First few days in Nairobi, Kenya.

Uneventful flight to Nairobi (aside from the lady next to me elbowing me all the time.. perhaps the reason why I took a diazepam?) A little tipsy and watched a film on Joan Jett and the Runaways before passing out to Shrek 3 (or 4). Woke up pretty dazed… which was quite fun considering I had no idea what I was doing going through customs and vaguely remember feeling like some sort of spy. Got a cab to our family friends house, which is actually in a school. Beautiful house, spacious, hammocks, with the garden merging with the school playing fields. After a nap my time was taken with their two children; 1 and nearly 4. Beautiful cute girls. Met Dan and Becca later; both fantastic and friendly – more so than I could have hoped for. Ended up getting Chinese takeaway (see what I mean!) and had a few beers, whilst shooting the shit and quizzing them on Kenyan life.

Next day went to see the baby orphaned elephants and black rhinos at the David Sheldrick Wifelife Trust. (http://www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org) (Which has recently appeared in the IMAX 'Born to Be Wild' film - which I would recommend).

Obviously it's sad why they were orphaned (poaching, human conflict, drought, etc) but at least there is a place like this, with the purpose to realise them into the wild, and gosh darnnit they were cute. As were all the school kids that had been brought to see them - I figured it was going to be a good month. Then I headed off to the Rothschild giraffe centre and got to feed giraffes. Wow. With their big slimy tongues and their cute heads and their big necks (really I hear you cry?) So so cute. Not something I ever thought I would do. Just wow. Lucky lucky Weeze. I think I was more nervous about this trip that I liked to let on.. being a seasoned traveller and all. But I didn’t know what to expect, or who I’d be staying with and so far I’m having a great time and feeling positive about my ability (and love for) interacting with kids (also spent this afternoon in the playground – exercising off my lunch of leftover Chinese!) I know I’m only away for a month, but I feel that I needed to push myself, at least in terms of independence and I’ve always wanted to work in an orphanage in Africa.

It’s a shame it’s for such a short time (perhaps that thought will change as I don’t start for a few days...) but it’s a taster… and it’s all I can do at the moment. I like that I’ve thrown myself into something without having a clue what to expect. And I’m loving it. I hope this doesn’t sound self-congratulatory. It’s not. I’m just very happy. Happy as well that this time last year I was only starting to feel a teeny bit more like me and less anxious and claustrophobic but still couldn’t imagine doing this, as it petrified me. Jebus, even being at a gig or any closed room made very very uncomfortable for the better part of a year. And here I am happy and excited about the next few weeks. The support from my friends and family, Mum and Si, seems to have worked. As well as me unwilling to crumble underneath my stupid thoughts and persevere. Seems it was all worth it.

Spent the next few days having a great time at the Barnett’s enjoying the hammocks, playing with the kids and even ended up staying an extra night after turning up to the Guest House and seeing no one else was there… or due to be until the next day…  Dan had driven me there (it felt so much like I was going to Boarding School.. what would it be like, where the people nice, would my host (housemaster) be nice…?) Thankfully he took pity on me and I ended up going to a BBQ at one of the other teacher’s houses drinking beer and playing table football (at which I suck royally). 

Copan, Honduras

After a rather precarious drive due to rain and inclines and sharp bends we finally made it to Copan. Spent 15 minutes deciding whether to stay with the super sweet boy-lady (Si thinks it was a boy, me a girl) or the super sweet lady’s hostel. Then headed out to a cutesy cheap typical Hondoran meal (pretty much the same as the other ‘typicals’ for me– no cost guilt of great food to make up for the French Bistro!) 

Up at 8am to see the ruins. They are approximately 1300 years old and first spotted by an Spanish Explorer in the 1500s, but not seen again or excavated until the late 19th Century. One of the major cities of the Mayan Empire from approx. 450-800 AD. We looked around, walked on, walked through, temples, palaces, ball courts (could end in sacrifice) alters, etc. All very cool. I like to explore. Which led us to ‘Las Sepultures’ about 15 minutes walk further out which was a more residential area, less grand and impressive, but a bit more fun in terms of climbing on and in things and exploring! We also had a guide here, as I made the mistake of telling him I could speak a little Spanish. He then spoke to me as if I was fluent, and was telling me to translate to Si. He seemed sweet, so I would pretend translate, telling Si ‘so.. you kinda got what I did anyway, now look impressed, then frown, and now we shall both smile, understand?’ 

