Greetings from León, Nicaragua! The college town of Nicaragua, León is known for being filled with radical, party seeking university students, for it`s role in the revolution, and for its heat. (official spiel here) I came to León after having finishing my commitment to the hostel and spending one last weekend enjoying Granada.
A friend of mine who I originally met in the Oasis arrived in León several days before me, and I traveled with two mutual friends of ours to meet up with her. I have to say, there is just nothing as good as getting to travel with locals when I am trying to arrive in a totally new place. The crush of taxi drivers ready with lies (oh, there aren´t any more buses today.....), the auctioneer paced flow of information from the bus men, everything is just a little less overwhelming when you´re with people who know when to listen and when to roll their eyes.
So far, León has been an absolute blast. While I thoroughly enjoyed Granada and its people, I am excited to be here among new friends exploring new territories.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Am I a Country Mouse or a City Mouse?
One of the reasons I wanted to come to Granada, among many, was to explore living in a city again after having spent so much time in the countryside. I knew that I had fallen deeply in love with the farming life, that I tended to wax poetic on things that other people found either bemusing or outright silly. (Look at this head of lettuce, I mean, what could possibly be better than this??) But I also knew that my heart at home lay in New Orleans, and that there were times in La Ribera that I yearned for certain things only a city can bring. So, knowing that San Jose wasn´t for me, I came back to Granada, whose crumbling decadence and worked metal gates reminded me of the Big Easy.
It´s been quite an adjustment living in a city again, I have to say. I´ve traded muddy paths for trashy sidewalks, whatever was placed on the table for a whole city of dinner options, a steady homebody life for the ever-changing scene of the hostel. Family for peers. Safety and ennui for leers and a million new dance steps to learn. Knowing everyone for knowing almost no one. I´m glad I came. I can´t tell you that I´ve had some sort of revelation about where I want to spend my time in the future, but I have begun to rediscover city life in a way that I was unsure about a few months ago.
It´s been quite an adjustment living in a city again, I have to say. I´ve traded muddy paths for trashy sidewalks, whatever was placed on the table for a whole city of dinner options, a steady homebody life for the ever-changing scene of the hostel. Family for peers. Safety and ennui for leers and a million new dance steps to learn. Knowing everyone for knowing almost no one. I´m glad I came. I can´t tell you that I´ve had some sort of revelation about where I want to spend my time in the future, but I have begun to rediscover city life in a way that I was unsure about a few months ago.
Hostel Oasis, and One Million Trastes
Just after Libby left, I made my way north for the third time since October. Up and into Nicaragua, to explore a new scene. When I last spent time in Nicaragua, I was accompanying Kelci and her friend Simone on a visa run. We spent three days in Granada, and I developed quite a crush on the city. I noticed as we left our hostel that a small sign by one of the benches advertised a work exchange program - one month´s commitment of a few hours of work each day in return for a free bed and breakfast. Sounded good to me. A few emails later, I was set to arrive in Granada just two days after Libby headed out.
Something most of you probably don´t know about my trip so far: it has been, to a bizarre extent, filled with washing dishes. At the Chinchillas, it was the first thing I found that I could clearly see needed doing and that I knew exactly how to do. Later, my fast and thorough dish skills developed into a way to get myself and Luz out the door and into the dirt as fast as possible. When you cook three meals a day from scratch for a family of six + one, dishes pile up like eggs in a hen house, and there´s a pretty stark definition of who does dishes in the Chinchilla household (got a Y chromosome? Walk away.) At the farm in Guanacaste, I was sharing volunteer space with a professional chef. He cooked, clearly, and I cleaned and tried to learn as much as possible. As it turns out, this theme has followed me all the way to Nicaragua. My job at the hostel: breakfast! I take and deliver orders, run them to the front to be added to the bill, and pick up after guests who don´t feel the need to bring their dishes to me. [attn guests: this is not the Ritz.] And? I wash dishes. :)
Honestly, I can´t complain. I work with some very sweet ladies who have patience with my particular brand of gringa-tica Spanish, who cook me special breakfasts, and who do nothing more that give each other seriously? looks when I remind them that I won´t be eating pork rinds for breakfast because I don´t eat meat. A few hours in the morning, and the rest of the day is given over to whatever strikes my fancy.
