Another blog, another backtrack. We didn’t fully explain the
trauma of reaching the final destination, the exotic Texaco, as it was still
too fresh in our minds. In our push to cover distance and our laziness at
setting off we ended up (drum roll…) driving in the dark. Something you
probably don’t think worthy of a drum roll, but you’re wrong. Of all the people
we’ve met doing the same trip as us, It’s high up on everyone’s “how not to
die” list. Anyhow, it all starts out very pretty with a distracting sunset
(danger number 1).
And once the sun is down, the darkness follows within half
an hour. From then on, the game begins. Potholes seem to jump out from the
curb (2), slight disturbances in the tarmac suddenly turn out to be swimming pool
sized wheel benders when it’s all too late (3). Faster seems safer(4), you only have
to worry about things ahead of you plus you get to stop driving in the dark
sooner! So you overtake (5), but an incredible amount of people are driving around
without lights (6) on and it makes you question Darwin’s theory. How can they still
be alive? You catch a Dangerbus (7!), this is unusual, and he starts to slow so you
begin yet another overtake only to see at the very last second two LEDs, no
brighter than a pair of distant stars are hurtling towards you at the helm of a
motorcycle ridden by someone who perhaps has even less brain cells than lumens (8) .
He swerves, you swerve, he doesn’t die and the van doesn’t get scratched. Win
win.
Border
crossing day, the road seems too quiet until suddenly lorries are backed up for
miles and miles, for what reason we couldn’t deduce. So we drove past them all.
The border was the usual Latin American carnage, with people stood everywhere
either trying to help you so you pay them, or not help you and you’re still
meant to pay them. The only useful loiterers are the money changers who give a
better rate than your bank probably does. After a couple of hours where our van
is inspected, our photography gear logged on our paperwork and our promise that
we don’t have a drone… followed by standing at a window while our background
stories are checked out (on Google?) they believe that we’re innocent tourists
and let us on to the next step.
This
is the step where they check our paperwork and stamps are in order, and sell us
the mandatory insurance for the country. We’re always asked where we’re going
at every border, so we have a place lined up to avoid the confusion of
explaining we have no idea where we’re going, we’re going to drive around and figure
it out. This time, we said Leon. But before we knew what was going on, Mr.
Security Dude had hopped in the back with his duffle bag. Hmmm… is he the
insurance selling guy? No, that was the guy at the window who got bored of us
not understanding and gave up. So what does this guy want? Perhaps a lift to
another checkpoint, let’s go and see what happens. Half an hour later, he’s
opened a window and is chilling on his phone when we decide to attempt to
understand why he is in our van. Much back and forth, and he thinks we’re going
to Leon for some reason and he lives in a town halfway where we could surely
drop him. Oh, but we’re not going to Leon, we’re camping up this road just back
there? He hops out and starts walking.
We stopped at not Leon for a night and found more towering
pines to shield us from the aggressive sun. Jenny catches up on what actually
are we going to do in Nicaragua while Steve turns the convenient picnic bench
into a workshop to continue the incessant van “optimising”. Weird and wonderful
birds and bugs come to say hi, a warm welcome to this pleasant country.
Deeper in we go, and we didn’t see Mr. Security Man still
walking so he must have done OK without us. We find some dry stone walls, and
even rolling hills enough to remind us of the Lake District in the UK, then it
starts to rain just to really emphasise that point.
And THEN we see two cows pulling a cart up a hill, it really
is as backwards as up North.
We hope you’re not eating, because here is some culture.
Nobody since the States has trusted their sewerage systems with paper so every
toilet is accompanied by a bin within a sitting arms reach. In this bin, and
often this is reiterated with a sign, you are to deposit the paper with which
you just wiped your deposit. Pretty disgusting stuff, maybe it’s used to help fertilise the
crops?
A continual challenge is finding water to drink, so we’ve
got a bit less particular about it as time has gone on. Here you can see us
filling from an unfinished sink. A touch of bleach and fingers crossed we’ll
surely be alright. Isn’t that what the vaccinations were for? Malaria, Yellow
Fever, Hep A and B? Our medical member says “no”, although not exactly in those
words.
We’ve learned to trust nothing, question everything. Up
until we left Mexico, Google Maps was a solid navigator comparable to the sun
and stars themselves, reliability unsurpassed by even NATO’s best equipment. But
he’s getting tired and hours are added to our journeys because much like
Zoolander, we can only turn right so three rights make a left. So we’ve bought
in Maps.Me to keep watch. Between them we can just about figure out a route,
and they don’t argue too much. Some of you will be thinking what about paper
maps? Yeah well, whatever.
Can you see this guy? Can you see the shame in his eyes? Can
you smell the embarrassment? He mistook us for one of the collectivo minibuses
and waved his arm at us, we’ve learned our lesson from Mr. Security Man, sorry
guy, better luck next time.
Got a low wire and a long bendy stick? Problem solved.
Alright, so back to an actual story. Still keen on volcanoes
we decide to drive up and camp near an active crater but our approach is from
an unusual direction. No matter, despite Google Maps telling us there was no
road our new friend Maps.Me assured us there was and that we would be just
fine, almost like the devil on the one shoulder. The fallen angel Google Maps
telling us to be more sensible and go the long way round, reminding us of all
the previous excursions “off piste” and how that always ends. Pfft, we’ll be
fine.
