Battling the ascent of Volcán Concepción…

…then the knee-splitting descent back to terra firma. 

I had hiking boots in my backpack that were gathering cobwebs. Apart from the odd outing around some ruins and archeological sites, they hadn’t really been put to work on my trip, and I was already 4 months in.

I digitally flicked through my Lonely Planet guide and found a solution. I would go to the Island of Ometepe (Isla de Ometepe), in Nicaragua, and climb a volcano.  

During my stay in Granada, I spoke to a couple of travellers that had done it, and some that had shied away from the challenge. “Oh I just hung around the island, it was pretty.” I knew I wouldn’t personally be satisfied with this, this ‘hanging around’, not when a place oozed a presence of so much adventure. So I started gathering info. 

There were two volcanoes to choose from. One, Volcán Maderas, boasting a luscious green hike through jungle to its 1394m peak. The other, Volcán Concepción, promised a gruelling hike through forest, fields, and scrabbling up lava scree, to its 1610m peak, upon which, people have fallen to their deaths. Naturally I chose the active challenge that was Concepción. Because that’s nature. We are drawn to the dangerous. Well I am anyway. Sorry Mum. And Dad. 

View of Volcán Concepción (left) and Volcán Maderas (right), from the boat, on an unusually clear day.

I stayed in Hospedaje Central, for three nights. I spent the first two days asking the hostel if anyone had shown interest in tackling the volcano, but the response was always negative. I was recommended an agency in Moyogalpa, but for some reason, every time I went to enquire, they were closed.

Enjoying the delights of the fresh seafood on the island.

On the second night, after a day of whizzing around the island on the back of a moped, I was in luck. Six other people had shown interest in the trip for the following day. I instantly put my name down and ordered the food parcel with three litres of water for the trek ahead.

The sunset at the Punta Jesús María peninsula.

I say six, and four people were definitely up for it, but the two British lads needed a bit of convincing. A few beers and some Dutch courage sealed the deal. Their names were down and the fee was paid. As there were seven of us altogether, we got the whole day’s trek, with a guide, for $15 each. Bargain. If I had caved and booked the trip solo, it would have cost double, maybe more.

So I dusted off my hiking shoes, packed my cameras and extra snacks, and let my head hit the pillow early. My hideous alarm rang in my ear at 4:30am. A quick change into my hiking gear and I was totally ready for an egg breakfast sandwich. I still dream about that sandwich. The yolk seeping through the fresh tomato, soaking into the crusty fresh bread. The crunch of the juicy lettuce.

Sorry. I digress.

There was a bit of a mix-up with our guide and transport, so we left the hostel an hour late, but it was okay, as we were at the trailhead around 6:00am and made good time. We were a reasonably fit bunch of backpackers, considering that two of our troop, with their original intentions of an ‘early night’, were sporting unplanned hangovers. Spirits were high, though, as we trekked for twenty minutes across soft sand to the base of the volcano.

View of Volcán Concepción from a mirador (lookout) on the other side of the island.

There was a little rest-stop shop that offered the use of walking canes and the last opportunity to purchase extra supplies. I was already weighed down by more water than I would actually drink, so I simply opted for the free use of the wooden cane, topped with a carved lion’s head. Our worse-for-wear British companions decided to buy a couple of cans of Toña (Nicaraguan’s lager) to celebrate at the peak of Concepción.

And so we began.  

I enjoyed the initial chit-chat of ‘where do you live?’, ‘how long are you travelling for?’, ‘what did you study?’, etc, when suddenly we were all breathing hard and the conversations dwindled. We clambered over tree roots, hoisted ourselves up steep muddy ridges and ducked to avoid hanging branches.  

Relieved, we stopped for a quick break. Hanging off our canes and swigging water, we regained composure. Sweat was beginning to show on all our pale foreheads, glistening with flecks of mud and grit.  

“Is the pace okay?” Asked the guide. 

“Yeah, fine, good.” We all replied. 

“So how many metres have we climbed?” Someone asked. 

“About one hundred. One thousand, five hundred to go.” 

