whole week.  Marciel led us down the road for a few miles, up and down a few steep hills, and eventually to a lovely waterfall nestled into the woods.  There is a very deep pool at the base of the falls for swimming — but alas, the water comes from mountain streams and is very cold.  Only Zoe was brave enough to jump into the pool, and even she only did it once.

Soon we’ll be back in the 21st century, with wifi and phones and reliable electricity.  Katharina says that they’re supposed to pave the road soon, and that her neighbor wants to put in a large hotel.  But I’m glad we got to see it as it is now, bumpy roads and all.

Zoe takes the plunge

Psychedelic Jesus bus

When we told Nicaraguans in Leon and Jiquilillo that we were headed to Esteli, up in the mountains, they’d often give a little shiver and say, “frio” (cold).  And when we told people in Esteli that we were heading further up into La Miraflor (a large cooperatively-managed farming community/nature preserve), they had the same reaction.

Both sets of people had a point.  Compared to the blistering heat of the coast, Esteli was cool and breezy.  (Mostly this was very pleasant, except when we were freezing our tails off in Somoto Canyon.)  And now that we’re here at the Finca Lindos Oyos in La Miraflor, we’re wearing all of our layers.
I should start with the journey, which was quite an adventure.  After our excitement at the bus station, we set off on a repurposed school bus.  The ceiling was painted with bright-colored patches in every color of the rainbow, and the side of the door that faced inward (the doors are never closed on these buses) was covered with an elaborate picture of Jesus hovering benevolently over the earth.  (On the other window, next to the driver, was another Jesus.  This one looked considerably more grim, wearing his crown of thorns and glaring inward.  I wouldn’t have liked it much if I were the driver, but maybe it kept him from falling asleep or something.  Note: Bob believed that this one was Che Guevara, not Jesus.  I am still convinced by the crown of thorns.)  The overhead racks were totally full, so we had our large bags stuffed awkwardly onto our laps.

The river crossing

In looking at a map, I couldn’t figure out how the farm could possibly be two and a half hours away, but it soon became apparent.  A few miles out of town, the bus turned off onto a rocky dirt track that climbed into the forest.  It did not appear to be a track that was meant for any kind of traffic, never mind a school bus.  At one point we actually forded a small river.  (I heard Zoe in front of me saying, “What do they do in the rainy season?”)

We climbed up and up, going about 5 mph along rocky, winding paths with sheer drops off to one side and cliffs rising sharply from the other.  (Maybe this was the reason for all the Jesuses.)  Gradually the sun disappeared as we ascended into the clouds, and eventually rain began to fall.  The savvy locals around us were gradually pulling their layers out of their bags, but ours were mostly inaccessible.

I was fascinated by watching the men who worked the bus.  The buses here have roof racks to hold various cargo, and one of the bus men had the unenviable job of climbing up on the roof to hand down boxes and bags of rice and steel girders and lots of other random objects (no chickens, though).  Sometimes as the bus started up again a foot would appear outside our window, and the man would swing himself back into the bus.  Eventually, though, I guess the stops were frequent enough that he just perched up there in the chilly rain.

Did I mention that this bus, which was traveling into the absolute middle of nowhere, was completely packed?  It’s amazing to me that you can easily get a bus to virtually anywhere here.  Finally it was time for us to disembark, and the bus continued along its way to god-knows-where.

Despite the weather (which we’ve been told us unusual, even way up here in the cloud forest) we all like it here.  Our little bungalow is cozy, if a bit chilly.  Our porch looks out over the fields and mountains and forest, and horses graze around it.  There are dogs and cats and ducks and chickens and a mean goose.  It was a novelty to pull out the fleece jackets and raincoats that we’ve been lugging around with us.  Dinner was amazing, even if we did eat it in almost total darkness.  (We found out later that there was an issue with the solar panels.)

We’re the only guests here, and given the seclusion of this place, we thought we might have our first quiet night since arriving in the country.  Alas, the storm gathered strength overnight, and we were immersed in the sounds of falling rain and howling wind coming in through the insubstantial walls and roof.  We can only hope that the sun will come out tomorrow.

We’ve been off the grid in the hinterlands for the last four days, so we’ll be posting a few catch-up blog posts over the next day or two.