So we arrive at this track, which turns out to be a dry
riverbed of volcanic sand. We do have faint memories of sinking in sand, but
after a quick check ahead Jenjen returns to the vehicle to report back “Ermm it
doesn’t really seem to end” which Steve takes as “Don’t go slowly like last
time we got stuck you dork” and onwards we plough, wheels a spinnin’.
Great progress is made with the occasional swerve around a
donkey or massive rock. But just as any good action movie, the walls begin to
close in until they threaten to fold our mirrors and prevent our doors opening.
Interestingly, we seem to be straying just a tiny bit off the marked track…
must be this weird sand messing with GPS.
Must be getting serious, Steve gets out with an axe to chop
down a pesky branch. He returns to the vehicle to report an impossibly huge
rock just around the bend. Rock beats axe. Hmmm, time to reverse what we barely
managed forwards. One head out each window, we’re backing up, backing up,
backing up. The odd tree branch wiping the sweat off our foreheads we finally
make it back to where the tracks diverged. Ohhhh, that way… That explains why
all we’d been seeing for twenty minutes was hoof prints.
More sand, more speed to keep floating on top of this weird
path. A sign that perhaps it is too much speed is catching a local in a more
suited vehicle than your own. It happens unsurprisingly often.
From there we make it back onto the usual overlander route
up the volcano, another of those where people report “4x4 and high clearance
required even in dry season, let alone in the rain”. The clouds roll over, the
heavens open like never before and we continue to ascend with lightning
cracking just through the trees.
Finally the storm died away enough for us to brave raising
the roof, and then a pair of fellow overlanders arrived with whom we shared a
few beers, and who told us how we aren’t really camping if we don’t have to
sleep on the roof and cook out the boot. As we lay comfortably in bed the next
morning, with the coffee brewing on the stove and the sun beginning to peek
through small cracks in our curtains, we just about came to terms with that,
but only just.
Time to conquer the last few hundred feet to the crater,
Jenjen dons her sand hiking flip flops as the fear of sinking extends beyond
just driving.
We and our camping friends make it to the eggy sulphurous
cloud factory before realising we really should be more organised as to prevent
our clothes clashing. Black and white helps, and if ever we start a band we
have our first album cover already sorted.
Since we’re all children, it didn’t take long before rocks
were being thrown to try and wake the sleeping dragon at the heart of this
mountain. If thrown far enough, the rock would land after approximately four
seconds with a single “thump”, as if onto something soft (the Dragon?). If just
dropped, the rock would land with a hard rocky smack followed by a huge echo
all around the crater.
Enough shenanigans, we head back down the volcano towards
Leon before catching more local traffic.
Our first stop was a no-go. Loud music and almost as many
police as protesters we realise this is probably not a place to hang around. A
shame, as the museum opposite was one of the key attractions for us. So we head
to a nice ranch for staying the night.
The fanciest bog of our whole trip, still a bin to deposit
your do-do paper… No class.
We have magnets in the dish soap bottle for convenience in
the van, and it was dropped outside. It then had rocks stuck to it! Crazy
volcanic lands.
While you were replying to emails at the office Steve
enjoyed an ice-cream.
This is probably insensitive, but we found it funny that a
perfectly smart, well dressed security man should ensure that you “respect his
authoritttyyyyy” with a toy story 3 backpack.
And every now and again we find vehicles of such dignity and
class that no words are needed.
Back at the museum the protesters have gone but the gates
are locked. It turns out that due to the unrest, and subsequent complete lack
of tourism, it is currently shut. This is the case across the country for
various attractions and hostels etc. But luckily for us, someone came to chat
to us from the church opposite. It begins with a somewhat loud and enthusiastic
hello, before a polite but still loud introduction whilst stood slightly too
close. Next begins a re-enactment of the whole history of Nicaragua including
pirates, slaves, English, Spanish and just a little too much spit flying. Try
to imagine someone with too much energy really excited, then give them two kilos
of blue smarties, some crack and three ml of shark adrenaline right into the
eyeball and you’ll be somewhere close to this guy’s levels of energy. It was
relentless, it was incredibly loud and it unbelievably uncomfortable.
Eventually, after much struggle, we manage to excuse ourselves aggressively.
Walking back to the van we notice we are being followed. We each grab a set of
keys, no time to walk around unlocking doors else we’ll be caught. In we get,
the engine is started and he’s already in front of the van holding up his hand.
It doesn’t matter, we’re going either way, we squeeze out past and disappear
off into the city. We thought about it afterwards, and attempted to determine
what might have caused someone to behave in this way. As a nurse, it was Jenny
who deduced the complex condition. He was absolutely bat shit crazy.
Talking of crazy, Jenny’s condition has also been
determined. She is CocoLoco, which translated to Coconut Crazy. Here we see a
street vendor preparing and selling a Coco for the total cost of 10 Cordobas,
or $0.40, £0.25. A cheap fix.
Making our way through a small village we find ourselves on
the edge of another lake, with yet another volcano in the background. This
village was once upon a time the colonial capital before the volcano wiped it
out, from what we gathered during psycho story time, and our travel book. But
it looks safe enough now, we’ll be fine.
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