Pause. 

“Yeah, great, awesome, let’s keep going.” We mumbled. 

Crap. We thought. 

For the first six hundred metres, we continued to climb through unruly jungle, hauling ourselves through the undergrowth, occasionally panting up a set of wooden steps that had been installed to ‘aid’ with the ascent. We stopped every couple of hundred metres, just to regain control over our breathing and replenish the litres of water we were losing with each sweaty step. 

An hour and a half into the hike, and we finally emerged from the oppressive dark cave of trees and bushes, into an expanse of what I can only describe as, a vast, open, green field. I looked back to see the thicket of forest we had trudged through, and above it was our first view of Ometepe’s valley. 

View of Ometepe as we emerged from the forest.

We were lucky that the heavy morning clouds had already started to lift, teasing us with a glimpse of the blocks of fields below. Neat hedges separated each plot of land. It reminded me of where I live, in the South-West of England, where sheep and farms drench the landscape. The view would be short-lived, though, as the ascent would take us back into a canopy of thick relentless cloud.

We stopped for a much needed rest, where the guide explained the next four hundred metres of our route. We were to follow the gradual incline of the grasslands, enjoying the welcoming breeze and open space, until we reached the final part of our ascent. 

Although none of the hike was easy, the middle section did seem to take less of a toll on my already aching legs. After an hour of this ‘leisurely stroll’ we eventually came to the crux of our journey. The part we’d all heard so much about.  

“A couple of tourists died on this part last month.” Our guide helpfully informed us. “They tried to do it alone, with no tour.” 

Well at least we had that going for us. 

I stared at the forty-five degree angle of the cliff-face in front of me. I knew of a traveller, staying at our hostel, who had almost reached the summit the previous day, one hundred metres or so away. She told me that her fear was embedded in the descent. She truly felt that she would fall, and so she panicked, and turned around.  

The guide warned us that the next six hundred metres would be tough and to be extremely careful. One wrong move and we could be shooting down a slide of gravel and lava scree. But we weren’t to worry too much, because a seventy-two year old woman had completed this hike in the past. 

Gathered around the guide to receive important information.

I heard a hiss and turned around to see that a can of Toña had accidentally split, and our British friend was desperately trying to drink the liquid from the side. We all had a giggle at the premature celebration, and with renewed energy and determination, we pushed forward, leaving the safety of the spongy grass and entering the black zone of those pesky rocks and boulders.

Volcanic rocky terrain of Volcán Concepción

It wasn’t long before we had all split-up, each of us going at our own pace, being careful where to place each foot. Time was slow and I seemed to be making minimal progress. But naturally, as the clock ticks, no matter how small the step, you are progressing, edging further forward, moving with time.

In short, none of us turned back. We all slogged on, one by one, we made it to the top of the cloud covered peak. Sweat and the moisture clung to our hair. We’d made it in about four hours. I was proud of us. We took a group photo, a permanent imprint of the bond we had created while hiking up that unforgiving volcano. We ate, and laughed and conversed, all for a glorious twenty minutes. It was brief, but we relished the relief and respite. 

Our wonder-group at the summit. Proud moment.

And then it got cold. Sweat started drying on our backs and the layers we had whipped off throughout the morning, were slowly re-blanketing our bodies.

 

Proving that I conquered the summit. Accompanied by Morgan Bear. Once again, he gets a free ride.

One final look at the crater that none of us would ever see again, (unless some crazy soul felt a burning desire to re-hike the volcano, which I highly doubt), and we began the same journey in reverse; slowly.

Very slowly.

Going down is not my forte. I have terrible issues with my knees, so if I don’t descend at pace, there’s risk that they’ll just give up. This was a problem. Because pace was not an option. Not unless I wanted to plummet to my doom. Which I didn’t.

With an hour of slipping and sliding down the scree and losing my footing among the hidden loose boulders, my poor knees weren’t doing so good. Shaking and wobbly, I started to lag behind. I couldn’t even see my group anymore, which to be honest, wasn’t difficult because the cloud was still too thick to see much in front of my own face.

