The Journey That Matters

It was time, the sun was not yet up and my alarm clock buzzed me awake without much effort. The sun had just begun its ascent into the sky and the island was still with silence. dressed and ready, i embarked into the brisk morning air in search of the shop I was supposed to meet my crew at. Anybody who knows me even relatively well can guess what happened next. I of course found myself in a part of the town that was unfamiliar and quickly realized that I was lost. Backwards and forwards I paced through recognizable parts and unrecognizable parts and still couldnt find my destination. The hour that we were supposed to meet at came and went while I was still walking about the island trying to get some semblance of bearing. After I was about a half hour late, I chalked it all up to a loss and was going to head back to the hostel before trying to book again for the next day.

As I was on my way back, a bus pulled over in front of me and out popped my tour guide who I had met the night before. The bus was full of about six people and after I was found, it continued around town to look for one other lost soul. Unfortunately, this person wasnt as lucky and we had to leave for the volcano before we could find him. We drove out into the country where we were dropped off at another bus stop where we boarded and were shuttled to the base of the volcano.

I still had hopes of making it to the top but those were quickly squelched when my guide pointed out the massive clouds of methane gas surrounding the summit. He said that with plumes like that, today would not be a safe day to do the entire climb. Slightly less excited, we set off. We were a hodge podge group of all shapes, sizes and ages. we had some larger hikers and we had an older man of about 60 who was in our pack. He always had some sort of off color witty remark to say about everything and it was cheeky at first but quickly grew old. He also became very winded after the first few miles (which was the easier part of the climb) so our pace suffered the consequences.

The hike was a sturdy one, and beautiful. we trudged through thick and lush forests all the while our tour guide pointed out to us what each tree, fern, flower, etc was. He also spoke better english than many native speakers which blew me away because he told me he had never taken a course. everything he learned was from being a tour guide on the island. He would point out what birds were more likely to be found where on the island and speckle bits of Nicaraguan political history along the way as well. The country has had a corrupt and sordid history that continues to this day. Their current president Daniel Ortega is a good friend of Hugo Chavez and there is a lot of distrust within the citizens due to the large amounts of money he regularly accepts from him yet continues to keep his people impoverished and sold on false hope.

the sun continued to rain its heat onto us but our pace was so slow due to the older gentleman that i didnt really break a sweat. About a half mile from our vantage point destination, he sat down and told us to go ahead. we booked it, hitting the pace that we would have liked to have carried for the entire hike and made it up in a matter of minutes. When we arrived, you could see the brush clear from the volcano and panoramic view of the island. You could see all over the lake and back to the mainland as well. Winds reminded us that we were at a decent altitude but aside from its chatter, everything was serene. everything, except the bellowing volcano top that was still engulfed with methane clouds. Even from our distance, the odor was strong enough to cement the fact that today wasnt the best day to peak the top.

After snacking on some oranges and soaking up the sights, we began our trek back down the hillside. We picked up the old man on our way back and slowly but surely, made our way down to flat land. A few quick bus trips and a hike through town was all it took to get back to the hostel. I had done it, I had climbed as much of the volcano as I could and seen the sights from a good altitude. Still, something inside of me was a little disappointed. I had dreamed of this day for so long and had anticipated a long arduous climb that was going to push me to potential breaking point in hopes of seeing something extroardinary. Dont get me wrong, the views were incredible and I will never forget the feeling of climbing the mountain to the point that we did, but as far as physical and mental abilities being taxed, this was literally a breeze compared to what I had already been through.

These thoughts all ran through my head over and over as I rested on my extremely firm and dusty hostel bed. The tour took up a good four to five hours, but much of it was spent in transit and our pace up the mountain was so slow that even when encountering steep parts, there was no challenge involved. After pondering for what seemed like hours, I realized that in this circumstance, my mental and physical taxation had come entirely from the journey to my destination. As has played true in my life so many times, its not the destination that is entirely important, but moreover it is how you get there. The travel, famine, and adventure experienced over the past few weeks had brought me to see another side of life and culture as I had never dreamed of before. Some for the better and with more understanding, and some for the worse seeing the way humans all over the world are still out to take advantage of each other at any expense. This volcano that I dreamed would hold many answers was just a piece of natural beauty.

