A Night in the Life of a Nica

San Carlos, Nicaragua,
Weds., Feb. 25

I want to start this horror story by describing where we are now: in a small, 4-bedroom hotel, right on the edge of Lago Nicaragua. The hotel is new and sparklingly clean, and I am sitting on a little balcony with the lake rippling below. A Great Blue Heron, a Lesser White Heron, and a white ibis with bright yellow feet are all in plain view, patiently fishing in the reedy shallow waters. This morning as Mitch sat out here at about 7:00 he saw rowboats coming in from all over the lake, as parents dropped their kids off for school. It's a lovely, idyllic setting -- thank goodness!!!

On the weekend we had made our way (via more chicken buses and a very rough ferry) from Granada out to the island of Ometepe, which is comprised of twin volcanoes and set in the middle of Lago Nicaragua, the second biggest lake in Latin America after Peru's Lake Titicaca. The travel books painted Omtepe as a wonderfully relaxing place, with beautiful beaches, so we made our way out there with thoughts of Culebra dancing in our mind -- which wasn't fair. In this dry season, it was dusty and hot. We'd looked forward to swimming in the lake, but it was hard to work up too much enthusiam as the 'beach' at our lodgings was bordered with families washing their clothes and themselves, as well as driving their cattle in for water. Somehow it just seemed wrong (and somewhat unappealing) to frolic like tourists with the locals struggling for existence alongside us.


Although the western edge of Ometepe is only 20 kilometres from the Pacific coast, it actually drains into the Caribbean Sea via the country's longest river, the Rio San Juan. This river also forms the border with Costa Rica, and is the only real transportation line through the unsettled and wild jungle that comprises Eastern Nicaragua. A riverboat ride down the Rio had intrigued us as a neat way to see deeper into the jungles and wildlife of Nicaragua -- the only tough part being that to get to San Carlos, at the river mouth, involves either a very rough bus ride over roads that are often closed and impassable, or an infrequent ten-hour ferry trip from the island of Ometepe, departing at 6:00 p.m. and travelling through the night. We had walked through the forests of Ometepe and seen howler monkeys (very exciting), and ancient petroglyphs... we could have lingered longer, but connections for the ferry are rare. We debated the difficulty of the ferry trip as a family, but since the departure date could actually work out for us, we decided that we could sleep on the boat and manage the trip, even though it was scheduled to arrive in San Carlos at the ungodly hour of 5:00 am.

Our biggest mistake was influenced very much by listening to other travellers (we've been on the road long enough that we should trust our own knowledge and instincts over those of 20-year-olds!). As Mitch was in line to buy our tickets -- we were surprised at the number of people already queuing, even though we were two hours early -- the other tourists around him told him earnestly that there really was no difference between first and second-class tickets, except that first-class tickets were three times the price. (Let me point out here that we only spent $12 on tickets for five of us, so $36 would not have been an obscene number!) Anyhow, although I had been steadfastly certain that we would travel first-class, Mitch showed up with five second-class tickets, and then we settled down to wait for the ferry's arrival in a motley crowd of foreigners and
Nicaraguans. There was no terminal, just a table and chairs on the dirt outside a little shack selling soft-drinks, where I set the kids up with their math and took advantage of the time to get some home-schooling in! (As an incidental note, the surly shack-proprietor charged us when we left for the privilege of using the table!) We put in two hours easily... then another hour as the boat was very late in arriving.

By the time it did appear, it was after 7:00 p.m., and as soon as it was sighted, the whole throng of humanity waiting sprang into an aggressive queue. We were fortunately near the front, but the kids were knocked about several times by the pushing from the back, and it was not a pleasant wait, especially as we stood there a further 45 minutes waiting for them to unload the cargo the ferry also carried. Just when we were tired and uncomfortable to the point of major frustration, the sky suddenly burst open and rain bucketed down. In an amazingly choreographed leap, the line parted neatly down the middle as everyone surged for the partial shelter the shacks on either side offered. There was no room at all for Mitch and I, although the boys managed to get some shelter; we stood out in the torrent with water streaming down our faces, trying to protect our luggage as best we could. Cachell, miraculously, had known exactly where her rain-coat was and plucked it out of her bag the instant the rain began.

Eventually they opened the gates and we hurriedly trundled through the mud down to the ferry -- only to discover that the outside deck was almost full of cargo, and the sitting area was already full of people from the first stop, let alone all the new passengers who boarded at Ometepe. There was literally no where to go except to push forlornly down the aisle; the bench rows were full of people, and every inch of floor space had been staked out by Nicaraguan families. To my anger and disbelief, the majority of backpackers who had influenced Mitch to get the second-class tickets had disappeared upstairs!!!

