Island life continued

Flies. So many flies. Flies in my bed, flies in my knickers, flies in my food. Flies on my towel when I came out of the shower and therefore flies all over me. Flies in my contact lenses when we went dirt biking. OH yes, just by the way we went dirt biking. Here is something especially for my mother:

I have to admit that I never thought I`d learn to ride a motorbike. I`m scared of them at home... not the idea of being on one so much, but because everybody knows somebody who died on one or broke all the bones in their body etc. They swerve in and out of traffic and it drives me crazy when I`m in my car and they pop out of nowhere. BUT, this was Ometepe, the magical island at the end of the world, and it sounded like fun.

It was Canadian lady number one who wanted to hire bikes- we shall call her biker girl. Gerard seemed happy enough to endure our company if it involved petrol, although he didn`t realise until all too late that he and biker girl were the only two out of our five who knew how to ride them. After bargaining with a man who owned bikes and assuring him that we were all experts (neither party were convinced), we sped off into the horizon in our leathers.

That`s not exactly how it was. I sat on the back of Gerard´s (who I immediately decided was my guru and I must trust everything he did and said) while biker girl and extra male friend John (there´s no point in trying to think of a clever nickname) gingerly tried out the (pretty big) bikes around the hostel, under the increasingly worried bike owner. John got the hang of it pretty quickly, but had problems with the stopping part. This resulted in several topplings and an extra damages fee at the end of the day. Eventually we made it part of the way around the big volcano, Volcan Concepcion, and stopped for lunch in a place with a royally stoned waiter who couldn`t comprehend the idea of chicken in any language. Then it was my go.

As all my friends and family like to remind me, although I may have passed my driving test first time, I failed my cycling proficiency test when I was 10 by pulling out in front of a tractor. I was physically fine, but the mental wounds will never fade. Gerard showed me how to start the bike we´d be on, and as he pushed me off, I had sudden memories returning of me, aged nine in a car park with my frustrated, sweating father running along behind me ("keep peddling! keep bloody peddling!"). Since I couldn´t actually reach the ground the whole stopping thing was also an issue, so Gerard stressed out at me a bit, declaring me a hazard (true,) and later I switched to the girls´ bike. To my suprise found myself moving forward in a balanced, motor-powered fashion. Then I tried to stop and found myself on the floor.

The next half hour was spent watching poor Gerard trying to jump-start my bike with the restaurant owner running up and down the car park. I tried to keep my expression one of concern and that as if I might be thinking of a solution- at any moment about to help in some way. In reality of course there was nothing I could do to help and I have never felt like such a girl. The running excercise succeeded, the engine started and we were off. For about a minute until we realised another bike had a flat tire.

Three coca colas later and a stroll along the beach, the ever suffering bike owner had found us and changed the tire. Losing daylight, I was happy to let Gerard take driver position and we zoomed around the volcano a bit more, stopping briefly for good photo opportunities involving the volcano and maximum skin bearing. After missing the sunset because of another bike related problem, we realised it was getting dark and time to head back to our side of the island. I decided that this was the time I would learn to ride a bike properly. And so I found myself speeding along the long, dark winding road in the dark, dodging vegetable carts, donkeys and idiotic villagers. It was freaking awesome and kind of addictive and now I want one. Sorry Ma.


Gerard wanted to climb one of the volcanos, so we invaded his trip the following day. The girls had decided before we arrived that wanted to give the smaller (but still pretty challenging) volcano a try, but I had no intentions of climbing any more volcanos or in fact anything more than a flight of steps, after having seen so many in Nicaragua and Guatemala. I am however very easy to pursuade and the Fear Of Missing Out meant that I too was up at the crack of dawn, armed with three litres of water and ready to do battle with mother nature.

The great this about this place was that unlike Pacaya in Guatemala, the volcano boarding in Nicaragua and all the other little hikes and attractions in other places, there were absolutely no pestering locals offering to be a guide, no women with horses convincing you to rent a horse because you "will not make it otherwise" and no entrance fees. We could just walk straight up the the volcano and start climbing it.