But I walked up the volcano, so I had to get myself down. I knew the way, and I wasn’t nervous anymore, I just focused on the repetitive task of walking sideways for stability and leaning heavily on my life saving wooden cane.

Re-emerging from the cloud during the descent. 

I won’t bore you with anymore details of the descent, because the scenery was all the same. We managed to get back to the rest-stop, as a group, in another four hours. With all the breaks throughout the day, we managed to complete the hike in nine hours. Not bad considering the danger and difficulty of the hike.

Upon our return to the hostel, we headed straight for the showers, embracing the welcoming cold, clean water (as is a norm in Nicaragua; good luck finding hot showers when travelling on a budget).

It was a bit early for bedtime, even though we all wanted it, so to keep us from taking naps that would probably last until 3am the following morning, we hung out in the hammocks, drank a couple of mojitos and dozed in the quiet of the hostel garden.

A quick meal with the new ‘family’, a cheeky piña colada, and I was done. We all were. Pyjamas on and lights out.   

Life is good. And it only gets better. 

This post was written to the tranquil sounds of birdsong in the garden area of ‘The Lion’s Bear’ restaurant in Vilcabamba, Ecuador. I had homemade fish fingers on a bed of homemade tartar sauce, with honey glazed baby carrots and wilted greens.  

Destination Nicaragua – León

From Honduras, I travelled straight to León, a fairly small town in Nicaragua, but according to my new bank of knowledge, very popular with the tourists. This was one of the recommended backpacker hotspots, and true to form, Bigfoot Hostel (busy party hostel offering popular tours), and Via Via (hostel boasting a large bar and ample space for music and dancing), occupy the same street. I opted for a hostel just around the corner, complete with snoozing cat on the free-to-use pool table, and guaranteed quiet relaxing mornings. Las Vacaciones was away from the pumping centre, but still within walking distance of everything. You can’t beat a free breakfast of fluffy pancakes with fresh banana and maple syrup either.

  

The hostel feline, showing us how to relax

So, with my first full day in León ahead of me, I grabbed a free map from the information table. Eager to explore, but still a little nervous about strolling around Nicaragua, a place I had led myself to believe was riddled with crime and danger, I took out my trusty, fancy, black Bic Biro, and drew myself a route. I intended to visit all thirteen churches in one day, because that’s what I’m like. I’m a planner. I often feel a heavy guilt if I don’t see absolutely everything that a place has to offer. Naturally, I also needed to pinpoint where the best eateries were; never miss an opportunity to taste your way around a country.

Indio Viejo in Cocinarte vegetarian restaurant – a Nicaraguan dish that translates as ‘Old Indian’. Although this version is vegetarian, the stew-like dish originally contained any meats and vegetables that were native to the region.

With my map in hand, my ‘lifeline’ for the day, I opened the metal gate and stepped onto the street. It clunked heavily behind me, locking me out. The sun was rife. It was only ten in the morning, and it was hot. Thank goodness for factor seventy sun lotion.

Keen to get moving, I started to follow my intended route, towards the first attraction. Now I may not be the most religious person around, in fact, I’m not religious at all, but I do have the ability to appreciate breathtaking architecture when I stumble upon it. And in Nicaragua, this is not hard to find. After a simple, less-than-five-minutes walk from my hostel, I turned a corner, and there, in front of me, wedged between two exposed red-brick bell towers, was Iglesia El Calvario, a masterfully painted, beautifully bright, yellow church. Unfortunately, it was not open at the time, so I marvelled at the skilfully painted religious murals on the front of the building; above the door, central and proud, was Jesus’ portrait, nailed to the cross. I tried to imagine the ornate and antique treasures that might be inside. Little did I know, the interior may not have been as grand as I was dreaming.

Aside: apologies for the lack of photo here, a lot of my León snaps are on my camera memory card, which has already made the journey back to the UK. Please follow this link to the Iglesias El Calvario Trip Advisor page where you can view other travellers’ photos.