*******************************************************************************

You tend to imagine, if you’re traveling through a foreign third-world country where you have no previous acquaintances, that you have a certain degree of anonymity.  You could do anything and be anyone!  However, if you’re traveling with your three children, you might want to think again.

The city of Esteli is fairly large – population over 100,000.  But it might as well be Podunk, KS for us.  I’m getting the idea that the places we’re going don’t see a lot of families of five.

Our hostel in Esteli

Our first hint of this was as we were just arriving in our hostel in Esteli.  As we stood outside the door, laden with baggage, a man stood up in the back of a passing pickup truck and started yelling something.  As a rule, I ignore strange men yelling from trucks, so I just kept walking.  Bob heard something that made him turn his head, though, and then wave back.  It turns out the man was yelling, “Jen!  It must be Jen!  I’m Brian!”  It took a few minutes of perplexity for us to remember that when we’d made a reservation for the Somoto Canyon tour (located a couple of hours away) the next day, the person with whom I’d corresponded was named Brian.  Brian stopped by to see us a little later, and it turned out we’d identified him correctly.

Later in the restaurant across the street someone else accosted me by name.  It proved to be the owner of the hostel, whom I’d spoken with on the phone but had never met.  (All our accommodations have recognized us right away, of course – but not usually when we’re elsewhere in the city!)

Luckily no one seemed to notice us at the Italian restaurant…

…or the ice cream parlor.

Friday was a bit more unsettling.  We were standing in the bustling Esteli bus station (well, the north station, which is about 4 blocks from the south station), trying to figure out which bus we were supposed to board.  (We were heading to an organic coffee farm, Finca Lindos Oyos, in the cloud forest north of Esteli, and had rather inadequate directions.)  Bob had gone off to look at the notice board, leaving his bag behind.  As the crowds swirled around us, a woman suddenly walked up and I thought she said, “Finca Lindos Oyos?”  I nodded uncertainly, and she suddenly beckoned, said something in Spanish, grabbed a few of our bags, and took off through the crowd.  Running after her, I saw her bring our things onto a bus, while I shouted what I thought was “Stop!” in Spanish but in actuality, Bob later confirmed, was just nonsense.

Imagining various horror stories of unsuspecting tourists being lured onto wrong buses and robbed of their possessions, I was at a loss for how to proceed.  I saw the kids had followed me,

Maybe it’s Rose the well-traveled turtle that they’re recognizing.

so I yelled for them to go back and stay with Bob’s bag, hoping it wasn’t already gone.  Then I boarded the bus and saw that the woman was gesturing to some seats.  She must have read my thoughts because she yelled to another young woman that she should explain to me in English.  This other woman turned out to be the daughter of the owners of the finca, and said that she’d come to save us seats because otherwise we might not have gotten them.  She had enough details about us and where we were going to put my mind at ease – and we were grateful for the intervention, because even though we were half an hour early the bus was getting pretty full.  (As it turned out, we ended up sitting with all our bags in our lap.)

We’ve seen people we actually do know, as well.  It seems that there’s a fairly well-worn tourist path for people who are looking for eco-conscious, socially responsible travel in Nicaragua.  At the Hostel Luna, we saw people from both La Mariposa and Ranch Esperanza.

So, it turns out we won’t be going on the lam or starting a drug ring on this trip.  Too famous for that.

As of Wednesday we’ve packed up at the Rancho and moved on to Esteli in the mountainous interior.  Sitting here in the cool courtyard of our hostel is very pleasant, because Jiquilillo was HOT.  The sun was so strong that the sand became almost impassable.  To access the ocean, you’d have to take a deep breath at the edge of the beach, then run like the devil to get to the wet sand before your feet became grilled.  (I know, I’m sounding like oh, there’s too much ice in my pina colada! or my back is really starting to hurt from lying in this hammock!  Just describing, not complaining, New England peeps!)  We’re all at least a little sunburned despite our best efforts with the sunscreen.