Really, that was one of the blacker moments of my life, having absolutely nowhere for my children to even perch, as we faced ten hours in the oppressive heat of that waiting room, and open aggression from the locals if we even touched the edge of a suitcase on their 'space'. Then the attendants tried to 'help' by seizing the children by the arms and dragging them down the aisle, yelling at the locals to shove over, and then indicating that they should squeeze in, one here and one there, between the hostile and smelly bodies on the bench seats. Lochlan flatly refused, and the littler two just clung to me while Mitch was at the front by our stack of luggage. (Remember too that we were all dripping with rain, the humidity level of that room must have been almost 100%, and the temperature at least 27 degrees C.) I begged the attendants (in my "Dora the Explorer" Spanish!) to let us pay to move upstairs, but they all flatly refused.

Finally a Canadian cowboy (!) came forward to offer us his seat -- which wasn't hugely helpful as it was only one, but was very kind -- as he was feeling seasick and was heading out for fresh air. I followed him as he pushed his way through the crowd and outside and discovered that a few Nicaraguan men had made themselves beds on the floor of the wet deck with assorted tarps and plantain bundles; there were still about 4 square feet empty, and although the metal-runged gang-plank went through the middle of this space I took rapid note that the stars were shining again and quickly laid claim to the space. We pulled out our raincoats and what plastic bags we had, spread them on the floor, wedged the children into place against the stacks of plantain bundles, and covered them with our sleeping bags. Somehow Mitch and I managed to lie down -- on top of and beside the gangplank, and with about three feet of space -- and curl up. Thankfully, the children fell instantly asleep, thanks no doubt to the Gravol I'd given them, but my own Gravol was no match for the sea-sickness that was building within me, and I spent the next hour in a misery of nausea with no way to get through the crowd of bodies over to the edge of the deck to be sick. The Gravol or my fervent prayers eventually had an effect, and I was finally able to fall asleep, thinking that the trip wasn't going to be so bad, after all, and we'd have a good story to tell.

But the adventures were just beginning. At midnight there was suddenly a commotion all around us, as all the Nicaraguans picked up their belongings and moved off the gangplank. What no one had mentioned to us was that the ferry put to port at a couple more stops before arriving at San Carlos... so suddenly I was having to shake the kids out of their deep sleeps and get them quickly out of the way as the gangplank was pulled out from under us, and we scrambled to gather up our sleeping bags and possessions. There was literally nowhere to move, and meanwhile passengers were getting off and even more getting on, and the deck hands were pushing through the crowds with huge bundles balanced on their heads, trying to unload. Crazy!


(You have to look closely at this photo to realise there are two people lying on the deck -- this was where we first camped out; it was taken after more than half the cargo had been emptied... cosy.)

Finally one of the older deck hands took pity on Cachell and I and motioned us over to a little triangular space under the stairs that he had just emptied out. He put a plank from a box in the corner to the stairs, and motioned Cachell to lie down on it and go to sleep. A Nicaraguan man and his family were perched on a sack of beans just under the stairs, but there was a bit of space left -- enough to squeeze the boys and Mitch into. As the ferry moved off again, I reflected that at least for the next port we were out of way of the action... and although I was uneasy at how clearly over-capacity the boat was, I dropped into a doze reflecting that it might not be so bad after all...

Until with a resounding roar the skies suddenly burst forth again, and torrential rain fell angrily onto the deck. Again, the Nicaraguans surprised me with their speed as they sprang as one unit off the deck and somehow squeezed themselves into the waiting room. We rapidly realised that there was no room at all inside, and we were reasonably sheltered under the stairs. I pulled the raincoats out from under and placed them over the boys, as they huddled under our legs. Mitch eventually pushed through the throng of humanity to get to our suitcases at the front and get our one umbrella (given to us by our German friends back in Berlin!) while I tried to rearrange some planks overhead to keep the run-off from above from streaming directly onto us. Between the planks and the umbrella, we somehow managed to stay somewhat dry, and thankfully the air was still fairly warm and the engines below us gave some heat to the deck. For an uncomfortable couple of hours we did our best to stave off the rain as we pulled into the next port and watched them unload tremendous sacks of flour and rice, and huge bundles of plantains. (Mitch and Caelan later confessed that they had seen what was definitely a tarantula in those plantains, but they felt it wisest to not inform me of this at the time!)

And so passed the rest of our night. The rain had mostly stopped by the time we pulled out of that port, but the deck was sopping wet. I managed to curl up under Mitch's legs into a reasonably dry little spot, and slept fitfully until with a huge surge a great wall of water poured off the roof of the ship above us, and drenched me completely. By this time I had reached the calm of despair; I went to put my hiking boots back on and found one of them literally full to the brim with water and had to laugh!