Something most of you probably don´t know about my trip so far: it has been, to a bizarre extent, filled with washing dishes. At the Chinchillas, it was the first thing I found that I could clearly see needed doing and that I knew exactly how to do. Later, my fast and thorough dish skills developed into a way to get myself and Luz out the door and into the dirt as fast as possible. When you cook three meals a day from scratch for a family of six + one, dishes pile up like eggs in a hen house, and there´s a pretty stark definition of who does dishes in the Chinchilla household (got a Y chromosome? Walk away.) At the farm in Guanacaste, I was sharing volunteer space with a professional chef. He cooked, clearly, and I cleaned and tried to learn as much as possible. As it turns out, this theme has followed me all the way to Nicaragua. My job at the hostel: breakfast! I take and deliver orders, run them to the front to be added to the bill, and pick up after guests who don´t feel the need to bring their dishes to me. [attn guests: this is not the Ritz.] And? I wash dishes. :)
Honestly, I can´t complain. I work with some very sweet ladies who have patience with my particular brand of gringa-tica Spanish, who cook me special breakfasts, and who do nothing more that give each other seriously? looks when I remind them that I won´t be eating pork rinds for breakfast because I don´t eat meat. A few hours in the morning, and the rest of the day is given over to whatever strikes my fancy.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Catarata La Fortuna
One of the things on Libby´s to do list while here in Costa Rica was to see a waterfall. Just outside of La Fortuna, we found the perfect one to visit.
While the view from the top was pretty impressive in and of itself, the hike down took it to the next level.We picked our way down three hundred some damp, steep, stairs down to the bottom, wonderfully rewarded by the view we found. A narrow strip of water throws itself over a rocky cliff and into a deep turquoise, perfectly round pool below. All around, thick green jungle.
While the view from the top was pretty impressive in and of itself, the hike down took it to the next level.We picked our way down three hundred some damp, steep, stairs down to the bottom, wonderfully rewarded by the view we found. A narrow strip of water throws itself over a rocky cliff and into a deep turquoise, perfectly round pool below. All around, thick green jungle.
Please note the people down here in the corner for size comparison. (!)
Hot Stuff
From the Caribbean Coast, Libby and I made a quick bounce down to my favorite place in Central America (hint, it rhymes with De Frenchilleh Parm) and then back toward the northern region of the country toward the Arenal volcano. Several long but breathtakingly pretty bus rides later, we stepped out of the bus and into the swarm of obligatory tour guides.
A pretty valley on our way there.
My first surprise was how the volcano dominated the horizon. I had expected to have to go on a road trip to really see it, but instead it loomed just over our shoulders. Arenal tends to be sort of timid as volcanos go, often spending much of the day wrapped in clouds - this was as clear as I ever saw it:
A few nights later, our opportunity for lava hunting finally presented itself. We hopped in the tour bus, scooped up some friendly (yet VERY high maintenance) passengers from another hotel, and headed toward the edge of the volcano. Across a hanging bridge and into the woods, we found our lookout point and settled in. Rain on our way there meant that the mountain was even more hidden than usual - sometimes I saw absolutely nothing in front of me but fog. Flies arrived in droves. Our companions complained....and complained and complained. Yikes. This was not going well. Then, a slight clearing of clouds. A disturbing rumble from somewhere far off. An explosion of red on the side of the volcano!
Lava!
I was amazed. The Arenal volcano doesn´t produce the sort of liquidy rivers of lava that you may be imagining - rather, it launches house and car sized fiery rocks into the air with amazing force, tossing them down the side of the mountain. What you end up seeing is something that looks like progressive fireworks. The first enormous rock hits the side of the mountain and shatters, and then each of the "small" pieces goes on to repeat the process. Awesome in the real sense of the word.
When our time was up for lava gazing, we headed back toward town to soak ourselves in the thermal river nearby. There are several resort-style hot springs that line the road near the volcano, feeding the lava-heated water into beautiful pools and waterfalls. That however, was not our style for the evening. Rather, we pulled up near a bridge just beyond the resorts and picked our way down to the entirely free, entirely bubbly, hot and relaxing river below us. I could not get over the power implied in heating an entire river to jacuzzi temperatures. It´s enough to make a person kind of nervous! Thankfully, as you´re worrying about these things you´re also reclining in a natural whirlpool, which graciously robs you of whatever stress you might be having over impending lava doom...
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Jungle Janes
Our next adventure? A hike in the Refugio de Vida Salvaje Gandoca Manzanillo, just south of a sleepy little town by mostly the same name. In fact, to get going on our hike, we simply walked the main road of Manzanillo until it turned into one lane, then sand, then just a path and then barely a path at all. The jungle was wild, the way treacherous, the monkeys loud, and the air like a hot sponge. It was worth it. As with most things like this, though, I think it´s better told in pictures.
Beautiful clear water rushes over the corral below this lookout point.
The biggest hermit crab I´ve ever seen.
Another, ittybitty-er friend.
A less friendly friend.
A more friendly friend!
Libby picks her way across the exposed old coral beds.
Wish you could see the drop I´m standing out over.
The Caribbean Coast was one of my first experiences with tide pools. They were absolutely everywhere, and they fascinated me. This is from one of the many tiny beaches we popped out onto - it was filled nook and cranny with sea urchins.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Libby! Crabs! Beach! Patois!