We made the most of our last couple of days.  Poor Ross, the beleaguered surfing instructor, had to put up with the other half of the family.  Lanie was more successful on the surfboard than we expected, and impressed us all by continuing to pop up with a smile every time a wave knocked her down.  Bob and I took our lesson after her, while the kids went to play and help out at the “kids’ club”, which the Rancho runs as a community service for the local kids.  I’d like to think that we did pretty well too.  (I think my yoga background helped me out, as the “gorilla” position used for surfing strongly resembles Warrior pose.)

Initially I thought I was a surfing disaster, since every time Ross would set me up to catch a wave the nose of my board would immediately dip underwater, sending me face-first into the surf (which was no more pleasant than it sounds).  I was on the verge of giving up, but guess what?  It turned out to be a problem with the board!  With a new board, I was much more successful, and Bob and I practiced for a while after our lesson (until my leg muscles refused to do any more “popping up” — guess I didn’t do quite enough of that yoga).  I’m scratched and bruised and received several high-velocity face-fulls of water, but it’s still fun being a surfer.

We also worked in a brief coconut tree climbing class.  Brief because the girls gave up rather rapidly.  Ross had warned us that the success rate was pretty much nil, but we told him not to count out Zoe.  Turns out she wasn’t feeling well that afternoon, though, so she wasn’t in tiptop form.  The teacher of the class made it look so easy, though.  Our consolation prize was three fresh-picked (by him) coconuts.

The next day we’d signed up for kayaking in the nearby nature-preserve estuary.  Zoe was still feeling tired, so she and Bob stayed behind, but the other girls and I headed out with a few others from the Rancho.  The estuary was beautiful, kayaking through tunnels of mangroves while distant, perfectly conical volcanoes shimmered on the horizon.  It was a lot of paddling, so Nadia and I were pretty tired by the end.  (Lanie was not particularly tired, because she was in front of a two-person kayak with me and did not actually contribute substantially to the

Puffer fish! It looked exactly like the bath toy Lanie used to have.

paddling effort.)  We were not so tired, however, that we weren’t jumping lively during the long, mosquito-ridden walk home, when a bull came charging down the road in our direction, being chased by two dogs.  (Cows, horses, bulls, and other assorted livestock are everywhere here, hanging out by the roadsides eating what grass they can find.)  Fortunately, we made it home without incident (other than mosquito bites).

Here is Lanie “helping” me paddle the kayak.

We’ve said our farewells to Leon. Here are a few more photos of our time there:

View from the cathedral roof

Parque Central

Huge hole in the sidewalk. These were everywhere and presumably designed to cripple unwary tourists.

This pretty much captures it perfectly.  Note the torture scenes.

It was a lovely city and a good stop, but a day or so there proved to be enough to cover the attractions that we thought would be family-friendly. (Although, in the case of the Museum of Myths and Legends, we proved to be somewhat mistaken in this view. All I can say is that it was probably the most bizarre tourist attraction I’ve ever visited (even including a museum that I once found myself in somewhere in Eastern Europe that had, if memory serves, various potatoes in the shapes of famous people). The museum was originally intended to showcase the myths and legends of Nicaragua, via various plastic and paper-mache figures set in rather corny displays — but is located in an old prison that was used by the Somoza dictatorship prior to the Sandinista revolution. So the cheesy-looking figures are juxtaposed with murals and sculptures depicting prison scenes and people being tortured. Also, the “myths and legends” seemed to uniformly involve people being killed/committing suicide and then coming back as ghosts. Our guide spoke English, for better or for worse, but seemed much one of those toys where you pull a string on a talking doll: he launched into a well-rehearsed spiel in front of each exhibit, not pausing for breath until the speech was completed (or the string ran out). Bob was sufficiently traumatized that he refuses to discuss the place, and we were surprised that Lanie wasn’t up with nightmares. You can tell the depth of Bob’s feelings based on the fact that his favorite part was at the end where we got to walk along the top of the prison’s walls, with dizzying drops on each side and extremely inadequate hand rails.)

At least the courtyard was nice.

Our hotel room

Our hotel was genuinely lovely, though, with our room looking out on a beautiful walled courtyard filled with winding paths and greenery — a quiet retreat in the middle of the city. We suffered a bit from the lack of air conditioning, though. Now that we’ve left the mountains for the coast, it’s HOT here. (Note to northeastern friends: No, no, we are not complaining!)