Finally the sky began to get light and people began to stream out onto the deck; we realised that we must be getting close to port. The kids sat up and we stuffed our sopping sleeping bags and raincoats away. The boys went in to stay with our suitcases while Cachell and I sat forlornly on the little plank bench in our space under the stairs and watched as the Nicaraguan girl who had been curled up nearby all night (she'd actually edged Cachell off her plank at one point in the night, and when it rained threw all her bags and bits on top of Caelan), went inside and brought out a baby, whom I assume was a little brother and not her own. She stood there in the crowd holding the baby until Cachell and I squeezed together and waved her over to have a seat beside us. As she sat there and I watched her and the baby, the worst moment of the trip unfolded; cavorting gleefully in their hair was a squadron of what could only be lice. Cachell crawled into my lap, and when they left as the ferry docked I got out a paper towel and wiped the lice that had fallen onto Cachell's suitcase off. I sprayed it with hand sanitiser but my stomach was curdling; this girl had been pressed up against our stuff at many points during the night. Ugh.

Thank goodness we found this nice hotel; if we had been trapped in a flea-pit I may have cracked!! I guess I'm not as hardened a traveller as I had thought; when the kids are involved, there is only so much I can weather. But we DID find this beautiful spot; San Carlos seems to be a nice little town in its isolation (it's certainly much less garbage-strewn), and the children were instantly perky -- though tired -- after our night's misadventures.

I spent most of yesterday washing out all our clothes and raincoats and bedding... although I know that if there is a louse or two in there the hand-scrubbing in cold water won't probably kill them, I've at least given it my best shot! And we are certainly empathetic to the life of a Nicaraguan in a way we couldn't be if we hadn't actually spent a night in their shoes... I guess in my hypocritical way, there are certain depths of experience that I'd rather not share -- but we'll deal with further developments as they come.

Of course, we still have to get back up the lake, but Mitch has already found where we can buy FIRST-CLASS tickets! We'll spend another day and night here and then take a smaller launch down-river to see El Castillo... before boarding the ferry again on Friday afternoon.

Fortunately, this was a trying adventure, but not a terrifying one. We met a Canadian couple on Ometepe who regaled us with a real horror story they had just been told by yet another young Canadian couple. Turns out this young couple had also been in Matagalpa at about the same time we were, and went out to tour a coffee finca which we are certain must be the same one we had been to. While they were waiting for the bus at the end of the long lane leading to the finca (a very isolated spot), a car full of people drove by, then suddenly turned around and stopped beside them. Five people waving machetes leaped out, tied them up, and bundled them into the car, where they sat on them. They drove them to the city, forced them to hand over their jewellery, money, bank cards and passports, and then went to several bank machines before they were able to successfully withdraw money. Of course the Canadians were absolutely terrified, but the young woman said that the strangest thing about the whole time was that the woman who was holding a machete on her was also rubbing her back and murmuring comfortingly. It's a sad and terrible thing when poverty and despair force people to do things that are clearly against their nature. Anyhow, thankfully they finally dropped the couple off in the country on a deserted road, and even gave them back their passports, so the ending is not the tragedy it could have been.

What bothers me is that this couple did not flee straight back to Canada (as I certainly would have done)... apparently they are here on the behest of friends of theirs who are travel writers, and they were going on to stay with these writers for a while. The gist I got from the second-hand account was that they didn't want to disappoint their friends the writers by running away over a trivial thing(!) when all ended well. That really bothers me, as I am feeling somewhat mislead already by the travel guides I have read about this country. It's a challenging place to be, and we have learned a lot, but I don't think we have been well-served by a glossing over of facts we've read in the guide books. All that keeps me going here is the sprinkle of other tourists I see, of all ages, and the knowledge that our children ARE coming away much wiser and with far more empathy. They were already sympathetic to the idea of less-fortunate children, but there is no way they could possibly understand the plight of others from their safe and comfortable home in Canada. I know I couldn't.

Discovering Nicaragua

Matagalpa
Feb. 15, 2009

We're in the northern part of Nicaragua, where it is mountainous and a little cooler than the rest of the country. Temperature seems to be about the same for Nicaragua the year round; one Nica joked to me that they're too poor to afford more that two seasons: rainy and dry. It's the dry season right now, and the coffee harvest, an important resource for Nicaraguans, is just ending. They pick the beans by hand, and then laboriously spread them in the sun, raking and turning them for days until they reach the desired stage of "roasted".


We took a chicken bus up to the Selva Negra coffee finca today. We had hoped to tour the plantation with a guide; nothing like that was one offer, and while they used to have a coffee museum, it had been relegated to a haphazard heap of what had clearly been displays at one time. Still there was no one around to ask, so we just carefully poked through the old equipment and pictures. Coupled with the coffee plants and workers we saw on the ride up the mountain to the finca, it was very interesting.

Selva Negra is a remarkable place. It was founded by a German couple over a hundred years ago... we met a man as we were walking up the 2 km 'driveway' who greeted us expansively and was more jovial and welcoming than anyone we had met in Nicaragua. Judging by pictures I saw at the lodge, he is one of the descendants of the original settlers. They were foreign originally, but they are clearly here for the long-haul and not to simply exploit; the finca has it's own living quarters for workers, a school, and a medical clinic. Very impressive.

The grounds themselves are very lovely; fairly manicured around the main buildings, but then comprising many acres of natural dry forest and cloud forest which has been declared a nature reserve. And the coffee plants in the plantation area are mixed with large trees from the original forest, rather than being planted in rows on ground that has been ruthlessly deforested.