There are so many theories about the Mayans (Tin Hat Thomas’s favourite is to do with 2012 and the reset of the Mayan calendar and the change that is coming. Also the transcendance theory.) Some think the apocolpyse, others more of a spiritual change. Like the other earlier cultures such as the Inca's and Aztecs their accuracy, building and astronomy was incredible. Sun timings, placement of monuments, etc.  The most agreed reasons for the demise of Copan (and other Mayan main cities) was overfarming/overpopulation… and in Copan’s case the high level of mercury in the water due to the use of it in their red paint (not so clever after all eh?) As always, insane to try and picture life in these times and that these buildings ere used and lived in. In a way it seems like some fun old styled theme park. Then later, sitting with a beer, it all sinks in, and the only word that comes to mind is ‘fuck’. So many questions, and so few answers (thanks Spain). 

Copan Ruinas itself is such a cool little town, cobbled streets littered with electric tuk tuks and god only knows how they make it up the steep streets. The little main square is littered with them, all shouting ‘taxi, taxi?’ after one another as if you would walk past and suddenly think ‘YES! That is what I want! How did I forget?!’. It’s so noisey. A little place, but our guide told us ‘they just celebrate everything’. What a way to look at life! Every night we were falling asleep to a drum/xylophone recital (even ‘Waving flag’!) crossed with the Church Choir. At about 6:30 a.m. the xylophone (thankfully no drum) would start again. I also loved all the people in cowboy hats that we’ve been seeing… especially those staggering home at night. Seems much more dignified than the usual drunk stagger. Brits – take note. Ate that night in a place called ‘Lolita’ where the waitresses brought the food to us on their heads. Nice place, but sulky waitresses (why…. I wonder…?) 

Though all the brochures we’d seen before leaving said you can make tortillas there was a severe lack of tortilla tours… and when I asked one agency if I could make tortilla’s anywhere she looked at me like I was insane. (I do realise these would have been 15 minute tours but still.. ) Instead we booked to go to Finca El Cisn , a 135 year old family run coffee farm run by Carlos. Picked up in a 4x4, stood on the back for the journey, a bit like car surfing or car skiing? Very free.  Awesome countryside. We went horse riding around the coffee and cardoman plantations. Again, so free. Gorgeous, well tempered horses. Si, who in Cuba hater horse riding has seemed to fallen in love with it (I thought he would.. which is why I didn’t ask him to go… merely told him we were). Carlos’ estate is huge, and he made you feel like a guest, rather than part of a tour group. Again, on the way back it started to rain so we cantered (I think… not totally sure of my horse riding terminology) and really really regretted wearing a bikini top. Pain.

We had an incredible lunch, where everything was freshly grown in the estate… and I even got to help make the (a…) tortilla. After lunch we went to see the processing of the coffee. They are part of a co-op (guessing fair trade) and the roasting is one in the exporting countries. They are thinking of starting to grow Cacoe as Carlos thinks the coffee market will become saturated soon (which is also why they grown Cardoman.. the 2nd most traded spice in the world, don’t you know). Driving around the Estate you very much did feel like you were with the Lord of the Manor (which of course we were). Such a fun, random, learning experience and we shared it with a wonderful couple on their honeymoon, from California. They had met on the Bay Islands, so married there and thought they would come see the ruins as well. On the way back we stopped off at some thermal hot springs. Beautifully done, and aside from being attacked by fire ants (thankfully the pools healed our feet) it was fantastic. I even got Si to try a mud masque.

Suchitoto to Copan...

We then headed west to Suchitoto, a colonial town that was practically abandoned during the war, the walls still laden with bullet holes. Stopped for lunch at the San Miguel Mall and Si happily (yes, he looks sad in this picture) munched on Central America’s verson of KFC; Pollo Campero. 