We had lots of interesting converations with the owner, who’s from Queens. He built the hotel himself and spends most of his days volunteering in the poorest neighborhoods, building homes and sporting fields and providing food. He raised two kids in Long Island and is now raising two down here with his Nicaraguan wife, so he’s got a very interesting perspective on the two societies. He feels that his US kids learned more in school, but his kids down here have learned to be kinder and happier.

Today we were planning to hit the buses again, but were a bit daunted when we discovered what getting to our next destination would involve: a taxi to the bus station, a bus ride to Chinandega, a taxi ride to a different bus station (all the small towns here have this maddening habit of having multiple bus terminals scattered through the city), and then another bus ride to our hostel. When I read online that our hostel offered shuttle service for $40, we quickly opted to try to set that up (despite the 4-person maximum). Luckily we were able to work it out, so we got door-to-door taxi service from a very nice man, Lanie perched on my lap in the back seat and our many bags totally filling the hatchback. The ride seemed like it was going to be much shorter than we’d expected — until we got to the last 7 km and turned off onto an extremely rutted dirt road. Half an hour later, we finally arrived. Best $40 we’ve ever spent.

And now we’re ensconced at the Rancho Esperanza, right on the beach in the remote northwestern corner of Nicaragua. It’s essentially a collection of rough thatched-roof shacks on the sand with a hippie/surfer vibe. We rented out a six-person dorm (three sets of bunk beds). We have composting toilets and cold showers, and are surrounded by college-aged people. (One group is currently playing a drinking game the next table over, and another is sitting outside playing the guitar and singing). The beach is beautiful and mostly deserted, and the water is like a bath. We swam for hours today, then lounged in beachfront hammocks with our books, watching a breathtaking sunset. Bob and I signed up for the delicious vegetarian curry dinner, and the kids were thrilled with the “breakfast all day” menu item of waffles (Eggo, by the looks of it) and fruit.

We’re here for five days and it looks like we’ll have plenty to do — surfing lessons, “climb a coconut tree” lessons, kayaking in the adjacent wetland reserve, getting a $2 manicure or $10 massage, maybe helping out in the kids’ club that they run for the local families here. So far, well worth the trip.

We have officially left La Mariposa and successfully launched into the outside world.  More about that tomorrow.  But yesterday, on our last night, was the excursion I was most looking forward to — a night tour of the Volcan Masaya.  Despite my high expectations, this trip still blew them all away.

Volcan Masaya is a national park, but down here that doesn’t mean the same thing as it does at home.  However, in this case we found that Nicaragua has really done a good job with this place.  Our first stop was the visitor center/museum, which was the equal of any I’ve been in in the US national parks — large scale models of the area, lots of interesting information about the volcano and the plants and animals that live here, and beautiful artwork.

But of course the real star is the volcano itself.  It has seven craters, of which only one (the Santiago crater) is still active.  And I read that this is one of only two places in the world where you can drive right up to the crater’s edge and peer into the depths, until you’re blinded and/or asphyxiated by the acrid smoke pouring from it.  Cars are instructed to park facing out, so a quick getaway is possible in case of an eruption, and people are advised to stay in the area for no more than 20 minutes, because of the fumes.  (Interestingly, a group of parrots has evolved to live inside the crater itself, undisturbed by any predators.)

We were able to hike around and even a little bit into the crater, and along a ridge that passed by two adjacent (inactive) craters.  Next we headed up to the highest point in the park, along a steep path covered in loose gravel.  (We thought getting up it was hard, but it was nothing to trying to get back down.)  The view would have been spectacular in any circumstances — from a narrow ridgeline, we could see for miles in every direction, chains of volcanoes and green valleys stretching to the horizon — but Richard had timed our trip so that we could watch the sun setting through the smoke of the crater.  Words and photos don’t do it justice.

A short panorama view:

http://youtu.be/dWcZHyHcXhs

Up, up, up the hill

As if that wasn’t enough, we were then equipped with helmets and flashlights and led to the nearby caves.  These are actually lava tubes, formed by rivers of hot lava coursing through the mountain.  We stood just outside the first cave (all three girls in front of the pack), turned off our lights…and watched some of the cave’s thousands of bats emerge in droves for their evening hunting. I must admit I ducked into a crouch (and was grateful for my helmet, lest a bat crash into/poop on me), but looking up I could see the bats coursing all around Bob’s head.  (Our guide helpfully explained that these are not vampire bats, but insectivores.)

