Isla de Ometepe

The hike up Volcan Maderas today nearly killed me. Quite literally. I was genuinely concerned I might have a heart attack on the mountain, and only the fact that a physician was in my hiking group comforted me. Between the humidity of the air and the steep upward rise of the trail, my lungs were struggling, my vision was wavering, and my heart was on its last legs. We hiked up the equivalent of a creek bed towards the lake in the crater of Volcan Maderas. We paused at the halfway point to take in the view, and I seriously considered turning back. Me, who hiked the Grand Canyon with no problem at all. Our guide barely broke a sweat and didn´t even take a sip of water. The guide bringing up the rear was nice enough to lag behind with me when I slowed down, and tried to make small talk, asking me about life in the U.S. It was all I could to do gasp out a "No puedo hablar ahora. Lo siento." (I cannot speak right now, I´m sorry). I grew a habit of grabbing onto every tree beside the trail to lend me a hand up. I must´ve touched every single tree on that mountain, as well as collected every single molecule of mud on the seat of my pants. The rest of my group struggled up as well. The lake at the top though, was beautiful. We swam in it, despite nagging suspicions about the hygienic quality of it. The mud on the bottom was so thick I sank in up to my knees immediately. I wonder what makes up the sediment at the bottom of a crater lake. The clincher on the day from hell happened when I saw the rope we had to use to get out of the crater. Apparently, slipping and sliding our way down was quite alright, but climbing back up the rock face is a different story. I couldn´t even climb a rope in gym class in high school, so I clung as best as I could while the birds screeched and the guides called out to me in too-fast-Spanish where to put my next toehold.

The trail, summarized, consisted of 1 twisted ankle, lots of mud on my shoes and clothes, scrapes on my hands and legs, and one bared ass to the cloud forest (I had to take a bathroom break halfway through and had no choice but to drop my pants while the howler monkeys looked on).

I have never before been so happy to see Finca Magdalena. Getting to Finca Magdalena itself was a hike. After taking the bus from San Jose (Costa Rica) to Rivas (Nicaragua), I had to take a taxi to the shore, a ferry to the Isla de Ometepe, and then a bus ride over pot hole roads to Balgue, where I was dropped off with my backpack on the side of the road. The Finca is another 2 km along a dirt trail, but it is absolutely beautiful. Even despite its creepy crawly bathroom. I sleep in a room with a mosquitoe net and the food is comida tipica (typical food). Having a good time so far. But I´m not looking forward to the muscle aches tomorrow.