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| Soaking it up in front of our lagoon-side bar |
Story number two in the honeymoon anthology. For part one, where we defied fire and brimstone to the top of an active volcano, click on this link: Masaya Volcano Adventure
La Laguna de Apoyo y El Mirador de Catarina
"There's no denying it, the fried chicken that the one-armed lady at the bus station served me was the best chicken I've eaten in my entire life!"
--Melody--
Having walked more than fourteen miles - over 32,000 steps according to my Fitbit - on the first day of a honeymoon that I was solely responsible for planning, I felt it fair to plan a day of rest and relaxation for my loving and understanding, brand new wife. Though as a couple we're not keen to sit on a beach all day and read John Grisham novels while our delicately pasty skin boils to a nice lobster red, we don't go out of our way to eschew comfort when it's within our realm.
My plan was to spend the day at the Laguna de Apoyo, a wonderfully peaceful and - more important to our cause - clean swimming hole that rests at the feet of the Masaya and Mombacho volcanos. Having previously conquered the Masaya volcano, bodies aching as a result, it was fitting to heal our wounds by drinking beer and swimming in its glorious waters, beneath the clouds whose birthing process we witnessed the previous afternoon.
But before we could crack open the Toña's, we had to find our way there. Since public transport was our only option, and I was still readjusting my brain as to how much value a cordoba (Nica currency) offered, I decided to brave it to the bus terminal, which in any Central American town is the easiest option for getting anywhere.
Spread out over a large dirt field, vendors line approximately eighty-five percent of the terminal's perimeter, with (mostly) ladies hawking a diverse array of basically anything you could ever need. Staples like fruits and vegetables were stacked high in large baskets on the ground and smaller baskets worn like hats, sold throughout the terminal wherever the vendors wandered, even going so far as to board the buses.
Food and drinks were aplenty, with women and children offering bags of peanuts, chips, baked treats, and candy from the masses of packets that hung from their bodies, while others sold bags - yes bags! - of water, soda and juice from inside buckets or bags they carted around. In Latin America, the snacks come to you!
From there, the goods offered explode into an array of items unimaginable in any mobile and public setting: hammocks, belts, sunglasses, pirated CD's and movies, vitamins, cacao powder, flashlights, you get the idea. There's always the chance, though extremely remote, that a totally random item will fall into your lap at just the right time. Like the time that I answered a knock at my door in San Carlos the day I planned to go into town to buy a mattress...and some guy was there selling mattresses.
It's tough work, and I've often wondered just how fruitful it can be, but this sales approach remains a constant in almost all towns throughout Nicaragua. While in San Carlos I befriended kids who sold tortillas and shined shoes for their family, as well as adults who operated in this sort of sales trade, and I cannot say that it's easy work. But they do it for their family, and typically the kids sell during the morning or afternoon when they're not in school, and at a young age they learn the lesson of just how important it is to help the family in any way possible. It makes my high-school job at Treescapes Lawn and Garden Center look like at Wall Street gig, though.
We arrived in the dirty, dusty and distastefully smelly terminal with forty five minutes to spare before the bus headed out. In search of breakfast, we navigated the dense crowds and dogs picking through seemingly random piles of garbage. In Nicaragua, when you're traveling with me, breakfast often means fried chicken and tajadas (thinly sliced and deliciously fried plantains). We found a lady selling this out of a basket, and before Melody could object I ordered two meals.
As she searched her fried chicken cemetery of a basket in search of our meal, I didn't realize until she was tying the plastic bag - all bus terminal meals are served in plastic bags, by the way - that her hand was not fully formed, because on one arm she had a nub that ended roughly at her mid-forearm. This did not have a particularly strong impact on me at the time, as I even went on to order a bag of triangularly shaped sweet bread from her; however, when Melody and I rehashed the situation back on the bus, I had to question just how good of a new husband I was.
Because here is how this story plays out to a third party observer...
It was 9:30 am on the second day of our honeymoon, and I had already taken my new wife on a 14 mile hike, slept under a mosquito net with the bedroom fan (along with all power in the house) cut off, we walked two more miles in the morning, had sweated through our clothes by 8:30 am (and Melody is NOT a morning person), took a cab to a stinking, dirty bus station, bought super-fried chicken that was handled by a one-armed lady and sat down to dine in the romantic confines of a hot, child-filled 1970's era school bus to eat our breakfast.
Melody is such a trooper, but I knew that we had to make it to the lagoon for this day - and this trip - to be a success.
And sure enough, the bus took us all the way down to the bottom of the lagoon where we departed, trashed our chicken bones and took a breath of that sweet near-water air. From the moment we stepped off of the bus, I knew that this experience would make up for any previous discomfort. That line from Dumb and Dumber popped into my mind: "Harry, just when I thought you couldn't possibly be any dumber, you go and do something like this...and totally redeem yourself!"
A quick scan told me that any bar within eyeshot would suffice, so we walked to the closest one, and after some discussion, took a large plastic table and some chairs down to lagoon level (like sea level, right?). Having breakfasted on fried chicken and now seated at a sandy bar, we felt it appropriate to order a pair of Toña's and toast the occasion.
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| Two beers to represent the two volcanos surrounding the lagoon: Masaya and Mombacho |
We saw a group of weirdly rowdy young Nica's to our far left and no one to our right - the lagoon was ours for the taking. A few sips in, I couldn't resist temptation anymore, so I de-shirted and ran into the clear waters, Melody following shortly after.
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| Melody toasting me from our peaceful bungalow |
The sand at the Laguna de Apoyo is dark and extremely fine, the result of centuries of volcanic activity. (I'm sure there's a much more scientific explanation for this, so ask Melody - she probably knows). Though the view from our lower-level outdoor beachside bar hangout was tremendous, the 360 degree panoramic from the water was Eric Clapton song-worthy.