The bats emerge:

http://youtu.be/NWd-DulWoh4

Finally, Richard had one more treat in store — we walked along a bit to another cave, where we were able to walk about a third of a mile into the mountain.  The cave formations were lovely, and there were plenty of bats here, too.  At one point, in the deepest depths of the cave (where indigenous tribes once prepared their victims for human sacrifice in the volcano) Richard had everyone turn off their lights and be totally silent.  I don’t think we’ve ever experienced such darkness before, with no sensory input except the soft flutter of bats’ wings.  (I ducked down at this point as well.)

Creepy looking things, aren’t they?

Our tour ended, we emerged under a blanket of stars brighter than I ever remember seeing.  There’s not much light pollution in Nicaragua.

This place alone is reason enough to come to Nicaragua, in my opinion.  Any one of our experiences would have made the trip worthwhile.  This would be an A-1 tourist destination anywhere in the world, but down here is still enough off the beaten path that we didn’t have to deal with crowds or the excessive levels of regulation that unfortunately must accompany them.  And the whole experience was $10 per person.  We won’t soon forget it.

We’ve been in a bit of a cocoon during our stay at La Mariposa, but during our various excursions (on foot and by van) we’ve seen a little of the country as well.  It’ll be interesting to see how similar the other regions are to this one.

Schoolwork with a view

One thing you notice right away is the weather.  I thought that the whole Northern Hemisphere would share the same seasons, but February is considered summer down here.  It’s the dry season, which means almost no rain.  As a result, there is dust everywhere.  All of our walks have resulted in very dirty feet, and Lanie (due to her constant contact with dogs and with the ground) pretty much walks around in a cloud of dirt, like Pigpen from Peanuts.  (Fortunately the flies have not yet appeared.)  When I wash my hands before dinner, I’m always surprised at the brown water coming off them, even if I haven’t been doing much of anything.

Compounding the dirt is the shortage of water here.  The dry season is always a challenge, and climate change has made things worse.  Although we have a free-flowing supply of water in our bathroom, we’re asked to conserve as much as possible.  We know we’re in a place where a lack of water can lead directly to families going hungry, so we have been minimizing our water usage as much as possible — which means brief and infrequent showers.  “Clean” is relative here, when it comes to us and our clothes.

This monkey really wants to bite my finger off.

The region where we’re staying is mountainous and mostly rural, with occasional villages dotted along the roads.  These are filled with various storefronts, as it seems that most people are selling something from their homes to produce or supplement their incomes.  For instance, one home in the nearest village has four TVs with video-game consoles in the main room, and these are rented by the hour to the local kids.

Some of the shells we found at the beach.

Most of the houses outside the village center seem to have animals in their yards — bulls and cows, chickens, pigs.  And dogs are ubiquitous.  Most of them are running free through the town, so it’s fortunate that they generally seem to be well-behaved.  Life is mostly lived outside, at least in the summer.  Cooking, laundry, and lounging are all done in the outdoors.

We’re very happy with our decision to avoid renting a car here.  The roads are narrow, vary widely in quality, and have random speed bumps in the middle of towns.  People seem to drive as fast as they can, tooting the horn and weaving in and out amongst pedestrians, bicycles, the three-wheeled motor taxis, and livestock.  And they have a very different idea of the maximum carrying capacity of a vehicle.  The other day on our trip to the beach, the van filled up and so the driver put stools into the aisle for people to sit on.  Others perched on a ledge behind the driver’s seat, facing backwards.  I’ve heard that the buses are even worse (I guess we’ll find out on Wednesday).  In Masaya the other night, I saw a whole family — mother, father, young child, and infant — riding a single bicycle.

A walk through the hills behind La Mariposa

Though many of the houses here would barely qualify as shacks at home, we haven’t noticed a great deal of extreme poverty (or extreme wealth, for that matter).  La Mariposa is essentially a non-profit and donates a lot of goods and labor (as well as providing jobs) for the local community, so that may be making a difference here.  It’s inspiring to see the many young guides we’ve had at various locations, who are so enthusiastic and well-versed in the area’s flora, fauna, and history.

