Into the Nicaraguan Wilds

Today I pack my life in Granada up and move on to Esteli, a cooler mountain destination near coffee plantations and famous for it's fine cigars. Goodbye, fair Granada, with all your hot dog stands and colorful houses. Goodbye, Goodbye, fair Lake Nicaragua, and Mombacho Volcano. All the best.

Glue Sniffers Offering Joints to Girls in Wet T-Shirts

I'm guessing that title will rack up the greatest number of hits in the travelogue's history.
I took a weekend trip to Volcan Masaya, an active volcano. It's pretty cool as you can walk right up to a massive, smoking crater which native people once chucked human sacrifices into to appease the spirit residing inside. There was a small eruption in 2002, sending smoldering boulders 500m into the air and crashing down in the parking lot, damaging cars and narrowly missing people. Neat!


Instead of heading straight back to Granada, I decided to spend the weekend enjoying the fresh-ish waters of Laguna da Apoyo, a wonderful swimming spot nearby. There, I dived, swam, and floated my way to total relaxation. Saturday evening was spent learning Swedish drinking games supplemented by hearts and rum.


Oh yeah, and apparently there were some bad local guys hanging out on the diving platform sniffing glue and offering joints, which I didn't see, but upset some of the other guests. The glue sniffing part, not the joints. Though who really wants to smoke joints with dudes who are sniffing glue? Obviously there would have been some girls around in wet t-shirts too, since it's right on the lake's edge.

Nicaragua, the First Week

¡Hola Amigos!

I'm currently in the former Spanish colonial town of Granada, Nicaragua, studying in a Spanish language school while re-adapting to the mosquitoes and humidity of the tropics. Granada's quite touristy, and I may have to move somewhere with fewer gringos to get a true feel for the country. It's not a bad place to adjust to Latin America though, a kind of halfway house, before entering the untamed wilds of the real Nicaragua.

Classes are going fine, and in a week we've pretty much covered, and gone beyond, all that I learned in two years in high school. Thanks, Mrs. Wagner (if that is your real name)!

I'm staying with a family to get the true immersion experience, though my conversations with them have been pretty limited. Mostly I talk to the Dad, Julio, who hates Daniel Ortega. I can't work out how he, or any other family member, makes a living, but they're friendly enough. They seem to be a typical Nicaraguan family of modest means.

Weird things I've noticed so far:
1. On the television news, they always play these strange beeping noises in the background. I guess it's meant to give the news a sense of urgency. The whole TV news thing is pretty low budget... During the weather report they just zoomed a camera onto a computer screen to show the day's satellite weather movements.

2. Las Bombas. Starting at 4 AM, one can hear loud bangs going off. At first I thought they were gunshots, then I figured it must be backfiring cars, but finally I asked and found out they are celebratory firecrackers. I still can't figure out exactly what they're meant to celebrate (saints, holidays, ???) but they go off pretty regularly throughout the day, every day. They're quite loud but the Nicaraguans don't even seem to hear them.

I'm taking a weekend trip to Masaya Volcano and Laguna de Apoyo.

Hasta Luego.

Out of Asia

Well folks, after reflecting on my many travels throughout Asia over the past 5 years I though it might do me well to expand my horizons and see what another corner of the world is like. This line of thought brought me to Nicaragua, where I've been for 24 hours. You'll have to excuse the lack of photographs in this post as I'm slowly but surely working up the courage to whip $1000 worth of equipment out into the open.

The first story I heard upon arrival in my Managua hostel (Managua Backpackers Inn, highly recommended, run by the delightful and helpful David) last night was one from a pair of American girls who had been held up at knife point in a car whom they were talked into sharing with some friendly ladies expounding on the benefits of shared taxi over buses. What these kindly ladies didn't mention was that they were in cahoots with the drivers, and after a few clever moves to put the gringas at ease, such as filling up on petrol and driving in the direction they were ostensibly traveling, knives were pulled and the girls were informed, in a pretty civilized way it seems, that this was in fact a robbery and they'd be taking the girls' cash and ATM cards, as well as their PIN numbers. The thieves proceeded to the ATM machine to withdraw the cash, with the girls still in custody, and only after the cash had been withdrawn did they let the girls go, assuring them that if they walked straight "we'll throw your backpacks out of the car as we drive away" which, as you might have guessed by now, they didn't.