While admiring the façade, I was joined by an Asian family who were also touring the town, following the same map. It was the first time I started to feel at ease in Nicaragua. This was the moment that I stopped fretting and allowed myself to sink into the pleasures of being a stranger in a foreign country.

Next stop was Central Park. No, not the New York City kind, but the Central American kind. Every major town/city seems to have one. Even the tiny island of Flores in Guatemala had a mini Parque Central. Don’t be deceived by the word ‘parque’, though. They’re not the kind of place you roll around in the sunshine and get grass stains over your summer frock. Most of them are concrete jungles teeming with merchants, locals and tourists. Generally the main centrepiece of each square is the biggest religious building of the area. The cathedral. And León’s is pretty spectacular.

Front of the Cathedral in Parque Central

Extract from the twenty-thirteen Lonely Planet’s Central America on a Shoestring: ‘The cathedral was having a face-lift at press time but should be completed by the time you read this.’

Well their prediction was seventy-five percent close. When I was there in November, the front of the building looked sparkling, straight out of the packet, brand new; you almost needed your sunglasses to look directly at it. But one of the sides hadn’t been touched by even the slightest lick of paint yet, and the opposite side to that still had scaffolding scaling the side of it.

Untouched side of the cathedral with the original lion statues

At this rate, I don’t even think the Cathedral’s restoration will be complete by the time the updated edition of the Lonely Planet is released.

Repairs aside, I sat down under the shade of a tree in the park and studied the spruced up cathedral. Upon reflection and a closer examination, I noticed that the tops of the bell towers were already falling victim to weathering. The mixture of humidity, scorching heat and damaging rain can’t be easy to contend with. 

As was to be expected, the inside of the cathedral does not disappoint, and not because it is adorned with riches and expensive décor, in fact, the interior is quite plain. Finally. There are a few flashes of gold paint here and there, but most of the walls are a neutral off-white, complimenting the clean stone flooring (Nicaraguan’s are forever sweeping). 



Inside the cathedral. This is one of the only golden treasures I have seen in the Central American places of worship

An 0pinionated aside: Something that bothered me when I was in South East Asia, was how elaborately decorated their places of worship are; absolutely bursting with golden Buddhas, ornate furnishings, and ancient precious jewels behind glass casing. Yes, they are beautiful spaces to enjoy, but you are then expected to leave offerings and donations all over the place. I would often see people that were obviously living in poor conditions, giving away precious coins to their faith, when they probably needed it for more pressing amenities, like food. I don’t disagree with the concept of religion, because I believe that everyone has a right to be able to seek comfort from wherever they choose, but I disagree with the way it has become such a heavily money orientated society. The simplicity of León’s grand cathedral took me by pleasant surprise.

In time, I have learnt that most of the churches in Central America share the same simple and clean interior, and I like it. The space is always airy, the ceilings high, and the people are friendly. Nobody badgers you for donations or payment. Wandering in and out of these religious spaces is relaxing and enjoyable.

You can pay a small fee to explore the roof of the cathedral

León isn’t all about churches and cathedrals. Oh no. It’s also about ice cream. A couple of blocks away from the hostel is a little haven called Kiss Me, where they sell the most delicious vodka sorbet. If you’re cheeky, like me, you can ask for a couple of samples before you choose your poison. I went for the luminous purple dragonfruit, teaming it with the super sweet, refreshing, passionfruit sorbet. And the cone is homemade, so naturally I opted for full frozen euphoria.

Me eating sorbet from Kiss Me.

It was over in minutes.

The oppressive thirty-two degree heat was not going to let me eat my treat in peace. Before I knew it, I had sticky purple juice dribbling down my hand, like a child. But it was all ‘oh so’ worth it.

So what is the big draw to a town of religious architecture? Why do backpackers flock there? You’ll never guess so I’ll just tell you.

If you pay around $20-$25, you can book a tour in which you drag a plank of wood up a volcano for an hour. Super exciting, eh? Well actually, it is. Cerro Negro is active, and once you get near the top, you can feel it’s heat if by hovering your hand above the black sand. You can’t get too close to the crater’s edge, but you can get close enough to smell the sulphurous fumes it emits.