The smoking crater of Volcan Masaya, as seen from the top of the hill at La Mariposa.

The rock walls had several political paintings. This was an active area for the Sandinista rebellion and there are still strong loyalties.

Yesterday was Sunday, when we traditionally have a choice between a guided hike and a horseback ride.  Nadia and Lanie really wanted to ride again, so Bob took the hit and went with them while Zoe and I went on the hike.

We weren’t sure exactly what it would entail, but we met up with our guides (and a translator from La Mariposa) and headed a couple of villages over.  We found ourselves walking down a steep track that had been blasted out of the sheer rock that rose on our right, with a steep drop into a valley on our left.  It turned out that we descending inside one of the (inactive) craters of the Volcan Masaya.  (We learned that it has seven craters, only one of which is active.  That’s the one we see smoking in the distance whenever we drive or walk anywhere.)  In the distance was a beautiful lake, the Laguna Masaya.

We got to ride in the back of the pickup!

Laguna Masaya in the background

Eventually we came to a sign saying we were entering the Volcan Masaya National Park.  Not exactly like what you’d see at a US National Park — there was no entrance kiosk, no rangers, no parking lot — just a dusty track continuing down the trail.  It wasn’t totally clear what the boundaries of the park were, but even after we passed the sign we saw a man tending bulls, pockets of agriculture, a tiny two-room school (that holds the village’s 14 children) and the ruins of an old house near the lakeshore (that had apparently been built by someone who was president of Nicaragua for three days).  There were no other tourists that we could see, just a few Nicaraguans working, fishing, or doing their laundry.  (We’ll be visiting the more-touristed Santiago crater for a night hike tomorrow.)

After this the short-lived president’s mysterious departure, the house was bought by a German who lived there until the 90s.  He set up a zoo on the premises.  We saw the remains of a large round enclosure

Inadequate crocodile enclosure

near the lake, and were told that it used to hold his crocodiles.  However, one day in the rainy season the lake flooded, and you can guess what happened.  And so to this day, there is a small colony of crocodiles that lives in the lake.

We were also brought, in groups of five, into the “bat house” — the crumbling remains of the oldest house in the village, which now houses a colony of bats.  They were flying around much more than I expected, but luckily none of them came too close.  (Many of you have heard my traumatic bat-in-the-bedroom story and I’m still not fully recovered.)

A fisherman shows us his catch

A scenic spot for laundry

We walked a fair way around the lakeshore, with our guides pointing out various birds, trees, and other natural features.  It was incredibly beautiful, though sadly rimmed with trash.  Trash is a big problem here.  Much of it is burned, but you see it everywhere.  The city of Masaya is on the far side of the lake, and when Zoe and I were there we saw drainage canals (dry at this time of year) full of trash.  When the rains come, it will all be washed into the laguna.  So this was not a place for swimming (though we did see a couple of Nicaraguans in it).

Bob finally gets his turn at the pinata.  The dancing ladies would have been proud.

This afternoon we split up again.  Bob walked up the steep hill to the village of La Concha to try to catch a baseball game.  The rest of us worked on schoolwork and then treated ourselves to ice cream in the village of San Juan (downhill).  We also got some more candy for the final pinata, which we dispatched (unfortunately without the festive music) when we got back.

Bob and I spent some time post-dinner down on the terrace having a drink with several of the other guests, in honor of our friend Sekar from San Francisco who’s leaving tomorrow (but were still in bed by 9:30).  Back to class tomorrow morning!

Crew at La Mariposa. There’s a real diversity here — people young and old, from various countries of origin.

We’ve settled into a nice routine here at La Mariposa.  It’s been an extremely easy way to get our feet wet in Central America, since all our needs are taken care of and we pretty much just have to show up.

The food here is great, and this is probably the healthiest we’ve ever eaten.  Lots of fresh fruit, vegetables, and (of course) beans and rice.  The other thing Bob and I are noticing is we aren’t snacking, and we aren’t missing it.  Out of sight is out of mind when it comes to junk food, and this confirms that most of our snacking is probably due to cravings or boredom rather than actual hunger.  (Of course, the girls are still the first ones to race out during the occasional visits of the ice cream man.)

