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.



Chichén Itzá – A wonder of the modern world

As mentioned in my previous post about Mexico, I zipped across the country to Cancun in order to explore the Yucatan Peninsula, not, I repeat, not, to experience the famous Coco Bongo nightclub in Zona Hotelera. I often say to myself, ‘just do it, when are you going to be in this corner of the world again?’, but any backpacker who pays eighty bucks for a ticket (not including drinks), is utterly bongo bonkers in my opinion. I’m not normally negative in my blog posts, but Zona Hotelera is a big, commercial, expensive, hot mess. This wasn’t one of those ‘just do it’ moments.

Outside Coco Bongo

I admit that we weren’t entirely cultural when we arrived in Cancun. Some fellow travellers and I sailed straight to Isla Mujeres for a day trip to the beach. The sun was out to play, and the sea was waving, enticing us with its twinkly surface and clear visibility. A beautiful combination after ten days in the sporadically changing climate of Mexico City, where, by the way, I managed to catch my first hostel-induced cold, so the vitamin D was a welcome change.

Sunset at Isla Mujeres

As lovely as drinking frozen piña coladas on a tropical island was, it was back to the mainland for a decent night of sleep. We had some more important matters to attend to. Visiting Chichén Itzá.

The tiresome four hour bus journey took us across a time zone, so we managed to gain an extra hour inside the ruins, which was definitely needed. The site is doable in a day, but it’s very spread out, and not as shady as some of the other ruins around Mexico, so be prepared. A word of advice: pack sun cream, plenty of water, and some snacks; there are no food stalls inside.

My first impression, as we walked down a path lined with local merchants selling the usual cheap knock-off ceramic Mayan calendars, was that it was a total tourist trap. But picture this – stroll down the middle of the path, ignore the desperate voices of, ‘you like magnets lady? Very cheap, almost one dollar’, and emerge into an open green majestic plaza. Standing proud in the middle of the complex is the the twenty-four meter tall Kukulkan Pyramid, also known as, El Castillo. 

El Castillo at the end of the day – not a tourist in sight

It was granted the status of a Modern Wonder in 2007. And I can see why. In its current 2016 state, the towering temple looks immaculately preserved. With a little internet research, I discovered that, as the result of a tragic accident, the pyramid’s staircase was officially closed to the public in 2006. After years of tourists trudging up and down the monument in their thousands, the inevitable wear and tear of the steps began to take its toll, and eventually, a woman slipped on a smooth stone and fell to her death.

On one hand, I am pleased that the importance of health and safety, and the longevity of the Pyramid, has been taken seriously after this incident. But I can’t help feeling disappointed that I am unable to explore the temple that rests atop the structure, to visit the red jaguar throne inside. However, as someone who likes to practise and encourage eco-tourism, I understand that the earth’s natural elements alone can be enough of an unforgivable force when it comes to the act of preservation, let alone the unnecessary heavy stomps of tourist crowds.

You’ll spot various preserved carvings all over Chichén Itzá

Besides, there’s plenty more to see around this ancient city. My favourite ruin was Gran Juego de Pelota (Great Ball Court), probably because I’m a massive rugby-nut and I love a good stadium. Apparently, (I say this because it was impossible to test the theory with so many people milling around) if you talk at one end of the court, a person stood at the other end will be able to hear you. Many people have attempted to fathom the secrets behind the acoustics of this special sports ground, but to this day, it remains a mystery. The court itself is two hundred and twenty-five feet wide, and five hundred feet long.

The length of the ball court. Photo courtesy of Ben Norris.

Many different games have been played on these grounds over the years, but the aim of the most well-known version, was to shoot a rubber ball into the stone hoops that are carved into each of the longest sides of the court. Competitors were not allowed to use their hands, so it is believed that they passed the ball between their hips, and possibly used their elbows and knees. Did I mention that the hoops were so high that the game was virtually impossible? Although it was played for fun, it was often played for ritualistic purposes. Research indicates that the captain of the losing team would be presented with the task of decapitating the captain of the winning team. Crazy right? Well not to the Mayans, for they believed that winning was the ultimate honour, and so you were rewarded with the pathway to peaceful heaven through a simple sacrificial ceremony.

Oh, the losing team were sacrificed too. Because they lost.

The ‘goal’ hoop and the ‘royal box’ of the ball court. Photo courtesy of Ben Norris.

Beyond the wow factor of El Castillo and the shocking facts of the ball court, Chichén Itzá has so many beautiful ruins to explore. Interestingly, the naturally formed Cenote Sagrado (Sacred Cenote) was also used for sacrificial ceremonies. According to my trusty Lonely Planet Central America on a Shoestring guidebook, archaeological dive expeditions have uncovered human remains of those that were forced to jump into the ‘eternal underworld’.