We hiked up and through the nature reserve for a couple of hours. This is dry forest, not rain forest, which was a little disappointing for Caelan and I, who are really looking forward to seeing some lush tropical growth. Really hiking through here felt quite similar to walking through the river valley at home, with the only major differences (besides the trees being unfamiliar) being the steepness of the terrain, and the animals. We had been keeping excited eyes on sharp look-out for monkeys, though never did actually see any... but just as we were where the dry forest began to give way to the greener cloud forest, we heard the strangest sound; a sort of grunting, growling hoot that echoed eerily through the trees. These were undoubtedly the sounds of howler monkeys, and while we look forward to actually seeing some, somewhere, even just hearing them was exciting.

Leaving meant taking the long trek back out to the highway, and waiting for the bus to come back down the mountain. This was an area of heavy fighting when the Revolution reared its head in the '70's, and an old tank sits at the bottom of the lane on the edge of the highway. As we perched there, we had an odd encounter with a drunk man who saw Mitch's camera and clearly very much wanted it; in fact, he ended up shaking his arm and showing the boys how he kept a HUGE knife up his sleeve that he could flick down into his hand in a split second. I was starting to get really uncomfortable when the trusty bus rattled up, and we thankfully clambered aboard.



Granada
Feb. 20, 2008


The word for the day is 'Hot". Actually, it's more appropriate as a word for the night, as that's when the temperature is a problem. We're in a nice, secure hotel which is clean and has space for the five of us in a room (with one kid on the floor, as always)... but it is really airless at night, and even with two fans going it's hard to rest. Having said that, security means a lot; there was a huge dog commotion in the middle of the night a couple days ago, and it turns out that a nearby place was being broken into. That much fact is agreed upon; the guys who work here report that the intruder was actually shot, while the owner says that he merely electrocuted himself on the roof (!!!) and was chased off with a stick. Either way, I guess I'm glad for the thick walls that block the breeze but keep the thieves out.

In general, Nicaraguans are polite, and very well-presented and dressed -- even if they're shabby there is real effort to keep their clothes neat, and despite the heat, I haven't been repulsed by terrible body odours (which were pervasive in many parts of Europe!). What makes me smile is the shine on everyone's shoes, no matter how well-worn the rest of the outfit; there is a boot-black stall at every bus station, and they get used! Sadly, our hiking boots are all suede or micro-fibre, so we can't partake, and I do notice people look critically at our feet!

Buses are an adventure. The actual vehicles themselves are old American/Canadian "Bluebird" school buses, exactly like the ones I rode back and forth to school on in Saskatchewan for many years. We discovered the story of how they have come to be down here: enterprising entrepreneurs come up into North America, buy the old bus from a school district for a couple of thousand dollars, then immediately remove all the seats and strap them on top. Into the empty space they drive two small second-hand cars (!), and then they begin the long drive down through the States, Mexico, and the rest of Central America. Once they're here, they sell the buses for about $10,000, as well as the cars, and have a very tidy profit for their (not inconsiderable!) efforts.


The school buses get reassembled with luggage racks on top, and become the infamous Central American "chicken buses". These buses are everywhere, and 90% of the ones I have seen (and been on) have been literally filled to the rafters with people, and often heaped with baskets, sacks of rice and beans, and assorted other parcels on the roof rack. Why "chicken bus" you ask? In a these countries refrigeration is a scarcity, so when Abuela (Granny) goes to the market to get some chicken for supper, it comes home squawking... it won't be butchered until right before the meal. When we took the bus from Matagalpa down to Granada, waiting in line with us was a buzzard with his legs firmly trussed together (surely he wasn't on the menu; he'd be so tough and foul tasting!), and a chicken, primly wrapped up in a small plastic carrier bag, with just it's head kept out so it could breathe. They were very well-behaved on the trip, I have to say; we couldn't hear them at all over the blaring Spanish radio.

I have not looked into the safety statistics for these buses, and I don't really care to, but we have taken our own small security measures. Much to the bemusement of the locals, we have five luggage straps that we use to cinch ourselves in -- just in case. Even hitting potholes has sent the kids and I flying a foot off our seats, so in a real emergency, these pseudo-seat-belts would hopefully keep us a little safer... !



Feb. 21

Granada is meant to be the shining star of Nicaragua. This has left me feeling really dismayed, because I am so overwhelmed by the stench and sight of garbage that I can't seem to see past it. I think it doesn't help that our hotel -- which is nice and clean and safe, if very hot -- is located right on the edge of a huge market that winds on forever... it is dark, dingy and dodgy, and we have to pass through it every time we step outdoors.


But we have been lucky to land in Granada during a Poet's Festival... there are poetry readings every evening, and Mitch and the kids caught the tail end of an amazing parade yesterday. There is also an artisan market set up in the town square, so we have been checking out the handicrafts and the boys have been trying their luck haggling with a one-legged man who sells fantastic sling-shots -- they're pretty skilled at the game already, especially Caelan. One of Life's little lessons, learned young... (I'm hopeless at haggling!).