Once again contented, I hoofed it down to the hotel/restaurant I had eaten at the night before, conversed with the waiter again and feasted. Afterward, I returned to the hostel without and idea of what to do. I hadnt really planned past this point and wasnt quite ready to head back to Costa Rica. There was still a whole other part of the island to explore along with another volcano. Before I could get too involved in my planning, I saw the old native american woman hard at work painting a mural on the wall of the hostel. I went up and began to talk to her about her work. She showed me everything she had done and her painting was actually pretty amazing. Of course there were many psychedelic and acid infused images but she was a versatile painter beyond that as well. We spoke for a while and then I went back to my room to finish my planning.

Upon looking at my funds, it appeared that I had mismanaged my cash situation once more and since there werent any atms on the island, my departure was forced to be the next day. Christmas was nearing and the best way I could think of to spend my holiday if I was to be away from friends and family was clearly surfing. Also as luck would have it, San Juan del Sur, a very popular surfing town in southwest Nicaragua was only an hour or so away. With next to little thought afterwards, I cemented the plans in my mind and started asking around for the best way to get there. When I told my native american friend, she said that her and her son had lived and painted there for a while. she gave me some easy to follow directions (after all, it really wasnt that far away) and then asked me for a favor. There was a man who ran a surf shop out there that possibly had some work for them. She asked me if I could deliver him a note. I said that would be no problem as I would be in the town for a while anyways, but after looking around the vastly decorated hostel, I decided to ask her for a favor in return. I asked her if she would decorate my guitar with a painting. Kind of excited at the exchange, she obliged and once again showed me around the hostel asking me what parts of her work i liked the most.

She had done a small piece on a bench seat that was based around the Nicaraguan national bird called the Motmot. I had seen a number of these birds along my travels they had always amazed me. on top of that, her painting was beautiful. I let her know it and she asked to grab my guitar. She also said she had to hear me play before she could put anything on it so I strummed out a few tunes and got the small group of people around me singing and dancing. afterwards I gave her the guitar and she went to work.

The rest of the day was spent in leisure because by the time I got back from the hike, the sun was pretty much going down. As the night grew later, I heard some lively voices back around the bar area and sure enough it was Morgan and Kelley, the Canadians. A grabbed a few drinks with them and swapped stories of the days adventures. When I told them that where I was going next, they said that they were thinking about going as well. However they had a few more things to do on the island and wouldnt be leaving for a few days. As the night closed down, I said my goodbyes to them and passed out.

The next morning was a traveling blur. Woke up, snacked, packed my bags and headed out the door. Just before i left, the native american woman handed me the note that I was to deliver. I told her she could count on me to get it there and off I went. A half hour later, I was on a ferry back to the mainland and the wind was heading in the opposite direction towards the island. It looked just as picaresque leaving it as it did heading towards it, but now excitement was back in my blood to get over to the beach.

I convinced some travelers on the boat to pitch together on a cab to get us over to San Juan. the distance wasnt too far and collectively we saved hours and really didnt have to spend any more money than we would have on a bus.

From there, it was hostel hopping time. I went from place to place and the rates all seemed outrageous compared to what I was used to and the service and hospitality from place to place was callous. Rules were rigid and everything came at a price. Eventually, I stopped by a place called Casa Oro who had drastically reduced their rates due to some in house construction at the time. If you could stand the saws and hammers waking you up at 8am every morning, then you could have a reasonable bed at a great price. Not moments after I walk into the place, I hear my name called. I look over and sure enough, my friend Cooper (the brother of the drummer boy) from Santa Teresa was standing in the hallway. He had since gotten a job at the hostel had pretty much taken up residence there as well. There he stood in boardshorts and a sombrero, chauffeuring guests around the hostel and giving them advice about the town.

Excited to see a friendly face, I decided that it wasnt going to get much better than this place and bought myself a few nights in the dormitory. The rest of the day was spent walking the beaches and figuring out how I was going to get out to surf. The town was illusive. it was billed as a surf town, but built on a marina. the only way to surf was by taking shuttle bus about an hour north to some rideable beaches. either way at this point, I was okay with it. The night rolled in slowly and before I knew it, i had checked out for the evening once again without many plans for the next day.