Monkey at La Mariposa. He grabs us when we walk by if we’re not careful.

Our day begins with breakfast at 7:15.  Well, except on the days when Lanie drags us up with her to do her “morning rounds”.  She does several laps around the garden, stopping frequently to pet some of the many dogs and cats that abound here (and for some reason infuriating the monkeys, who reach out and bare their teeth as we barrel past).

I think that Bismark did not feel that I was very talented at coffee-making, but was too polite to say so.

Anyway, back to breakfast.  Every day there is a huge platter of very fresh, ripe fruit — bananas, watermelon, cantaloupe, papaya — most of it grown in the gardens here.  The coffee is grown here too.  (The other day I walked to the gardens with my teacher and was able to try my hand at crushing the shells off the beans.  They do it old-school here, with a big stone bowl and a very large wooden club.  I appreciated the coffee more after I gave it a try.)  There’s also granola, cornflakes, and bread.  A little later the kitchen ladies bring out a hot breakfast too.  This varies quite a bit — scrambled eggs with tomatoes, rice and beans, crepes, oatmeal.

At 8am they sound the chimes for the first class.  We meet with our individual teachers and scatter throughout the grounds to various nooks that hold our outdoor classrooms.  We each have one two-hour grammar class and one two-hour conversation class per day.  Today in my grammar class I had to take a 1+hour-long test of regular and irregular verbs (conjugations, and using in a sentence).  By the end I was exhausted and desperate to be finished.

The unfinished pinatas

The finished pinatas (yes, “angry birds” theme)

We have a brief break around 10am, then begin our second class.  For our conversation classes, we sometimes walk around the grounds or into town to talk to people.  The girls have had a week-long project of making pinatas.  Today was the culmination, and most of the school ended up gathering around for the festivities.   We were given a dance lesson and then attacked the pinata in turns.  (Apparently here you’re supposed to dance while doing this.  Below is a video where Heidi demonstrates the proper procedure.)

Folklore show at the Mercado Masaya.

Lunch follows around noon.  (Interestingly, there is fresh fruit juice at lunch and dinner, but not at breakfast.)  After lunch we usually have some free time, and then an optional excursion.  We’ve gone on most of them, but have skipped a few that don’t return until late at night.  Last night was one such trip, to the famous (but in my opinion rather disappointing) markets of Masaya, and Zoe and I went along and left the others at home.  Overall it was not the most exciting of excursions, but Lanie and I did get new dresses:

Lanie made it a project to take photos of every animal here. I have a lot of these.

Dinner is at 6, and usually includes some kind of dessert.  Afterwards we read or relax, and generally head to bed fairly early.  (We’ve grown accustomed to the roosters/dogs/etc. and are sleeping much better these days).

The weather here is beautiful — around 80 and sunny every day, with no humidity.  To our surprise, mosquitoes and other bugs seem to be quite limited.  (Our beds have mosquito nets, but we haven’t had to use them — except Lanie, who considers hers a canopy.)  Most of our living is done outside, as seems to be the case for the country as a whole.  Our meals are eaten on a terrace overlooking the gardens.  We read and work on our balcony.  This is our de facto living room:

The best thing about this place is the freedom we all feel.  The kids have the run of the place — the abundant greenery makes it feel large, but it’s small enough that they’re never far out of our sight.  There are no other kids here (except a 1-year-old who arrived yesterday), but the other guests have been very welcoming (and our kids, perhaps desperate for conversation with someone who (a) is not in their family and (b) speaks English, are often ready to talk their ears off).  Lanie has taken up busking after dinner, and has gathered up several coins in her violin case.  Zoe loves to do laundry.  And Nadia has made several friends here, whom she regularly chats with about horses and what we’ve done that day and horses.

It will be tough emerging from our cocoon here, and having to deal with our own transportation and meals and entertainment (and without Richard the head guide to translate for us and tell us what’s what).  But I think we’re feeling ready to face the wide world again.

The kids’ side of our family room is painted with beautiful murals