Granada was built by the Spaniards, and many of it's buildings date back to those colonial times. Our first night here we stayed in a hostel which is located in a 400-year-old colonial building. It was beautiful, with cool, airy, high-celinged rooms studded with dark beams -- so very different from the tiny, dark, windowless buildings of the barrios where the majority of locals live. The city streets are cobbled, and the pastel coloured town centre and church are quite pretty... (I feel like we are chewed up and spit out of the market by the time we stumble through it and out into the town square!)

Certainly Granada was considered important enough to be sacked repeatedly by pirates and buccaneers of various nationalities over the years, which could happen because it sits on the shores of the enormous Lago de Nicaragua, which connects to the Caribbean Sea via the Rio San Juan. In modern times, Granada is now plundered by "rich" gringos who have swooped in and bought most of the beautiful old buildings, causing real estate prices to soar and leaving most of the city properties out of reach of the Nicas. No wonder they don't feel like a very welcoming people.

A Very Different World

Matagalpa, Nicaragua
Feb. 15, 2009

Last night, for the first time since we left Canada, I lay awake wondering what the heck we were doing here, convinced the door was going to be kicked in any moment or at the very least, a nocturnal visit to the toilet would mean encountering scuttling or furry beasts. My desire for adventure was certainly at an all-time low.

I am feeling sheepish about my weakness now, but felt an honest chronicle of our adventures means disclosing second thoughts. To be fair, I have been really ill with a cold (which Mitch and I both dread becoming pneumonia after my episode last spring). Maybe I was feverish and delirious -- but I think it was just backlash after a tough day.

We did our research on Central America carefully. One of my best friends did a post-university stint in Guatamala, where she had a miserable time which peaked when her room-mate was raped. Interestingly, I taught one of my first Alexander classes in London to an extremely wealthy woman from "Whhatamala", and she wanted me to come and teach workshops there... but after Bev's story and some research, Guatamala was stricken from our list... despite wistful thoughts of Tikal and Mayan ruins.

So we decided on Costa Rica, which seemed to have a good mix of rain forest and beaches. After a month in Culebra, however, when we began looking to book this travel, I happened to open the Lonely Planet "Central America" accidentally to the Nicaragua section. I think that like many people, I had dismissed Nicaragua as a dangerous country full of Sandinistas and Contras and war. When I started to read, however, I discovered that although all those things happened, the wars are finally over, and this poor but beautiful country is trying to start over again. America should hang its bullying head in shame over its horrific treatment of this country... which despite everything that has happened to it, is dubbed by Lonely Planet as the safest country in Central America. Statistically, it has less tourist crime than even Costa Rica. "Hmmm," we thought, "maybe it's worth popping up over the (Costa Rican) border for a little exploring." We liked the idea of exposing the children to a third world country which was safe but not so sanitised and "gringified", the way Costa Rica is. Then when we went to book airline tickets, we found an amazing ticket deal to Managua, Nicaragua for $39 per person (+ taxes, but still...!) and the rest is history.

The problem was we had to land in Managua, which is where the danger in the country is centred, and our cheap flight meant arriving at 1:00 am, a dubious time for safety in any big city. To offset this, we booked a posh hotel near the airport -- and it was really lovely, with a gorgeous pool and patio filled with lush tropical flowers and bright pink hummingbirds, not to mention deferential and excellent service.


Which brings us to yesterday, when we had to uproot from our safe but unrealistic (and expensive) haven, and venture out into this country was have chosen to get to know. For the first time, we scrambled to make sure all the suitcases were locked and our money-belts hidden, which felt funny. As taxis here are generally small compact cars, squeezing all five of us in -- let alone all five of us plus luggage -- was a challenge, and involved Cachell crammed at an awkward angle on my lap. Needless to say, seat-belts were not an option and the driver was insane... but fortunately there were enough traffic clogs and horse-and-carts (!) on the road that he had to check his speed occasionally. We arrived at the bus station in relative safety, and after a quick but fervent "thank-you" prayer, we looked around and discovered that the express bus to Matagalpa was leaving in five minutes. Mitch and the boys rushed through the throng to try to get our bags on the bus (and keep them from being stolen) while Cachell and I pelted off to buy tickets. Here we encountered the first learning curve that comes from actually being in a place, rather than just reading about it -- Lonely Planet had implied that as long as we carried small bills, we could buy things as easily in US dollars as in cordobas, which certainly wasn't the case at the bus station. I didn't even have cordobas with me, as Mitch had all of the cash he had exchanged -- and I did a dance from one ticket seller to the next, trying to get tickets in
my 10 words of Spanish with dozens of people surging up around me, and leaning across me to buy their own tickets even as I was trying to talk to the teller. Eventually, Cachell loaned me HER cordobas and I bought the tickets, we ran to the bus, went to jump on -- and discovered they'd sold us tickets for the next bus, which wouldn't leave for half-an-hour. Mitch and the boys frantically got the bags off just as it was starting to pull out... only to be accosted by dozens of people who swarmed around to pick up our luggage and carry it to the next bus -- for a fee, or possibly more sinister reasons. We beat them off (verbally! and like the polite Canadians we are), and then Mitch checked the tickets and discovered they'd overcharged me 200 cordobas (which is about US$10, a small fortune here). We went together and politely pointed out the mistake to the lady behind the counter, who dismissed me and called me a liar without batting a lid of her piggy little eyes. (I am still furious and embarrassed over that -- how could I be so stupid?!)