Upon waking, my first goal was to find the surf shop the woman on ometepe had told me about and deliver her letter. The detective game began as I set out on the streets asking the locals where I could find it. This one however was much quicker and easier to find because it was only a few blocks from the hostel. The man I was supposed to deliver the letter to was a little tougher to track down. Throughout the day, I returned a number of times and it wasnt until the evening that I was actually able to catch him. I upheld my part of the bargain and gave him the womans letter to which he smiled and said that he did have some work for them. He thanked me and I headed back to casa oro. Once again, upon entering the place, I heard my name called by another familiar voice. I turned around to see Morgan and Kelly with backpacks in tow checking in to the place. For the next few days, nothing too eventful happened outside of surfing, eating well and going for ocean dips at all hours of the night. This part of the journey held much more of a carefree vacation feel, but was amply enjoyed.



From here on, I believe the story connects back with what I had posted last year. All the gaps have been filled and even though the quality of the writing may not be the greatest, this a pretty objective account of my travels and is most likely what I will hold as the truth for when I grow old and my stories change. Along the way, I was fated to meet some of the most incredible people that I have ever had the pleasure of coming in contact with. These travels also reinforced the power of a positive perspective and the fruits that it will bring you if you can continue to view the world in that light. Many times in this along the way, the harsh elements of travel could have gotten under my skin and steered me away from some of the interactions and relationships that I was able to create. I reinforce this because currently, I live in another type of south and am forced to fight with my choice of perspective every day I am here. Anyways, to any of you who have actually followed me this far through the posts, I hope youve enjoyed it. This has been the adventure of my life to date, only to be trumped by the next one...



This is the only photograph I have of my guitar after the first dedication.

A Duck In a Bag Is Worth Two In The Bush

The sun rose and after a comfortable (more or less) recuperation for a few days, it was back to the traveling life. It was bright out by 8am and my eyes didnt open a moment before. Still without a travel guide, directions and insight came entirely from the locals. Quickly the realization came that this insight could usually be trusted and so far had almost made things easier and more reliable than what the travel guide had to offer. The hostel-mates gave me sharp directions as to where the bus station was in Granada and where I needed to go. From Granada, I needed to head to a town called Rivas. from Rivas, hop a cab to a few miles to San Jorge and from there, jump on a big taxi-boat to the fabled volcano island.

I said goodbye to the few people who had been more than hospitable to me at the hostel and made my way into the streets of Granada. The bus station was about a mile away, so along the route, I picked up some fruit and snacks in preparation for any future catastrophe, but all in all, everything went well. Of course the local beggars harassed me every step of the way as I trudged backpack and guitar in tow through the narrow dirt roads of the city. unscathed, and at the bus stop, i purchased a ticket to Rivas and then had about an hour and a half to kill.

Right by the bus station was a little cabana where a family sold drinks and some food. All the locals waiting for the bus and some yokels who looked like they never left the place gathered under the thatched roof to escape the sun. The heat had come out quickly and I, like the others went over to seek refuge from the heat. Once under the thatch, I treated myself to a fresca and took a seat at the bar. Immediately after, a shabby looking Nicaraguan man caked in dirt and missing a few teeth from his gristly face took a seat beside me. Immediately he goes into the bit where he asks me for money for one reason or another. I think in this particular instance, it was for food. I dug into my little man purse (for my backpack was loaded on the bus) and found the loaf of break i had gotten the other day. I broke a piece off and offered it to him. with a scowl on his face, he shook his said and reiterated that he needed money. annoyed, I put my bread away and told him I would only give him food and no money. He muttered something less than pleasant under his breath and swung his body from the bar back to a table that was right beside it. There he sat and scowled at me until I left.

Eventually the time came to board the bus. Actually, you could have boarded the bus anytime you wanted, but it was so humid inside that only those intent on getting the seat of their choice dared to enter. I could have cared less, as long as there was a space for me to wedge myself into then I would wait till the last moment before boarding the bus. Personal space, hygiene, comfort, commodity, excess, all this was irrelevant. My thought process at this moment was split in two and it revolved around humid and cool. The hour and a half passed as time always would and the passengers began boarding the heat trap of a bus. Of course, as I had so decided, I was the passenger who followed onto the bus after the driver. Sure enough, it wasnt a packed trip and I found a nice little bench seat that I could have all to myself. A few moments later, we departed. It was one of the easiest routes taken in my travels. Two hours on decent highway without any hiccups or delays.