I know some people say it’s fun to see malls in other countries, but to me, they all look the same. Not same same but different. Just the same. Same chains, same clothes, same food, same people, same bland similarities. Sadly we didn’t get to Suchitoto until it was dark and rainy, as it looked like it would be a beautiful place to walk around. Still, we went to the main square, bought a pupsa, two keyrings and then headed back to our two storey suite in our French Boutique hotel. 

I’d told Si we would probably be staying in a decent 3* hotel, and the log cabin came as a bit of a surprise. This, was something else. It had 2 flat screen TV’s, a Jacuzzi bath, an 8 headed all-body shower, quadruple bed, sofas and a balcony overlooking the pool. The last time I’ve ever felt so skanky turning up to a hotel was ten years ago in La Paz when after being ill in hospital for 4 days my friend Jon’s Dad said to use his credit card to treat us all to lunch at the most expensive hotel in town. Ahh, how the staff’s attitudes towards us changed when they realised the smelly sandled people had money to spend! Here however, the owner Pascal came to personally greet us with a genuine warm welcome, and spoke to us throughout our (13 hour) stay. Had a few glasses of Kir Royale whilst chatting to the bartender (Si on his Whiskey) followed by a divine dinner in the French Restaurant.

A few more drinks and then time to check out the Jacuzzi bath. I tried to turn on the jets but couldn’t get them to work. Of course, as I shouted to Si that the Jacuzzi is broken they started working full blast and with the bath  being only half full they spurted out of the water, hit me in the face and sent me flying backwards. Then... due to the power of the jets the bubbles I’d put in started multiplying like crazy… a little like the bubble machine in Willy Wonka. I think I was under a least of foot of bubbles. It was an awesome bath.

Next day after a fairly dull bird tour (sorry Suchitoto - already seen so many and think we would have preferred to indulge in our luxiourous room) we headed off for a horse ride around Volcan Guazapa, another guerrilla stronghold. Jorge had left us in the capable, very shy (I thought) hands of Juan, who was scared of horses! We trotted past foxholes dug for four civilians maximum, in case of a direct hit, a bombed church, trenches, a school, encampment, houses and many mass graves that were all underneath a plant nicknamed ‘the poor’s umbrella’. On the way back it started to piss down, helping us imagine a bit more the conditions that they had to face, considering how often it rains in Central America.

Then we headed on to Copan, Hondoras, via Guatemala! Sadly, instead of lunching in the pretty ex-colonial town of Santa Ana, it was another stop for Pollo Campero in a mall on the outskirts of town. Still, it made Si a very happy man. During the trip I asked Juan about why there was so much support for the Government/National Guard during the war, and though he’d been very quiet around me until then, he opened up for the next two hours. I’d started to get used to the difference in how Si & I were treated. It was not in a disrespectful or patronising way, unlike how I’ve felt in Egypt, but perhaps in a macho culture it makes some  uncomfortable or unsure having normal conversations with women, that are not family, or close friends, that does not involve flirting?

Anyway, it was fascinating to hear his opinions and life story, especially as most of what I had heard was pro-FLMN, or from a guerrilla perspective. Growing up in the capital he was subjected to the media propaganda of the government, and only later has been able to piece the truth together. I guess because he hadn’t lost a close friend or family member, or was not in the direct way of the combat he probably hadn’t felt the need to talk about it, in some theraputic sense, but you could tell he really had so much to tell; that he wanted to tell. At first he was more reserved, but kept going back to earlier things, delving deeper with more difficult stories, that you could see still provoked emotion that he kept close to his heart. 

El Mozote Massacre & the FLMN

The next day we headed to El Motoze which was a pretty harrowing experience, even for a genocide/massacre veteran like me. Standing in the garden, looking at the mural with children playing near us, being told of their terror and how the guards were on drugs chasing them with machetes?! I had to put my sunglasses on to quietly cry behind. They called these massacre tactics as ‘taking the water from the fish’. Not that I’d agree with with it any more, but it was not even a race or ‘other’, just a fear of spreading an ideology. And Reagan obviously forgot about the concept of revenge.