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| Pano from our spot |
Lush rainforest wraps around long stretches of the lagoon's circumference, looking piercingly green and vibrant, as if a T-Rex attack was imminent (this is meant to invoke the beautiful scenery from Jurassic Park, not to scare you, the reader). Volcanos angle out of the water towards the clouds that fill the sky's canvas. The sheer amount of blue blues and green greens is mesmerizing, and made my brain question my eyes as to whether or not they were sending accurate information.
We swam through the clear, perfectly temperate water - cool enough to be refreshing, but warm to the point where we never had goosebumps. Hours passed as we swam, and hydrated with beers, which contained what I can only imagine is a normal, small, amount of water.
When it came time to eat, we continued the downward spiral into Nicaraguan deliciousness, finding Melody another new "top-three" item: Vigoron. The Nica way of serving the yucca root, vigoron consists of cooked yucca in some sort of vinegar sauce, served atop tajadas (remember those...thinly sliced, fried plantains) with a cabbage and tomato salad and chicharonnes (fried pork fat) as a garnish. This dish is particularly great for us; we both love it, but for different reasons. I'm perfectly fine with some yucca and the chicharonnes, while Melody craves the yucca, tajadas and salad.
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| Finally able to relax on her honeymoon |
Oh, and together we also consumed a massive bowl of beans. Because that's how you do it! And a plate of government-fried cheese. Because, oddly enough, that's also how you do it.
For four or so hours, we had our "Sandals" moment. It felt amazing to sway weightlessly in the crater's belly with a better-than-Bob-Ross painting hung on every inch of nature's wall.
It would have been extremely difficult to climb the volcano the day after such a peaceful and romantic excursion. As Melody knows, I'm not one for gifting flowers, so I have to make up for it in unique ways. But seriously, how many women can say their men have booked them a reservation at a bar at the base of a volcano, next to a crater, for a day of swimming in see-through water? And in the middle of the rainforest, to boot. Take that, Capital Grill at 8pm on Saturday night!
Eventually we packed up our belongings and headed back up (in a super-expensive cab) the lagoon, to finish the evening and watch the sun set at El Mirador de Catarina, which translates to The Catarina (a town) Lookout (a visual scenic point).
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| Looking dramatically at the dramatic sunset |
Catarina is situated close to my Peace Corps training town of Niquinohomo, which other than being the Nica town in which I miscommunicated almost everything due to my poor spanish skills circa 2004, is more notably recognized as the hometown of Augusto C. Sandino, who fought off U.S. Marines in the 1920's, and was posthumously chosen as the political symbol and namesake for the Sandinista movement.
The Mirador is a slightly touristy lookout spot that attracts mostly curious Nicaraguans, but has also increased in popularity as a destination for Americans and Europeans alike. The view is stunning.. - basically it's the same scenery from the lagoon, but from a higher vantage point.
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| Mirador Lookout, just before sunset. Probably not important, but a Canadian woman took this picture. |
Women sell artisinal crafts - bowls, hammocks, vases, necklaces, bracelets...trinkets - to tourists who sit on the concrete benches taking in the intimidatingly beautiful landscape. I could unsuccessfully to describe it, but you're best served to look below. Boom!
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| Lookout point from El Mirador de Catarina. Not taken by the Canadian woman. |
This place has it all: A quaintly fenced-off rainforest walking path around town; vibrant green rolling hills; the clear water of the crater's lagoon; volcanos in the distance; and a beautiful cloud bonnet tying everything together.
We sat for half an hour before ordering coffee's at a restaurant. We spent some time debriefing what had been a long and interesting day of ups (lagoon-side beers) and downs (sweaty clothes at 9am), while packs of stray dogs searched for scraps around us. As the sun set, the sky changed from blue and yellow, to orange, then pink and finally a deep, dark purple before fading to black. I was conflicted, torn between simply taking in this natural beauty, and wanting nothing more than to capture it with my camera, to share later on. So I tried to do both.
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| This happened! |
Melody eventually ordered Jalapeño Steak - anything with Jalapeño sauce was now our new favorite meal, just three days in - and I went with pork ribs. We incited a stray-dog riot by surreptitiously chucking our bones and scraps below us. This wouldn't have been an important detail, but after the meal, when the sky and our surroundings were now pitch-black and we were standing on one of the stone benches getting all huggy, this same skin-and-bones group of dogs shot out of nowhere, barking violently, chasing each other. Though it probably didn't happen, I had the distinct impression that one brushed against my leg.
The final word of Romantic Sunset chapter was written.
This day proved to be a great recuperation from the effort expended on the Masaya volcano. Though still hurting, sore and a bit tight, we were better off for it. With the sun setting at approximately 5:30, we were at home and ready for sleep much sooner than one should expect while on vacation. But when you start the day with fried chicken for breakfast, you shouldn't really set any expectations for how it will end.
Below are some of our faves from this great day:
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| Great shot of my trusty Atlanta Braves vacation hat |
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| This is the Nica version of "shenanigans" |
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| This proves there's no Nica crevasse too remote for selling treats out of a basket on your head |
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| Goofing off... |
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| Melody fighting boredom |
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| More goofing off |
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| You can already see in this picture just how sun-burnt my neck is. The following day, and straight through to the end of the two week trip, my neck and nose remained painfully, comically burnt. Melody looks cute in this pic though... |
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| A tiny, ponytailed dot among the rippled water |
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| I thought setting up this coffee shot would be cool...but in hindsight it is not. But I made Melody pose, so best to share it... |
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| This shot almost broke my camera lens with it's complex assortment of vibrant colors |
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| The "stitching" on this was not great, but holy crap, is it beautiful! |