In a way, I blinked and arrived in another bustling little boomerang town where buses and taxis were more plentiful than cars. Little kiosk shops were all over the place and the owners all sat out in the front harassing the travelers to purchase their goods. bus drivers and taxi drivers hollered out their destinations and tried to scrounge up every last passenger. I found a hollering cabby and asked him if he could take me to San Jorge. He said he gladly would, but for twenty dollars. I knew San Jorge was only about two or three miles away, so I told him he was outrageous and tried to haggle. the cabby wouldnt play the game and refused to budge so I made my way down the line to find somebody who would. A few cabbys later, I was starting to think that I was being played. Nobody would budge on the 20 dollar price. getting a little frustrated, I continued down the line and eventually came to a driver who settled on the equivalent of 7 dollars. I was still being ripped off, but it was much more manageable than the others. I hopped in the cab and a few minutes later I was at a port where I could see the two volcanoes off in the distance.

I paid the cab driver and then took a moment to marvel at the beauty of Concepcion and Maderas, the two volcanoes on the Island that rested in front of me. The sky was clear blue everywhere except over the island where clouds covered up the volcano tops but it was by no means a daunting coat of gray. The water reflected the light back and forth from the dense white clouds and lit up the whole island in what was some sort of natural halo. I hadnt quite arrived yet, but just having the island it sight, and it being so magnificent, was a feeling enough of satisfaction.

I purchased a ticket for the taxi boat and boarded shortly after. It was another hour or so before we took off and I waited impatiently as vendors would come on and off trying to sell people things for their journey. Mainly Nicaraguans were on the boat, and many with bags of groceries, appliances, and other things that required trips to the mainland. I at one point, saw a family of three (husband, wife, and kid) board with a few bags of groceries, a dog the size of a guinea pig and a large duck that was patiently sitting in a plastic bag. I couldnt help but come to the obvious conclusion that the dog was probably going to be a pet, but this well mannered duck was going to be dinner. Sure enough, they sat right behind me and I tried to listen in on their conversation but all i could make out was that the kid was having a tough time holding on to the dog. Still every few minutes or so, I couldnt help but look back and see what the duck was up to. It was a pleasant as could be.

By the time we took off, the boat was pretty full of people, both national and international. Still it was mainly spanish that surrounded me. As we made our way to the island, I stood near the side of the boat and looked out at the passing water. Right next to me, was the kid from the duck family and he was having a blast. He had cob of corn that he had already cleaned out and he would bite off part of the cob and spit it into the water. as soon as he would do that, fish would surface really quickly and eat all the little bits of cobb. He caught me watching and instantly began talking to me. He knew exactly what type of fish they were and what other animals could be found in the lake and only in the lake. He continued to spit his cob into the water and laugh with excitement only a child could have and then look my way to see if I was having fun. Although I cant remember now, I know i picked the childs brain about the area and relished in the fact that I was speaking with him. I had found that speaking Spanish with children was always very insightful because i was more on their level. I also had to ask him about his duck and what he was going to do with it. He replied that it was a pet, just like the little dog that his father was holding.

Eventually, we made it to the island where I said my goodbyes to the boy and focused my sights on finding room and board. I could have looked into hostels before I left Granada, but the only sight on my mind at the time was to get to the island and climb Concepcion the next day. Besides, there were always people more than willing to give advice on where to go in their town and as small as community as this was, I figured it wouldnt be too hard.

Sure enough, as I was walking off the dock onto solid land, A man ran up to me and asked me where I was going. Of course I replied i dont know and that i needed to find a hostel that was close and cheap. As luck would have it, the sun was setting as well and I always have that sinking feeling when I dont know where I am and dont know where I'm going. Right off the bat, the man told me I should stay at Merida (at least I think that is the one). He gave me quick directions and then was off to help the next person. I began my trek up the hill and eventually made the turn that I was told to make. Another few blocks down the road, the town started to thin out and a big wooden structure with Hacienda Merida on the side jumped out to me. I stepped in and the place was vacant. There was an old man who was absolutely wasted at the bar and the bartender quickly asked me what i needed. He Checked me in, took my cash and showed me to the dorm where I chose a bed.

