Pissing on Iguanas, San Carlos

A'ight. So begins another chapter of my supersonic southern odyssey. A fresh start. The long road will often decide when to drift into repetitiveness, but only you can renew those revolutions with one refreshing revival. I'm sitting on the shores of the Rio San Juan, in the small town of San Carlos, waiting for immigration to do its thing. Hopefully I'll make it into Costa Rica later on today, sooner rather than later, but my temperament has come to accept the velocity in which shit moves along in this country. I'm burnt...utterly wrecked to be honest, and the overnight haul on the ferry from Isla de Ometepe hasn't boosted my moral in the slightest. Only recently have I began to feel the toll of these travels in the tropics, more so from leading the once enviable life of a typically reckless, wayward backpacker; but I feel like its time for a shift in direction. Is it possible to live off raspberry fanta & corn flakes, gallo pinto & Toña?? Somethings gotta give. I feel it's way too early to be already counting the costs & enveloping the mess.

Arriving into San Carlos on Sunrise

León got left behind in a manic flutter gust of disillusion. Had I even been there?? Maybe not. I'm sure it would be easy enough to invent such a place, creating a hybrid city concoction based around all the other hot, crumbling hovels I'd pushed on through. To be fair, it wasn't such a nasty place, more that I was in a horrible state of disrepair, still adjusting to being back on the mainland after my long stint of relaxation out in the Caribbean. It wasn't long before I was continuing onwards, sharing a lift to Granada with two Israeli lasses who taught me everything to know about the Lebanon war, the Lebanon war II, the south Lebanon conflict, the Palestinian uprising, the Palestinian Gaza conflict, the second Palestinian uprising and of course, all the good things to do when splashing about in natural springs on their days off. On arrival I treated myself to a hearty plate of rice & beans...Oooo baby I love a good staple.

More so, Granada actually proved itself worthwhile. Much more comfortable and easier on the eyes than León, it reminded me in a way of a BBQ'ed version of Antigua; swirling swarms of gnats thrown in at no extra cost. I wandered the central park, checked out the churches, and ambled on through the markets before slogging it down to the lakeside. Later at the hostel I ran back into my two Danish chickadees, bright-eyed & seemingly buzzed up from all the sporadic, senseless shopping they'd been ripping into. At once I was glad I'd done the gash-dash. I don't think I've ever seen two people accumulate so much shit over such a short period of time. What was worse, it took until late afternoon the next day to have it all sent back home across the Atlantic, while I sat patiently outside the post office, waiting around like the timid fool I was for this prophesied mish to the coast, which was looking more & more as if it would never eventuate. Would the golden gods, just this one time - "please, please answer my prayers..."

It's true, somehow we did make it out of that place; but where the fuck was my head at?? Had it lost its way alone somewhere back in Guatemala?? Or did I take one to many oranges to the head? I wasn't acting myself. Ever since Mexico, I'd been hearing whispers about this hostel in San Juan del Sur called the Naked Tiger, apparently a place so cool that travellers had been known to divert their entire trips solely to hang out at this place. On first impressions it's hard to dismiss their reasoning. Perched high in the hills overlooking the entire town & rugged surrounding coastline, this 'hostel' feels more like your best mates place - or what would happen if your best mate owned a mansion, let everyone move in & run a muck, then let the wild & wackness of the drunken imagination create the ultimate house-party paradise. Its hard to say no to a free beer on arrival. It sure sucked me in and got me a little too excited, and it now seemed as though not much surfing was to be had in this town after all.

Boris @ The Naked Tiger, San Juan del Sur

Friday night was party night!! Actually, every night at the Naked Tiger was party night. I had to give that, if anything to the owners - I have no idea how they sustain themselves or stay motivated; they live one hell of a destructive lifestyle in that place. After way too many pre-dusk schnapps, we still felt it was a great idea (isn't it always) to make the late journey into town. The hostels shuttle dropped us off & we got boot scootin'. The Iguana Bar was pumping!! I vaguely remember meeting up with the two Israeli girls & Boris, who I hadn't seen since the Corn Islands, and at one point it looked like the whole second floor was about to cave in from the collective mass of party-goers leaping about in all kinds of revelling mannerisms - I was to become one of those statistics written about briefly in the side column of the world news. I can read the tiny headline now: "165 Killed in Nicaraguan Nightclub Disaster." Would anyone even be talking about it past dinner time?? I highly doubt it. Tut, tut people...

