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.