At the summit of Cerro Negro

So that pesky wooden board. Why did our group adorn ourselves with such a burden? You may have guessed already. It was our ticket down. We shimmied into big oversized blue boiler suits, pinged on a pair of goggles and put on some handy, if a little over-used, somewhat protective, gloves. Our guides demonstrated the movements for speed, slowing down, breaking and turning, although I can tell you now, the manoeuvring is s lightly more complicated than they let on. Just plan on going straight and you’ll be fine.

Walking up the volcano with our boards

I was the last of the group to sit on the board and ready myself for the signal (our guide had positioned himself halfway down and would wave his hat when the path was clear). Annoyingly, I had to wait an unbearably long time, because the girl that went before me seemed to struggle to get going, or actually, move at all. I reckon she dragged herself the whole way down the volcano with her feet.

Our guide explaining the rules of volcano boarding

The white hat flicked into the air, so I lent back and I lifted my legs. The board slid over the sand with ease and it wasn’t long before I started picking up some decent speed. I’m not normally much of an adrenaline junkie, but I’m trying to stop being a wimp with activities like this, so I put all my trust into the board, and my ability to break if necessary.

In no time at all, I was bombing past the guide, waving to his video camera. But the joy of the speed and the blustery wind on my face was short-lived. The girl in front of me still hadn’t reached the bottom of the volcano. I tried to turn with my feet, but I just kept going straight. Before it was too late I slammed my feet deep into the black sand and stopped. I waited about ten more minutes before I could continue my decent, all hope of a clear run behind me.

Our volcano boarding group

To this day, I’m a little frustrated that my own volcano boarding experience had been tainted, especially as it was something I happened to be quite good at. So whenever someone asks me if I did it in Nicaragua, I just say, ‘yeah, it was so awesome!’ And I leave it at that.

And you know, it was, I truly loved it. I would have dragged that board up Cerro Negro for another hour and done it again if I could.

Back in León, I washed three times in the shower to scrub all the sand out of my hair and off my body. I had a lovely chill in the hostel and found some cheap delicious, if a little oversized, street food for my evening meal. I ate half of the monster portion and had the rest bundled up in a banana leaf before heading to the cinema to watch Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Just like a local.

Pre-cinema street food of chicken, caramelised plantain, salad, rice and beans, all for £3
This post was written to a mixture of Ellie Goulding’s albums on my iPod while flying from Costa Rica to Mexico City. I finished and tweaked it during my flight from Mexico City to Lima the following day. During this moment, as I complete the post, I am listening to Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve.

Planning and prepping for an adventure

How do you decide where to go? Is it within your budget? What public transport options are available? Will it be dangerous? Can I travel solo? What activities can I do there?

You can take risks and travel smart at the same time. It’s a skill that’s taken a long time to develop and nurture, but I think I’m getting the hang of it. That is, until the next series of mishaps, which let’s face it, are unavoidable. There’s no such thing as perfection in the world of travel.

When we dream about visiting faraway lands, we can sometimes let excitement cloud our judgement. The adrenaline we feel when deciding what plane ticket to buy, can cause us to forget that some trips require a bit more planning than simply bashing your credit card details into the internet. The world is only your ‘oyster’ until something goes wrong.

So with seven countries and six months behind me, it’s time to reflect on where I have been and how I executed my route; and I must be doing something right, because I’m still happy, healthy and bobbing from place to place.

First of all, you need to know that I am guilty of almost skipping Nicaragua. Shocked? In hindsight, I am appalled at myself. 

Here’s my story:

Way back when, in the first quarter of twenty-sixteen, I started researching my trip. I’d purchased my one-way ticket to Toronto and had further plans to visit my friend while he was in Mexico City, so what next? I bought both Lonely Planet’s trusty Central And South America on a Shoestring guidebooks, because that seemed like the natural root from Mexico.

Handy smartphone and tablet friendly PDF copy of Lonely Planet’s Central America on a Shoestring 

“Is it safe?”

“I don’t know, Mum, I haven’t researched yet.”