Of course AC/DC had to come on...and of course I was up on the table ranting & chanting 'TNT' in one giant, balls out rock-off with the rest of the club. Aussie pride?!? Nuts, I had to take a piss, but the line was backed up along the wall five drunks deep! Man, it's a horrible feeling. I'm about to conceive this as a metaphor like finding yourself strung out on heroin - sometimes you've just gotta do what you've gotta do; and I couldn't have cared a less about the consequences of my actions. I had my hit, and what a hit it was. THE BEST! I pissed straight over the roof from the second floor down onto the street below...little did I realise in my drunken state that this also happened to be the same side of the building where the front door is...where bouncers wait in meat-head anticipation - to stop respectable young patrons such as myself having all means of fun. It was an accident, but a big one. No bouncer likes getting rained upon from above, especially when it comes out from some drunken white gringo wearing an 'Elmo lost his pigmentation' shirt.  I was fucked. I tried to blend, but they got me. Of course they got me!! They always do. In hindsight I came out of this situation pretty well. They grabbed me violently, almost ripping poor Elmo in two & chucked me out onto the street. No more Iguana Bar for me tonight. Haha! I did try to walk back in though. It really is just a matter of time...

That is about as much as I remember first hand. Apparently from here I managed to run into someone else heading back up to the hostel, and they dragged me back to where the last shuttle was leaving. Clambering aboard, I was in the jolliest of moods, sitting precariously up on top of the trucks racks, dangling like a spider. I hadn't been able to do that sober earlier in the day. I was superman.

The next day sucked. Not so super now. I spent the day rotting on the couch, slamming BLT's & floating upside down in the pool trying to kill myself. This was the point when I realised the craziness had to stop. All is well and good when you start out on a trip - I mean before I left I was in the best shape of my life, so I had a buffer to mess with; but months have now passed and I haven't exactly been one outstanding representation of sustainable living. The next day I took off. I got out of that death trap - scribbled my farewells on the wall & made a pact with the resourcefulness of my mind. "I will protect you." What should I do?? I'll a climb volcano on the largest freshwater island in the world! Booyah!! Bring it on.

I made my way to Isla de Ometepe along with three Quebecan lads I'd met in San Juan. We could see the twin volcanic cones rising sharply up out from the encompassing waters as we sat around sucking mangoes on the beach, waiting for our boat ride. As we approached the island, the enormous, symmetrical massif of Volcán Concepción became intimidatingly apparent. It was definitely 'in your face', and dominated the scenery from every angle. After a few games of pool using a broom handle & two 8 balls, we crashed out for the night on the floor. I was woken early to an evacuation siren blaring about, having me think the volcano was exploding! I'd had a similar late night freak out once before in New Zealand, when I thought an earthquake was bringing down the town around me. It turned out to be no more than a late night arrival hopping up into the top bunk. Again this time, another false reason for panic, the 'siren' was simply the alternate alarm option on Dom's phone to make sure we woke up - the other 'bird call' option had failed to snap these blokes to attention on previous occasions, ever engulfed in the strange surroundings of animal clad jungle. Now awake, it was time to do things! We munched upon some tuna sandwiches and began our hike up the hill. Unfit or not, I don't know; either way it was a constant, sweaty climb! By the time we reached the centre crater lake I was dripping like a tap, the humidity was engrossing. But at least I'd been moving, and I felt better than I had in weeks! What more, the views across Ometepe were mesmerising. I love being in the mountains.

Sunset on Isla de Ometepe

So never fear, I'm not actually depressed. Things are always bound to go up & down, round & round, it's just a matter of how you handle the ride. Now I've got all that out of my system, I'm even feeling a lot less agitated about all this fucking waiting around. There has actually been some pretty funny shit going down behind all the chaos. Looking out across the river once again has me brimmed with a new excitement. Nicaragua has been a whirlwind; a combination of extreme highs and lows, but I'm about to cross into Costa Rica for Christs sake. How could I be pissed off?? Sure beats making teeth!!

Ciao, ciao chicos!!
Much love from this PocketRocket!!
xxxx