Biker girl and I struggled quite a bit, and decided that we would stop at the viewing point an hour and a half up, letting the other two fitness freaks go the rest of the way alone. Of course once we made it to the viewing point and I`d eaten a granola bar, I decided that actually it hadn´t been that difficult at all and I would go to the top after all. Biker girl very sensibly refused. After another hour uphill with Gerard and Canada-two, I started to feel very dizzy. We estimated that we still had another three hours to the top and I decided to just be happy with the view from where I was and then go back. We´d also seen howler monkeys by going that little bit further up, so I was happy.

Massive treee

I was having a whale of a time climbing back down by myself- I felt like an adventurer and saw loads of cool stuff, like a butterfly as big as my face and all sorts of crazy tropical bugs and birds. The way back down was familiar for about an hour, but since the jungle was pretty wild and paths were not very clear cut, I soon began to wonder if I was going the right way after all. I tend to be pretty stubborn with directions- convinced that if I just keep going, I`ll eventually find my way... but eventually I had to accept that I was lost. Alone. In the wilderness. On a volcano. Nobody would find me, until days later with half my dead carcass eaten by monkeys and monsters from the lagoon. I ventured on, my concerns overshadowed by my excitement at being in the jungle.

After what felt like forever, with all my water finished and dizziness ensuing, I found myself somewhat at the bottom of the volcano, but in the middle of fields. Stumbling through shrubbery, I walked out into a farmyard, where a pretty puzzled farmer dropped his hoe and came out to stare at me. I asked him where I was. He repled that I was in his farm. I asked how I could get out of his farm and he pointed me in the right direction, continuing to stare open mouthed as I walked away. I kept turning to reutn his stare as I walked, and tripped over a plant, falling and rolling spectacularly into a cow trough. He turned away. Eventually I found a road, a flagged down a girl on a motorbike (somehow females on bikes seem less of a danger) and she gave me lift back to the farm-hostel we were staying in. I found Biker girl, also just recently back after an extended walk and the two of us gorged on ice cream, thinking of the other two hiking for a further five hours.

The third night was spent in a nice hotel nearer the ferry dock, where there were significantly less flies. They weren`t bitey flies as such, just really weird, tiny things that were terribly designed. They`d sit on your face by not move out the way when you swiped at them. I suppose that`s why there were so damn many of them- they had to reproduce like crazy to counteract their inability to move out the way of things that can squash them. In the fly-less town, I was convinced into getting my very first pedicure- Canada one and two being totally shocked and appalled that I had never partaken in such activities before. It was about one pound fifty, and I didn`t have the energy to do anything else that day, so I agreed. The poor woman assigned to my feet made an "aaiiiigggee" noise when she saw them, before announcing that "nothing is impossible". In the time it took my friends to get their feet and nails done, she managed to transform my feet. I bought flip flops to celebrate and for the second time in two days felt like a real Girl.

The Canadians had to move on the next day and left on the earliest ferry. I had some breakfast and once again caught the local "largo" back across the lake, watching out for bull sharks which I`d secretly hoped to see (although not too close). Fun fact: they`re the only population of sharks adapted to freshwater in the world! Supposedly Lake Nicaragua was once part of the pacific, but the volcanic eruptions eventually cut the place off and the sharks remained.

For the first time, I felt a little sad to be alone once again- our little island group got on so well- Gerard too, as much as I joked that he hated us. [Must stop thinking that his name is actually Gerard...] The girls were flying home within a couple of days and had been quite excited about it- I still wasn`t homesick or anything, but it got me thinking about what home was like and what my friends might be doing as I was sailing across the biggest lake in Latin America. Then I started eavesdropping on a two french speaking guys who had just met and going through the usual traveller small talk ("How long have you been travelling? Where is your next stop? Have you been to Semuc Champey?") before getting out maps and planning a route together. Back on the mainland, I battled through persistent taxi drivers and went over to the french speakers to suggest we share a taxi. And the next adventure had already begun.