The girls seemed admirably unfazed by the experience, considering they had lost everything but the clothes on their backs. Oh, also the perpetrators allowed them to keep their passports and enough local cash to get them to a hotel. How thoughtful.

As a result of this rather chilling tale I've started my time here in full alert mode, highly suspicious of those just-a-little-too-friendly strangers, which is probably a good thing and I'm doing my best not to allow that to interfere with experiencing to the fullest this beautiful country and it's people, the vast majority of whom are the loveliest of folks.

Tomorrow I start Spanish language school here in Granada, which I'm pretty chuffed about.

The Greatest Water Fight in the World

In the middle of April, the hottest month in this part of the world, the people of Myanmar, Thailand, Cambodia and Laos celebrate the local New Year with a massive countrywide water festival, called Thingyan here, and Songkran in Thailand. I spent the holiday in Mandalay, Myanmar, where it's celebrated with an added vigor. Some locals liken it to "four days of democracy", a very special thing in a country normally kept under tight wraps by a military junta. Four days of anarchy might be a better description, but who's splitting hairs?

Participating countries celebrate the festival with local twists, but simply put, it's a celebration of water and a chance to make a fresh start in the new year, and wash away all of the worries, anxieties, and problems of the preceding one. Though it has it's roots in Hindu tradition, it has devolved in modern times to the simple pleasure of being wet in the insane heat that is the Southeast Asian summer.

Anyone venturing beyond their front door during the four days of the festival will be surely and completely soaked from head to toe, no question about it. In the baking month of April this comes as a relief to most, as long as the necessary defence of plastic has been carefully wrapped around any money, mobile phones, and anything else of value. Children form street posses of water warriors with a singular mission: to drench any living thing that passes by their post. Adults get in on the fun too, by packing into pick-up trucks modified to accommodate dozens of standing, screaming revelers, and driving around the streets whooping and throwing ice cold water on those they pass.


On the sides of roads are great raised stages armed with dozens of hoses, known as pandals, from which those lucky enough to have a spot can spray anyone passing beneath. Teenagers dance beneath furiously in the monsoon atmosphere to Thingyan songs, fueled by local whiskey, rum, beer and worst (and cheapest) of all, gut wrenching rice liquor.


By midday, the streets of Mandalay are hopelessly flooded, with motorbikes and rust bucket trucks, engines flooded, grind to a halt in the newly formed lakes. Add booze, vehicles loaded to the brim, and blinding amounts of water and what do you get? An emergency services nightmare in a country without any emergency services to speak of. But for the lucky, the party goes on until nightfall, when the water throwing (mostly) stops.

Foreigners, far from being exempt, are prized targets in the melee, and many locals are keen to practice their English as they attack: "This Myanmar water festival!" (oh really?) or "Are you happy?" (I was until you nearly knocked my eye out of it's socket with that fire hose). But alas, as so often in Asia, my witty replies are wasted.


It's no wonder that many, having grown up with this most racous of festivals, choose to enter one of the many meditation centers in the country. After all, insight meditation could well rival water fights for those seeking cleansing of the soul.

I can't help but think of Children's Day, celebrated with candies or some such thing in some other countries. If those children knew the what wonders wait in store for the children of Myanmar every April, they would surely renounce their citizenships and be on the first plane to this impoverished country, children being children.


Did I enjoy it? My favorite water festival is still the first I experienced in Laos 5 years ago, where the festival felt a little more tame and traditional - and a little less warlike. Four days is maybe excessive (in Thailand it's three), but I'll always have fond memories of this utterly insane festival that makes my own country's biggest holidays look like a staid evening at the opera.


For more photos from the festival, click the flickr bar on the right.