Our guide there was a lady, perhaps in her 40s. Her brothers and sisters had been killed in the massacre. She had been in a nearby town out harvesting corn for a week with her father and when they tried to return to their village on the 9^th December 1981 they were stopped by the military. She remembers being desperate to get home, but says she can only thank god she never did.

On the 10^th December the villagers were all told to gather in the central square and were then taken to be locked in nearby houses. There were also people from nearby villages there, as they believed it would be a safe haven (sadly, I cannot remember exactly why). On the 11^th they were divided into groups of girls (teengers/young adults), children, woman and men. The girls were taken to the top of a hill for three days where they were raped, tortured and then executed. The men were shot behind the houses close to the central square. The children were taken to the church and killed with ‘white weapons’ (knives, machetes, etc). We were told that the children starting screaming, as you would expect, and this in turn made the military more frenzied, screaming back and just hacking at them whilst they were running around. Some babies were thrown in the air then caught, speared by bayonette. 

All of this was learnt from the one survivor of the massacre, who, along with the rest of the women was lined up waiting to be executed. She was 31 at the time, at the end of the line and was given an 8 month old baby; she thought to look after. It was then taken from her and thrown in the air, landing on a bayonette. She then spotted cattle walking past her and when the guards weren’t looking hid behind them and walked with them. She jumped over a fence and ran to a nearby village where have father lived; though everyone there had been killed. She hid herself under leaves for 5 days until she was found by children and then went to a refugee camp in Hondouras. Roughly 1000 people died in the massacre and the US deny any knowledge of it. The site was exhumed by Argentina in 1991 and formed part of the ‘Commission of Truth’. Though in 1992 a Peace Agreement was signed, with immunity for all from prosecution there were 4 exceptions, all related to the massacre. One  El Salvadorian (the Minister of Defence) had fled to the US before the peace agreement and is currently under house arrest/on trial in Florida.

There was also an Amnesty for the FLNM (guerrilla) members, who were given three choices:

1.     Money (approximately U$1200/£800) or

2.     1 hectre of good flat land or 4 hectres of hilly land or

3.     A University education.

Another one of our guides, Leanore Marcaz lived near Mozote and at the age of 6, at the start of the war was taken to live in a refugee camp in Honduras. Here she learnt about the war and the FLNM ideology by the guerillas that would come and talk to the residents and also try to recruit. At the age of 13 she went off to join the war. Leanore said one of the main rules they were taught was to respect the civilian population. Her main function was in radio communications, but she also fought in combat. She used to listen to other radio stations (enemy and international) and collate the information for the other guerillas.

She had left the war 10 months before the end as she was pregnant/just given birth, so she was not given the choices of the Amnesty. She had no bitterness about this, which personally surprised me. Leanore also took us to her house. From the side of the road there was no way you would have known there was a small community of houses in the jungle behind. We followed a tiny trail for about 2 minutes and suddenly came to a collection of about ten concrete bungalows. Basic and messy, but clean. She lives there with her younger daughter and showed us pictures of her older daughter, whose father had died in the war. There were pictures of him and her on the wall as guerrillas armed, with their comrades. You very much got the impression he was her one love. I guess she was roughly 17 years old and love in combat must have been incompariably intense. There was no sign/pictures of the second daughters father, and no mention of him either. Even through the language barrier you could feel her pride and convictions for what the FLMN had done, and what she had contributed. I asked, through Jorge what she thought of the party now. She said she felt betrayed somewhat, and that they are so far removed from the ideals they all fought for. That some of those have even become like those they were fighting against. 

El Salvador - Day 1

Met by Jorge, or Tours In El Salvador (http://www.tourinelsalvador.com/) at the El Amitillo border. After deciding I wanted to visit the Guerrilla stronghold and El Mozote massacre sight I stumbled across his reviews on trip advisor. Enquiring if we could do a day trip with him we ended up booking a 3-day tour way above our budget. Not that we really have a budget. But if we did it certainly wouldn’t factor this in. 