At long last, on the 24th, Ms. Libby arrived for her visit! After scooping her up from the airport, we spent two days getting to know our charming Austrian roommate and waiting on her luggage (!) to arrive from Chicago. As anyone who has spent time in Costa Rica will tell you, San Jose is best looked at as a place to pass through on your way to somewhere more beautiful. So when Libby´s suitcase finally made an appearance, we left right away for somewhere more interesting - the Caribbean Coast!
Separated both physically and culturally from the rest of Costa rica for most of its history [a concise version of the history here], the Caribbean Coast is regarded by many Ticos as strange and sometimes sketchy. I heard many a time as I mentioned my desire to visit that I should consider going elsewhere - by people who had never been. Now that I have been there, I can happily report that this xenophobic attitude, like most, is best disregarded.
As we bused to Puerto Viejo from breezy San José, we were slowly wrapped in more and more heat and humidity. By the time we stepped off the bus in town, I was dripping. But we were there! Puerto Viejo is an interesting place. One of the main landmarks seems to be a rusted out barge type thing sitting in the beach with a tree growing on it. Unique, perhaps, but not what I would put on a postcard. In general, the town has a laid back, keep-it-slow-and-chill vibe, overlaid by a new and somewhat cheesy tourist scene. Most of the vendors I spoke to were quick to tell me the story of how drastically the scene has changed there since roads began improving and buses started dropping off tourists, lamenting new ugly cement buildings and what they saw as overdevelopment. The usual tension between more commerce as a plus and changing ways of life as a minus were obvious here. I also heard from every local I spoke to, though, a love for the place that I hope will ensure a healthy future for the area.
Our first day, Libby and I attempted to adjust to the new climate. We wandered the beach for a bit, ate some very necessary ice cream, and flopped in the shade at our hostel. But by day two we were ready for adventure. We grabbed some picnic lunch supplies from the supermarket, rented some pushbikes, and set off down the road. South of town, a well traveled path opens in the trees just beyond the beach, and we wheeled our way slowly along the coast, absolutely surrounded by little purple and orange crabs who ducked out of the way in the last second as we passed.
Costa Rican beaches are protected by a law pohibiting development within a certain distance to the water, and I was more grateful than ever for this law as Libby and I wove through the protective barrier between the water and the road. At any point, we could simply pop over to the beach on our left, or a restaurant serving up cold drinks on our right. In the meantime, we took in the trees, vines, crabs, and coconuts. It had been a long time since I´d biked at all, and it felt just right for the first time in a long time to be with another NOLA transplant, on a cruiser - even if we were trading potholes for roots.
Separated both physically and culturally from the rest of Costa rica for most of its history [a concise version of the history here], the Caribbean Coast is regarded by many Ticos as strange and sometimes sketchy. I heard many a time as I mentioned my desire to visit that I should consider going elsewhere - by people who had never been. Now that I have been there, I can happily report that this xenophobic attitude, like most, is best disregarded.
As we bused to Puerto Viejo from breezy San José, we were slowly wrapped in more and more heat and humidity. By the time we stepped off the bus in town, I was dripping. But we were there! Puerto Viejo is an interesting place. One of the main landmarks seems to be a rusted out barge type thing sitting in the beach with a tree growing on it. Unique, perhaps, but not what I would put on a postcard. In general, the town has a laid back, keep-it-slow-and-chill vibe, overlaid by a new and somewhat cheesy tourist scene. Most of the vendors I spoke to were quick to tell me the story of how drastically the scene has changed there since roads began improving and buses started dropping off tourists, lamenting new ugly cement buildings and what they saw as overdevelopment. The usual tension between more commerce as a plus and changing ways of life as a minus were obvious here. I also heard from every local I spoke to, though, a love for the place that I hope will ensure a healthy future for the area.
Our first day, Libby and I attempted to adjust to the new climate. We wandered the beach for a bit, ate some very necessary ice cream, and flopped in the shade at our hostel. But by day two we were ready for adventure. We grabbed some picnic lunch supplies from the supermarket, rented some pushbikes, and set off down the road. South of town, a well traveled path opens in the trees just beyond the beach, and we wheeled our way slowly along the coast, absolutely surrounded by little purple and orange crabs who ducked out of the way in the last second as we passed.
Costa Rican beaches are protected by a law pohibiting development within a certain distance to the water, and I was more grateful than ever for this law as Libby and I wove through the protective barrier between the water and the road. At any point, we could simply pop over to the beach on our left, or a restaurant serving up cold drinks on our right. In the meantime, we took in the trees, vines, crabs, and coconuts. It had been a long time since I´d biked at all, and it felt just right for the first time in a long time to be with another NOLA transplant, on a cruiser - even if we were trading potholes for roots.
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