We finally got on the right bus, and the two-hour trip passed reasonably uneventfully as we watched the beautiful but garbage-strewn countryside go past. There was the expected rabble of sheep, cows, horses and chickens along the road, as well as fruit-stands with pyramids of watermelons, and heaps of beets and carrots. Many, many people were walking, obviously unable to afford car or even bus, but as soon as we left Managua they seemed neater and cleaner. Women casually walk along here with sacks of rice or other heavy loads balanced on their heads. Many men were carrying machetes, but they seemed more like farmers than fighters. The countryside is beautiful, and quite empty -- the rolling hillsides and sun-baked grass made it feel like autumn, but fruit trees were in bloom as well -- it's a strange juxtaposition.


When we arrived in Matagalpa the taxi driver who approached us was driving a pickup, so we decided to spend the $4 (he took American money!) rather than wander the streets trying to find the hotel Mitch had booked. We threw our bags in the back and hopped in ourselves, only to have to youngs boys and several other men jump in too! After bouncing along the streets for several minutes, it became clear that neither the driver nor his entourage of helpers had any idea where they were going. They stopped to ask directions, and a man on the street actually swung up on board, too -- he apparently shared our doubt that the driver would ever find the place unaided.

With the help of the kind stranger, we managed to get within sight of our hotel -- but access to it was blocked by a huge stage they were setting up for a street festival celebrating the town's birthday. We maneuvered around the crowd and deposited ourselves and our bags into the cool lobby of the hotel with a sigh -- only to be met with a barrage of questions from the manager. Turns out she had given our reservation away... and the taxi was long gone.

Tired and exasperated, we insisted that she help us ring around to find another place, which we eventually did... and then we set out, the five of us and our bags, across many blocks and through a massive throng of people, in search of the elusive "room at the inn"! What a terrible feeling, as parents, to not know if we were going to have somewhere safe for the kids to sleep that night. Happily, this hotel is quite decent and had space for us, and all is well for another day. Travelling up until now has been delightful; now it is an adventure, and I suspect the descriptive adjective will vary from day-to-day.

Of Mermaids... or Other Beasts

Florida City (Everglades National Park), Florida
Feb. 11, 2009

Picture a murky brown canal, overhung with mangroves and unimaginably peaceful. We had been enjoying the serenity and marvelling at the beauty of the everglades all afternoon as we paddled along a salt water estuary in a couple of canoes. Lochlan and I were partners, and after a couple of hours of inadvertently crashing into the overhanging mangroves and
worrying that we might be scaring out a salt-water croc, we were finally getting the hang of maneuvering our canoe. We had been warned that it is crocodile mating season at the moment, so when the males hear something approaching they tend to launch themselves into the water and make it clear just who is the big boy on the block! There had been five huge crocs sunning themselves on the bank near the dock where we launched, and as the dock loomed into sight in the distance, we had just decided to get a little further away from the bank.

"Do you want to try to see them any closer?" I asked Lochlan. He had just shaken his head "no" and turned forward again when I realised that the water on our left had changed colour -- and a large, yellowish-grey back had filled the water the entire length of the canoe.

I swear my heart actually stopped for a second -- and when it started again the roar of blood in my ears momentarily drowned out all other noises. I saw Lochlan's ashen face turn towards me but then suddenly his mouth was moving. When my hearing cleared, I realised what he was saying:

"Mom, it's a manatee! A manatee!"

It's a marvel that I actually survived the surge of so many huge emotions in the space of ten seconds. With tears springing to my eyes and sweat drenching my whole body, I looked down on that huge, graceful creature and fervently thanked God for sparing us a close visit with a crocodile, and sending us this amazing gift instead.

When we recovered ourselves and got our canoe out from over-top the huge creature, we looked down and realised there was not just one in the water, but a second much littler one as well.

"Mom, it's a calf! A mother and her calf!"


Lochlan was so excited -- we both were! We changed direction and paddled alongside them, back upstream towards Mitch and the little two, who had been some distance behind us. We had arranged that we would indicate by waves if we saw wildlife, so we didn't disturb whatever we were seeing, but I couldn't stop echoing Lochlan's excited cries of, "It's a manatee" as I waved my paddle frantically in the air.