I know when you are travelling for a while budgeting is really important (not that I budgeted for 6 months in South America either… my parents really are too kind to me), but I’ve always hated the ‘no guide, we can do it cheaper and learn ourselves’ attitude. Part of the learning is the interaction, and you really can’t learn as much by a few badly translated signs as a guide who lives in the place… unless you are unlucky and have a bad, disinterested or lying guide… and I’ve had a few of those. In the Amazon my guide used to make up stuff, that really wasn’t necessary – we were in the Amazon! For example whilst looking at one, he told us that the Anaconda was the most poisonous snake in the world. Deadly it may be, but for it’s strength alone. On the Inca Trail our guide was explaining the greatness of the Inca’s and their respect for human life, in contrast to the Spanish. I enquired on how their conquests differened to the Spanish and he told me that they asked the people they invaded to join them first. But, if they refused, then death. See? Understand the difference? Not that I believed him either. I don’t think he liked my questioning. Sometimes it quite quaint though, or interesting in itself – like some of the guides I had in Vietnam, that were walking party propaganda machines.

So, Jorge drove us to Perquin, in north-eastern El Salvador which is a small village of 10,000 (though seemed closer to 300). It was the main FLMN area during the war and a no-go area for the Military/National Guard and they could only attack by air… until the Guerillas got hold of anti-aircraft guns. After the El Mozote massacre Colonel Monterrosa was tricked into believing he had captured a guerrilla radio as they had faked broadcasts for him to pick up on. On spotting the radio, surrounded by chicken blood to make it look like a battle had taken place, he insisted that he be the one to take it, and brought it into his helicopter. Inside this ‘radio’ was explosives, which the guerllias in hiding nearby detonated, blowing up 2 helicopters and killing all inside.

 Our hotel was gorgeous, the Perkin Lenca, run by I believe a white ex-guerilla (or at the very least sympathiser who was around during the war) and originally co-owned by one of the female guerilla’s who saw Monterrosa’s helicopter blow up. It was a log cabin, complete with hammock on the porch. A small step up from our usual hostel rooms.

At the war museum we had a tour by an ex guerllella, who though limping from shotgun wounds was much more agile than all of us. As well as talking us through the museum, which was fascinating, he took us into some original trenches, bomb craters and up to a main look out point. And to see the remains of the helicopter that had been blown up as a revenge attack after the massacre. We ate dinner in Perquin with Jorge, discussing the war, MS13 and El Salvador in general over a traditional meal, which for me is tortillas, tostones, black beans, salsa, creama… I just can’t get enough of the stuff. For Si & Jorge? I seem to remember it was Pollo y Papas Fritas.. also becoming a central/south American tradition.

At this point we were still trying to work out how the war went on for so long. Jorge explained that the country was split 50/50, but with most people in pvery, ruled by a small elite something doesn’t seem to add up. Aside from those being funded by the US, why so many would fight the guerillas after the assassination of Oscar Romero? Perhaps the fear of Communism? Fear of change? Jorge suggested that people preffered to be submissive. There seemed to be no obvious hatred to exploit (religion/ caste/tribes)? We were told that the military drafiting age was 18, so many guerillas ended up fighting their brothers and often people would flee the country or go into hiding in order to avoid conscription, but there is still something missing! Though there is always is I suppose – the Chinese police killing the protesters at Tiananmen Square… even at home when we get fenced in for protesting peacefully and legally against a war!

Granada & Estelli, Nicaragua

Boat –Taxi – Chicken Bus – Tuk Tuk to Granada. Chicken bus was fun and a bit of an experience for Si… but sadly it didn’t take us to Granada as promised. Messed up a bit when we got there. For some reason, even after being told the rooms were cramped and have bed bugs, we thought we shall stay at the Bearded Fucking Monkey (perhaps Fucking was not in the name, I am unsure). Tired and hungover (mainly me) we went off to have a big, INCREDIBLE lunch.