Cenote Sagrado

These historical sites would not be complete without a carving or two, so if you have the opportunity to visit these sacred grounds, don’t miss the Grupo de las Mil Columnas (Group of a Thousand Columns). Take your time, and look closely at the Mayan handicraft as you wander through the labyrinth of ruins. You should be able to decipher a number of Gods and Mayan warriors within the artistic scars of the stone.

Grupo de las Mil Columnas

I am very fortunate to have been able to experience a modern world wonder, and shall endeavour to visit as many, if not all, in my lifetime. Oh, and I was with two awesome, like-minded travellers, which always makes a day of touring even more rewarding.

Posing outside El Caracol (The Observatory) with Ben Norris, Andrés Home and Morgan Bear. Note: Andrés’ peace sign is not to be confused with the English meaning…

This post was written to the sound of an overly excited Spanish football commentator and the ear-splitting screams of a Costa Rican female supporter, complete with bright yellow football kit.

Stories To Tell

I’ve Been Searching For It For Days

We’d trudged through the dusty towns and cities of Colombo, Negombo and Kandy, and I was beginning to wonder where the renowned Sri Lankan scenery was hiding; apparently it can’t be missed.

Standing on the platform at Nuwara Eliya, we waited among the seventy/thirty tourist to Sri Lankan ratio, for the train to Ella. We were already in the ‘hill country’, but we were yet to experience the vast tea plantations that are supposed to occupy the area. Although we’d already sampled plenty of it.

The train rolled in and people started shuffling along the platform. Shuffling, shuffling, shuffling, running. Running to claim a seat for the three hour journey ahead. Of course, we were not quick enough. One of the main guidebook attractions we wanted to experience, and we had to stand in the aisles or between the carriage couplings. I managed to park myself in the middle of a carriage so I could see out of the window. I didn’t bother taking my camera out. I didn’t want photos of filthy windows taunting me for missing the views on the other side.

The train jerked forwards. I could already feel the cramp in my toes from my not-so-broken-in walking shoes. For the first half an hour, the scenery passed by, much the same as everything I’d already seen in Nuwara Eliya. Dry grass dominated the slopes either side of the track. A three-legged dog relieved itself on what looked like a giant pink tulip. A couple of mini waterfalls trickling down the side of the hills attracted a few twitterings from the tourists, but nothing guidebook worthy yet.

I was distracted by a fidgeting French couple when it happened. Since they’d gotten on the train, all they’d done was move their bags from one place to another in an attempt to make some seats. While I was trying to grab the strap of my bag to tug it out of their way a forth time, the train emerged out of a tunnel and the voices in the compartment rose. I looked up, and there it was. A reason to use the word beauty.

Colombo has its busy roads and backstreet drug grottos that tuktuk drivers are happy to show you in case you’re that way inclined (often without asking you first), Negombo has its beach that attracts many tourists and even more locals, Kandy has its Temple of the Tooth (turns out there’s one in Singapore too), its scamming tour operators and its man-made lake. The stretch between Nuwara Eliya and Ella has these sheer drops on either side of the railway tracks, and hillsides that would send you plummeting into a forest of coconut trees or tea plantations.

I took my phone from my bag and wrote the following sentences:

     The Sri Lankans make incredible use out of their land. Wherever there is a patch of mud, a seed grows.

I look back at this and feel as though I didn’t put enough effort into describing what I saw, but then, upon reflection, this note expresses exactly what I thought of the scene at the time. The simplicity of the sentence structure shows just how much I wanted to be looking out of a window rather than at an iPhone screen. It’s not very often that we experience something that has the power to transport our minds away from technology, long enough for us to temporarily forget that it exists.

I stared at the expanse of foliage that was revealing itself to us as we sped across the rails. Each time we went through a tunnel, a different view would be there to greet us on the other side.

I watched the silent movie of the countryside until the train stopped. Sri Lankans started vacating their seats, so I threw my bag onto one next to a window and climbed across. Normally, I would be more  polite, but this was important. I had to see.

The train pulled away and I took my camera out; poised, I waited. But the view was gone. No more rippling hills or overcrowded forests. No more mist brushing the canopies of coconut infested palms. No more sheer drops. Just fields, and mud.

A Sri Lankan occupied the seat beside me and started asking me the usual, ‘where are you from? Where are you going? How long in Sri Lanka? You like?’ spiel. I took the opportunity to ask him about the environment, trying to mask my disappointment. I found out that those patches of mud I’d been ignoring, were actually rice fields.

We spoke about cultivation for the rest of the journey, and by the time we reached Ella, I’d taken fifty+ photos and been informed that I should try a red banana during my stay. I promised I’d buy one as soon as I could.

I met Sam on the platform and showed him some photos.

     “Did you see? All those plants. Look at this one of the train.”

     “I couldn’t see from where I was standing. That’s a good photo.”

I felt sad that I’d managed to capture a fraction of the beauty that Sri Lanka has to offer.

     “We’ll take the train to Hatton when we go to Delhouse to do Adam’s Peak, okay?”

And so, we did:

P.s. Adam’s Peak, you ask? Another day perhaps…