And then there we all were, watching with enchantment as the mother and her calf flowed calmly through the water alongside the bank, close enough we could have reached in and touched them. Every now and then we'd hear a funny spouting noise as they surfaced for another breath, and every now and then a funny little grey snout would delicately reach up out of the water and graze on a particularly tempting bunch of mangrove leaves. She probed the leaves carefully before eating them; it reminded me of how an elephant will feel gently with the end of her trunk. Throughout the time, they seemed so peaceful and calm, unpreterbed by the excited whispers of us strange two-legged creatures floating alongside them.


As we finally, regretfully, slowed our pace upstream and let them continue on without us, we could see their beautiful, fan-shaped tails clearly, and could see in an instant how the sailor's myth of the mermaid was born.

Manatees are on the endangered species list now -- there are probably less than 2000 left in US coastal waters -- so seeing them is a rare treat. To actually be able to spend that kind of time with them was exceptional; we were the envy of the park workers on the shore as we happily burbled out our story to them. This day has been one of the highlights of this amazing
year.

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Ft. Lauderdale Airport
Feb. 12, 2009

Once we got out heads around being unexpectedly in Florida, we have had an excellent time! I remain amazed that people can come here for a holiday and spend it all in the the craziness of the mega-parks at Orlando, when the glory and uniqueness that is the Everglades is so accessible.

The Everglades is a vast track of swampy marshland that sprawls across the bottom of the long and narrow peninsula that is the state of Florida. There are better scientific ways to describe it, I am sure, but essentially the Kissimee River, and the huge lake that it flows into, don't drain into the ocean in a conventional way. Once the waters leave the lake, they fan out and spread across hundreds of thousands of acres, in one of Natures most unique water purification and wetland creating processes. The shallow spread of water is covered with saw-grass, for miles upon miles... so in a bizarre way, in many places the Everglades looked to us like what we imagine the African savannah to be like. In other places, waterways are lined with mangroves, or dotted with stands of cypress and huge old trees that they call 'hammocks'.


















We started our Everglades journey by travelling from South Orlando down to the Ft. Lauderdale area. (What we didn't realise then is that we actually following the Kissimee River, which is the major water source for the Everglades.) We went to the Gumbo Limbo Nature Centre, where we saw our first alligator, a little guy sunning himself on the bank of a pond, and pools displaying all sorts of aquatic animals and fish, including many turtles, which are high on our favourite animal list. It was a great centre, but we were really keen to see more wildlife in it's natural habitat, so we moved on out of the urban zone (which is simply solid all along that Eastern coast of Florida), and into the Loxahatchee Nature Reserve. There we were hoping for the excitement of an airboat ride, or something similar, but discovered it's really just a vast expanse of protected wetland... not thrilling, perhaps, but great for hiking and walking.

We saw a number of big beautiful birds, and enjoyed just ambling along together. As we headed back to the car after putting in several miles on foot, I was idly watching Lochlan who had run on ahead, when he suddenly trotted to the side of the path, then leaped aside and back with enormous height and speed -- he'd just about stepped on a BIG alligator.



All the warnings I've ever had drummed into me about not approaching large predators came flooding back as Mitch -- with the boys following close behind -- crept closer and closer to the creature, who was really frightening looking. Fortunately, he was not interested in us, he didn't even stir, and Mitch got this great picture... but my heart was in my mouth as I wondered what on earth I'd do if the alligator suddenly lunged and started to drag him into the water!? Hit him with my purse?

Of course Mitch made light of my fears, but a couple of days later, in Everglades National Park, a warden told us the story of a family from Brazil last year who rented bikes and were riding along the trail with water on either side, much as this path was. Their ten-year-old-boy, for whatever reason, raced ahead of his parents, then swerved, lost control, and went over the edge of the bank and headlong into the water... right on top of an alligator. The alligator saw the thrashing child as prey, seized him around his chest in her powerful jaws, and started to pull him under. The boys mother, meanwhile, had arrived on the scene, sized it up in a glance, and leapt on the back of the 'gator, screaming and beating it around the head with a flash-light she must have been carrying. The poor alligator, who was only acting on instinct, finally released him and slunk off. By this time some other tourists had arrived on the scene, and they managed to get the boy out and eventually to hospital, where he had broken ribs and punctured lungs, but miraculously sustained no lasting damage. The moral of the story -- carry something heavy when wandering in alligator country, and don't get too close! Apparently tourists will arrive at the park, see an alligator, and crawl onto it's back to have their picture taken! Makes me embarrassed to be human, sometimes...