Tostones (fried plantain) with queso followed by fried tortillas with queso, cabbage, crème, and pico de gallo… But it was HUGE. Always a bad idea on the kind of holiday we are doing. Let alone in a “fun” hotel, with crappy bed bug air lacking rooms. Walked through the colonial streets, up to the Malacon and walked through the old bombed out hospital. Even stumbled across some metal/hardcore band (with operatic vocals) playing in what seemed like an old man (Latin) pub. But a lot of it was in angry silence and missed out what we wanted to do. Slept for 11 hours instead of our usual lovely dinner and a few beers.. but considering that’s been the worst for us.. we are pretty gosh darn lucky! Especially when you think of our honeymooning friends who volunteered at an animal sanctuary where people had tried to break out the animals and take them to another sanctuary due to inhumane conditions… on their honeymoon (as animal lovers). Instead of helping rehabiliate they ended up doing tours for the crazy owner and trying to explain why many were caged (which they couldn’t understand themselves).

 

Like you would expect there is a lot of political graffiti around; much of it for the FSLN (Sandanista party, who led the revolution to overthrow the Somoza dynasty), but I get the impression this isn’t a blind man’s cult, and though Ortega is President this is because he is the leader of the FSLN, rather than because he is Ortega. They had a really difficult job the first time round in power, rebuilding a war torn country with very little outside support, but the slow progress made led to their decline as the popular party. Nicaragua is still largely in poverty, and is obviously very poor with the majority living as farmers/peasants with only basic needs satisfied. (I am disgreagarding the youth adults sitting near me with iPods, bling on their fingers, dressed in Nikes and sportsgear). As this is being typed after my trip the Nicaraguans, I have learnt are seen as poor, but great workers by the rest of Central America – some nations seem to praise this (El Salvador), others seem to think they are beneath them (Costa Rica). Of course, these are all generalisations, but meeting the people and seeing the way the politics, they seem to largely make sense and ring true. Seeing the lower living conditions but the family units and the children running around happily and contrasting it with the cramped, unsafe council estates in London (or anywhere in the first world) you wonder which is better? Somewhere where people fight to be educated? Or where people hide to stay away from school as soon as they reach their teens? I guess there is still the American/Western dream – that it will be better, that they can make something of themselves, no matter how shit and unappealing the early years of immigration might be. Steph and Conrad told me about a Costan Rican, who after a few beers starting starting picking on them from being from the USA, mainly because of the ease at which they could travel into Costa Rica, but the difficulty for him to enter the USA (non-refundable first interview fee is $195). His frustrations are totally understood, and this may come as a shock to those of you who think I’m an all out namby pampy tree hugging socialist lefty (which I am not), but I think it’s necessary to have the strict laws. Sadly, they didn’t actually ask him why he was so desperate for a short holiday in the USA – which even without the fees would have cost comparitevely a small fortune for your average Costa Rican – one flight, a years wages? I guess they still have the romantic notion of the West, rather than seeing the issues with illegal immigration, or the poverty, crime and overcrowding. Until they do become a wealthier nation, with less people staying illegally they need these strict visa requirements, but the saddest thing is that so much of the poverty and civil wars that messed up these countries were directly due to involvement of the USA and its allies.

My thoughts, that seem to make people angry, is perhaps it would be better for people in stable, yet not ideal countries to try and realise those dreams at home. Fight for better opportunities there, help build up your country instead of deserting it? I am sure this is an easy view to make from a comparitavely wealthy Western girl, and even though I am a daughter of a refugee, that was fleeing for life, not economic opportunities. Social and political problems needed to be changed at the source, by the people that it effects. Help and education from outside I do believe is beneficial, but we can’t come in and change the future as some master/dictator problem solver and provide aid continuosly. My beliefs are exactly the same in the personal sphere – people need to learn to help themselves and realise it’s their duty to fix their problems – from the source, not a pill, not by whining, not by expecting someone else to do it… I do actually believe that Nicaragua is slowly but surely modernising and is headed in the right direction. I have everything crossed for them, as in the short time I was there I really fell in love with the country and the people.

