Paradise Found

(Disclaimer; Sorry Mike, followers, I have to do it. I wrote this account on the beach and thus feel compelled to publish it, even though mike already summarized most of what i will say. just read one, his or mine, or read them both and put together the pieces. :))
Although it took us four days. Each day only adding on to the expectations crafted for the island we now find ourselves on. Thankfully, it lived up to them all.
We started on sunday in Leon, our new home away from home. the antigua of nicaragua if you will. the revolutionary, left leaning, artsy, university town that mike and i will call home for the next two months. we catch a bus to managua, nicaragua´s capitol. like all central american capitols, its big, intimidating, dirty and hurried. Managua, especially spread out after never really being rebuilt from the damage done by an earthquake in the early 70´s, was no exception.
we catch a bus to El Rama, the small port town up river from bluefields. bluefields is the town where the boat to the corn islands, are ultimate destination, leaves from. of course this town can only be reached by boat as well. i knew this, and thought that we could make it to el Rama, and catch the last boat to bluefields that same day. but the 7 hour bus ride to el rama was indeed 7 hours, and by the time we got there it was dark and rainy and even if boats left off schedule, we would not be fortunate enough to be offered this exception. we would have to stay the night. we ended up having beers and dinner with a couple from oregon at the kingston discoteca in el rama, and got our first taste of a corn island native by meeting a carribean from there who gave us the low down on the boat situation. the boat from bluefields to the corn islands didnt leave till wednesday, which is what our handy resource guide book told us, but we decided to disregard. it was only sunday, the boat didnt leave till wednesday, and our scottish freind from Leon, who flew, was already on the beach.
we woke up the next day and waited at the dock for several hours before catching the hour long boat ride to bluefields. we arrived, FOB, and were immediatly greeted by a friendly Garifunan eager to get his surcharge by showing us to the right hotel. at this point, indifferent, not naive, to the fact that we might pay an extra dollar just to be escorted to a hotel we could find on our own. mike and i have grown accustomed and quite effective at shaking off this middle man service, but this time we conceded. like our homeboy from livingston, guatemala´s equivelant of bluefields, Spicer was afro-carribean, rasta-like, here and there toothless and ultimatly a begger. unlike ´alex the great´ from livingston, Spicer didnt have marijuana tattoos scattered throughout his body, nor an immediate exposed reputation as a theif and often spoke about his family, ´job´ and his affinity for jesus. we accepted him as less shady, although i am not so sure he deserved this more benovelent impression. he talked about music; peace, love and then war. he told us about his days fighting as a Contra and the weapons he was offered as a little boy to kill the ´communists´. here mike and i were, fresh out of a FSLN museum in Leon, central americas revolutionary capitol, shooting the shit with an ex-contra. amazing.
we were able to shake of spicer eventually, but not before asking us for money. this was our first refusal of many, as we would spend the next two days actively fending off begger after hustler after mugger, gunning for the cash of the new white boys in town.
bluefields is a shit hole, never go there.
its´people is supposed to be its´ asset. the immense mix of ethnic groups; black creoles, meskitos, mestizos, brisith whites all share a common home. but the only piece of the diverse pie of people here we were approached by was crack addicts, prostitutes, drunks and street peddlars. we couldnt leave our place without being the only 2 fat cow gringos stuck in bluefields before the wednesday boat that needed to get cheated before then. every step we were grabbed, mobbed, begged and virtually assaulted. what little small talk i did make resulted in their eventual confession that he or she had originated from the islands. i thought, ´´great, is where we are going the source of these degenerates?´´ thankfully this is not the case, and little corn island is 100% void of its shaddy offspring. long story short, our 2 nights in bluefields we spent in nocturnal seclusion, playing cards on our porch, cursing ourselves for not flying.
the 5 hour boat ride to the islands was a mess. the cabin was like an eboli clinic. kids crying face down in their own vomit, parents arnt helping because they are sick and throwing up too. islanders get sea sick?
i couldnt take it, went outside and hung on to a railing for dear life as the boat battled wave after wave en route to the islands. mike stayed in the emergency room and later admitted that he too was paralyzed by the ominious power of sea induced nausea.
we got to big island not knowing if we were going to stay there or boat it to the small one. we caught a cab on the only road on the island, that circles it completely, to a hospedaje that apparantely offered camping for a nominal fee. the woman tried to charge us $10US to camp and we knew we could get a room for 15, so we hit the trail, prematurely searching for the paradise we were looking for, not knowing that it didnt exist on this island, but only on little corn. this woudnt be a problem if every half hour the sky wasnt dropping torrential down pour. but it was. we scurried on foot to various points of shelter at each commencement of rainfall, while looking for a cheap place to gather oursleves. when we did, we realized we had one more boat ride ahead of us, to little corn, the next morning.
we woke up on the big island, ran across the air field, reserved a flight back so we would never have to do the aforementioned voyage again in that fashion, and hopped on the 30 minute boat ride to little corn. sure enough, waiting at the dock with us, was the German speaking Swiss newylwed couple we had met on top of el tigre, at El Mirador. this excursion, mind you, was 60 km into the jungle, over a month ago, and almost 500 miles away in northern guatemala. here we are getting on the same boat with them on the carribean side of nicaragua. if its a small world, then this region is miniscule. i am telling you, the 6 degrees of seperation reduces to about 3 when you are traveling, as you constantly run into familiar faces all on the common trail.
Little corn island is shaped similar to another island floating along the atlantic, this much bigger, and yes, Palin proponents, actually a continent; Africa. you get dropped off at the dock on the SW side, at lets say Angola. we followed the signs to beach front hospedajes inland, and ended up on the other side, lets say Somalia. this entire east coast of the island holds beach front hotels with bungalos and cabanos literally opening their front doors to the crystal clear, calm and glistenig water. there are no cars on this island. the dock side, where the village is, has a school, a few tiendas and restaurants that compete for the cheapest lobster in town. our spot, is completely self sufficient, as it harnesses its power daily by wind turbines and solar panels. most of the island seems to operate like this as well.
on the north side, lets say Morrocco, some of the nicest places to stay are, with cabins on stilts, on soft grass fields, right before the white sand that leads to the beautiful turquiose water. most beaches are deserted and you can spend a whole day circling the island by beach or exploring the trails inland. right next to the baseball field, where little corn vs. big corn battled eachother on sunday (oh yea, baseball is big in nicaragua) is a lighthouse. it rises at least 10 meters into the air, and mike and i climbed its steep metal ascension to find the one true panoramic view of the island. breathtaking view for an enchanting place.

bring your bug spray