We went even farther south, level with Miami but further inland, to get to Everglades National Park. There things got exciting! We learned that airboats are really not a great environmental choice (they're not even available within the park borders), so we opted for canoes instead, and had our adventure with the manatees. That day as well as the manatees we saw the salt-water crocs, and lots of alligators -- but with every sighting we still squealed with delight. But an unexpected and amazing bonus was the bird-life; there were thousands and thousand of beautiful water-birds. What is astounding is that the terrible and on-going problem of water diversion, which will mean the death of the Everglades if serious and radical action isn't taken soon, has lead to an astonishing plummet in the number of birds in the area; the birds that we saw were only a fraction of those who once made the area their home. It must have been breath-taking to see them when the area was first discovered, as they're stunning in number and beauty even now. Herons, spoonbills, Ibis, and the strange and loevly anahinga (picture below); what was most fun for us was how quickly the children came to identify them, and their proud nonchalance in being able to do so. When we identified a rare and endangered wood stork, it was almost as exciting as that first alligator.


Today we went up to the Shark Valley area of the park, where a two-hour tour on a "tram" took us much deeper than we could even get on foot. (And it was too hot and open to have hiked far, anyhow!) This was a triumphant day -- the boys counted sighting more than 160 alligators before they lost count. They had faithfully worked on the "Junior Ranger" booklets they received when they first entered the Park, and now are not only fonts of knowledge about the Everglades, but are proud recipients of their "Junior Park Ranger" badges!


So closes another chapter of adventures. We are waiting at the airport now for our late-night flight to Managua, and a whole new culture and way-of-life to explore.

Time with the Mouse

Kissimee (Orlando), Florida
Feb. 9, 2008

We've ended up in Florida for a week or so killing time before we qualify for an amazingly cheap flight to Nicaragua. We flew from San Juan to Orlando beccause we could get great hotel deals here -- IF we went to a time share presentation, which was okay with us. (We've sat in on time share presentations all around the globe...!) I actually found the information at the presentation worthy of an article, so we ended up going to a different one for further research... and as a bonus we landed some Disneyworld coupons. (Notice the theme here is budget, budget, budget... we're six months in and realising that $$ are limited!)

Florida has been a real assault to our senses. Returning from abroad to North America and its huge roads and enormous vehicles I have always found a shock, but even the size of food portions and the bewildering variety at supermarkets here was strange at first and somewhat off-putting. And then there is TV. Even Lochlan said he'd rather stay in a place without TV because if we get sucked into it we just don't do anything. Our first couple of days here we just sort of wandered around in a daze. We had never had the US on our radar of places to visit -- it's too easily accessible from Canada and we thought, perhaps inaccurately, that it is too similar for the adventures we are after -- but it is probably a good thing that we ended up here as it has shown us what to be on guard against upon our return home! We really have way too much stuff as North Americans; we're so weighed down by it all.

We decided we'd better pull ourselves together and look at Florida the way we'd look at any new country we were travelling in; and of course visiting in Orlando means Disney. The horrifying thing is that the cost of one-day entry to one park for a family of five is over $500! That was double what we paid to travel from London to Milan! But our time-share shopping made the tickets reasonably affordable... we decided that as a family we were still most interested in the Magic Kingdom (there are so many parks to choose from it gets overwhelming), so we packed some sandwiches and off we went.

We had really mixed feelings about supporting the machine that is Disney down here, especially because we'd had such a magical day at the compact and cosy Euro-Disney and were reluctant to possibly dim that memory in any way. For the whole drive there I was cynically telling the kids to resist getting sucked into the consumerism, and that we had to be aware that the ridiculous prices made entrance so elitist, etc. etc... but as soon as we walked through the gates of the Magic Kingdom, I was lost.


It's embarrassing, but I just love Disneyland... or Disney world, or Euro Disney, or Tokyo Disneyland!! It may be elitist, but it really is a magical place. Mitch pointed out that this trip meant I had been to every Magic Kingdom in the world! From that point onward we sailed through on a wave of happiness; we had so much fun. We were there at the crack of dawn (well, as soon as the gates opened), and we were able to see pretty much everything and get to all the rides we wanted. We had our picture taken with Donald and Goofy and saw the parades and talked things over excitedly whenever we were slowed down by line-ups... and we were able to adroitly manage our time and minimise queuing, so it was pretty fantastic. We had some Gramma and Papa Christmas money to spend, so we all agonised delightfully over picking out a T-shirt, and I indulged a fantasy and walked around in Mouse ears for most of the day. We swash-buckled with the Pirates, fired our lasers at Buzz Lightyear targets, shivered through the Haunted House (it was dark by then!) and sang along enthusiastically with 'It's A Small World' and 'The Country Bear Jamboree'. The only ride we missed was Space Mountain... but I 'escape-podded' out of it when Mitch took me to Tokyo Disneyland for my 24th birthday, and age hasn't made me braver, so I didn't mind (poor Caelan was disappointed)!


By 6:00 it dawned on us that we had not sat down all day (except when on a ride); we'd even eaten our sandwiches standing up. We were exhausted, but in such a happy way, when we finally took the train away from the park to our rented car. (And just a note: no where in the world have we seen greater efficiency in moving crowds of people along than at Disney!) It really was a delightful day, and a memory of time spent with the kids to cherish -- but one day was enough for all of us. We had a great time with the Mouse, but now we're interested in finding Florida's other famous animal: Mr. Gator!!