Right, back to the travels. Estelli was such a mood uplift from Granada. Found a really cute family run hostel with rooms surrounding a garden courtyard, complete with duck and turtle! Our room was like a 70s honeymoon suite in a B&B in Cornwall (though complete with Cable TV… haven’t been missing it much, though nice to watch a couple of episodes of 2 and a half men...) Looking at the photos of Estelli you might not understand why we loved it so much, but it was just so real. A normal middle of the road Nicaraguan town. Not touristy, no major attractions (well, one for me), just a little insight into an ordinary way of life for a fairly normal urban Nicaraguan. It’s a cowboy town in the mountains and was an important area for the FSLN during the civil war due to its location near Honduras, El Salvador and being on the Pan American Highway. The reason we (I) HAD to go there was because of the ‘mothers of the martyrs museum’. Si was more interested in ‘cowboy’ town. It’s a tiny museum run by the Mothers and funded entirely by donations. It contains pictures, information, clothing and biographies of the Guerillas who lost their lives during the Contra War. It wasn’t as part of me expected, a propaganda museum, or overly sentimental, but very personal yet factual and informative even showing articles of disappointment since the war, which I did not expect to find.

We spent the rest of the day wandering around, just people watching, bought a few things, had a few beers, went to a pizza place for lunch (run by an Italian born, Brooklyn resident, now in Nicaragua). Ate dinner at a very local restaurant overlooking the streets. Up early the next morning to be on a 4am bus that would pick us up from a random Texaco Gas Station. 4:45am and still no sign of a bus – or anyone else waiting. Occasionaly a few random drunks would turn up and spark up conversation (seemed to be the place to be at this time) but couldn’t help but worry a little bit. Finally the bus arrive about 5:30 a.m. and we were in El Salvador by 9:30 a.m.

Isla de Ometepe - Nicaragua

(Written a bit drunk on Tuesday 31^st)

I’m on a boat to Isla de Ometepe in Nicaragua. Costa Rica and Panama have been incredible, but this is just... hmmm.. hard to describe, but I can only compare to arriving in Cambodia. So much recent history, so lush, so beautiful. Somewhere I’ve really, really, really, wanted to go. And here I am. On Lake Nicaragua, heading towards the twin volcanoes, which has freshwater sharks. I know we won’t see any (thanks dictators and shark fin soup L) but they are here! Ahh!! Nicaragua! I love you already! And your Tona beer!

(Friday 3^rd September – sober)

Just made it onto a bus headed to Estelí via Managua. Poor Si thought the bus was leaving with our bags whilst I was off buying (essential) cookies and water…

The boat journey to the Island was incredible. Drinking Tona, sitting on the El Che Guevara ferry with a view of the volcanoes; one of them smoking and active. Hostel was lovely; friendly owner, hammocks overlooking the lake and the non-existent beach meant tables and umbrellas were in the water for our afternoon beer-swims. Dinner at the cutest restaurant next door (no front entrance – had to climb and wade) with two English couples. Power cuts, rainstorms at about 11pm, Si a little sad (or utterly depressed) as he threw half his steak into the sand, otherwise a great evening getting soaked on the way home. Everyone (Nicaraguan) we met seemed genuinely kind. Perhaps naïve, but I’ve met enough people that turn rude because you haven’t tipped them/enough or bought their stuff/taken their tour to differentiate.. I think.

Many beers meant we didn’t sleep till midnight (WAY past our bedtime) and made for a sick Weeze in the morning. Supposed to do a guided trip to a 30m waterfall, but the roads were impassable due to landslides (at least in our “4x4” which was in fact a mini bus). Went to see the 300BC petroglyphs (found that out from Wiki… our guide though lovely, only spoke Spanish… and my basic Spanish did not stretch to archaeological standards… ) Went to a natural mineral spring pool and Cache Verde.. both nice.. but hardly worth the U$35 each… I think the excitement of being in Nicaragua distorted budget judgements (and the Tona.. always the Tona...) Back at the hotel we went and sat in the lake drinking beers chatting the hours away, facing one of the volcanoes and THAT was priceless. Finally learnt a card game that evening from a British and Canadian couple we met… though still mourning the loss of scrabble, but Si happy to be able to order his steak again and eat it all. You win some, you lose some.