The hostel was pretty impressive. Everything was in shambles, but the bar/restaurant room was huge and it had a little patio that separated the private rooms from the dormitories. There was also artwork everywhere and a pretty extensive library. One of the better hostel libraries I had seen. Still there were few books that looked worth a damn in the english language. As described, it all held a very rustic feel to it looked like it was constantly under construction. Either way, I knew I would have ample time to explore the place later, but while there was still some semblance of light out, I needed to get dinner and figure out how to sign up for a volcano hike the next morning.

I asked the bartender and he directed me to the front of the island for the hike. When I arrived there, It was a quick process to sign up and come 8am the next morning, I would be on a bus out to 1500 meter tall active volcano. My next question for the man was to make sure Ometepe was a safe place at night. The man assured me it was and that I wouldnt have problem. With that, i thanked him, told him i'd see him in the morning and started heading back up the hill through town.
On my way back, I found a hotel that served a reasonably priced casado dish. I dipped into the chatted with the man seating me for a moment and then sat down to enjoy some fresh coffee and decent food. mid meal, the man who sat me (and who also happened to be the owner of the hotel came up to me asking me if I could translate to english for somebody. I obliged and he brought over a young traveler who couldnt quite understand the terms of the hotel. The man spoke to me and I spoke to the kid in what was my first formal translating experience. Basically he needed me to convey to him that there was no electricity before five PM and no hot water before the same. In order to conserve power, most of the island operated that way. The kid ended up taking the man up on his offer and the man thanked me for helping out. Content with the clear improvements of my new language, I contentedly finished my meal.

On my way out, I thanked the man for the meal and began to head back to my hostel. Night was in full force and the electricity was on throughout the town. As I made my way up, I passed another little hostel/restaurant that was brightly colored and very nice looking. There was a young girl out in front and asked me if I knew where I was going. I let her know and this led her to more questions. Before I knew it, I had taken a seat alongside the girl and we engaged in conversation. She was an Island native and had actually spent very little of her life off the island. of course my next question was to see if she had made it to the top of concepcion because I had heard it was no easy feat. She had never even tried to climb it. Truthfully, she said it scared her. She also told me about past times it had erupted and island evacuations took place. We talked on and on, and then we got into something that I wasnt quite understanding. A string of words and her other descriptions werent helping me either. In times like these, I would resort to my little dictionary so that is just what i did, but just as I was telling her this, my words froze and I realized that I had left my little man purse at the restaurant. To make matters worse, along with my dictionary, that purse also carried my passport and some cash. I let her know what happened and quickly took off running the other direction.

A minute or two later, I arrived back at the other hotel and as soon as the man saw me, he greeted me and asked me if I left my bag. I thanked him a bunch and the group of men that had since congregated around the entrance gave me a hard time as they drank and smoked cigars. Crisis averted I made my way back to the hotel where the girl was. She told me she had to go back in and get back to work, so I said goodnight and headed back to my place of residence. Once back at merida, I read for a bit in my room and then took up a stool at the bar.

The wasted man from before was still there and still ordering beer. The man was beyond belligerent and had to be quickly reaching toxic levels. Also at the bar was a native american looking middle aged woman with wrinkles all over her face and long blond hair and what definitely looked like her son who was gawky, dressed in black, and thickly bearded. They began talking to me and sure enough, they were related and they were from the states. They had packed up and headed south in 2004 when Bush was reelected and had been traveling and painting for work ever since. At this hostel, they were painting murals on all the walls in exchange for their stay. Both mother and son had a spaceyness as maybe a little too much LSD had been ingested at one point or another, but they were nice and entertaining.

A moment later, another couple burst into the bar. Two kids from Canada who had just arrived in town. I grabbed a beer and began talking to them. their names were Morgan and Kelly, and they came in full of excitement and excited to rent some dirt bikes the next day and ride all around the island. They were on a quick few week vacation before Kelly had to go back to school and literally as a stab in the dark, chose Nicaragua. We had a few more drinks and then I said goodnight because I knew I had a potentially rough day head of me tomorrow. I wanted so badly to make it to the top of the Volcano. I was in decent shape and figured will power alone would get me there. My eyes closed that night with nothing but excitement for the next day.