“Be sensible, Lauren. You’re a single female traveller this time.”

And of course, she was right. Mum normally is.

Cue Facebook message from said parent: You’ve made a typo in your latest blog post. You put ‘normally’ instead of ‘always’. Don’t worry, I’ll let you off.

I instantly plunged into the depths of the internet and googled the logistics of travelling through Latin America. Once I owned those travel books, I was determined.

In the UK, our ‘go-to’ website for this kind of information is the government travel website, as it’s supposed to be accurate and is regularly updated. Most of the countries seemed to throw up the usual issues, such as petty crimes, mugging, drug trafficking etc. ‘Exercise caution as you would at home’. But Nicaragua appeared to showcase a few more issues than this, so many in fact, that I didn’t bother reading the majority of the negative essays attached to each link. So I promised that I wouldn’t go; I intended to pass straight through and head to Costa Rica.

Upon starting my journey through Central America, as is to be expected, I met many backpackers that had commenced their travels as far South as Panama, and were making their way to Mexico. In the cosy common areas of hostels, we would share our experiences and offer lists composed of our near-future wanderlust plans. Every time I mentioned skipping Nicaragua, I received many different reactions, the only element they had in common was negativity.

“But why?”

“You can’t, it’s amazing.”

“You’ll be missing so much!”

I felt the excitement for my chosen route diminish. Rapidly. I pleaded with these like-minded free spirits; “but it isn’t safe, right? Especially for a lone female traveler? Isn’t there too much unrest? Too much crime?” Again, those disapproving looks.

Loaded with new information and stories of golden experiences, I battled with my inner-being. Do I stay on track, or do I cut my planned two weeks of diving in Honduras? Should I set foot in a completely unknown (I hadn’t even bothered reading the Nicaraguan section of the guidebook) and previously off-limits land? Do I break my promise?

I broke my promise.

Carrying a plank of wood up a volcano in Nicaragua. Why? Blog post to follow…

Like a kitten with a saucer of milk, I drank the precious knowledge in the Lonely Planet and roughly planned a route through the country.

“Mum, I’ve decided to see Nicaragua.”

“But it’s not safe.”

“It’s fine, there’s hundreds of backpackers doing it, I’ve met loads of them.”

Traditional Nicaraguan dancing. Both performers are men

I can’t quite remember how I convinced her, I’m not sure if I ever did, not until I was on the other side, travelling to Costa Rica.

“Your photos are amazing, I might look into visiting Nicaragua.”

“You definitely should, Mum, it’s breathtaking.”

The food is pretty breathtaking too

In non-scientific, completely opinion-based conclusion, what I’m trying to stress here, is not that we should ignore travel advice, or rush off around the world without a thought for personal safety, but we should definitely be more open-minded about where we plan to leave our footprints.

Artisan bus shop at Zopilote Eco Village on Isla de Ometepe, Nicaragua

Here’s what I’ve learnt:

• Read the ‘dangers and annoyances’ sections of guidebooks. They are written by travel experts for a reason.
• Read blogs and get a snapshot of other people’s experiences.
• Make and share your own opinions. If you go to a country and you don’t feel safe, leave.
• As much as I value the UK government website, I recommend using with caution. I’m probably going to put it in my, ‘things to be aware of’, pile of notes, rather than make a decision based purely on this information.
• Use your common sense.
• Be aware of world affairs.

Nicaragua has so far turned out to be my favourite Central American country. I did not feel threatened or out of my depth, the people are very friendly and helpful, and the public transport is easy to navigate. If you do not know any Spanish, you can rock up to a bus station, say your destination in a questioning tone, and someone will definitely point you in the right direction. Of course you still need to have your wits about you, but this probably applies in your own country, too; so why would you let your guard down anywhere else?

Enjoying a sleepy chicken bus ride with the locals

This post was written to the deep base of semi-rap/hip-hop/Caribbean mix of music in Roadshack Deli in Uvita, Costa Rica. I ordered a veggie burger with a mix of potato, yuka, and plantain fries. I left the bun.