Doug's South America Excursion

Jinotega is known for its cathedral, supposedly one of the most beautiful in Central America, and noticably large for such a small town (population 14000). The outside itself is nothing exceptional, but inside it has much beautiful art, statues and intricate architectural details. Unfortunately, I arrived on a Sunday morning when services were going on and I could only look at the splendor from the entrance at the rear of the church. I was only going to be spenfing an hour or two in town, before returning through Matagalpa and on to Leon.

The formwr jail during the Somoza regime, located on the south side of the plaza, was now a youth center and discoteque. The front walls were decorated with two large murals, one showing coffee pickers with rifles on their backs, the other showing children at war.

While taking pictures of the murals, a man sitting nearby with his wife and ki and another man struck up a conversation with me about the town, the church and the murals. When I mentioned that I knew the building had formerly been Somozas jail, that really pleased him that I knew that. I didn't tell him I had just read that in my guidebook. Several times during this trip when I described to a local, my guidebook, bought in the US, which described things about all the Central American countries, they expressed something akin to increduality. As i was leaving he asked me to take a photo of him and his kkid, sitting there on the park bench. His wife must have been more camera shy, as she shuffled off to the side before I could take the photo.

In the center of the plaza itself was monument to Carlos Fonseca, the father of the Sandinista revolution with a quote from him which says, paraphrasing, "It is not enough to remove those in power, but we must also change the system..."

While having a soda in the plaza I was approached by several shoeshine boys asking if I wanted my boots shined. This is a common occurance when I'm walking around with my heavy black leather motorcycle boots on and they could clearly use something to improve their appearance after 3 months on the road. I give my usual answer in my lousy Spanish, "No es necesario. Son para mi moto y manana mas sucio." They smile, maybe try to convince me I should have them shined anyways, and eventually wander off in search of another customer.

Back at the bike, as I was getting ready to leave, I strike up a conversation with a noy in his late teens who was watching me. Eventually the conversation turns to the bike and its size, and he says that you need to be tall to ride this bike. What a setup line! I promptly say "No, un momento", and dig into my bag for the photos I carry with me. I first show them the photo of Noemi and standing together with the top of her head coming up to my chin, saying "Es mi novia". Then I show them the the photo of Noemi sitting on my black and yellow R100GS-PD in her black leather jacket and say "Ella tiene motos tambien." By this time about 8 other people, including a couple in their 30s or 40s had gathered round and the photos made the rounds. The photo of Noemi never fails to illicit comments, big smiles and laughs, especially from the women. They see there are a couple more photos and want to see them to. They are of my family and another of Noemi.

Then the original boy I was talking with hands me a small 1"x2" laminated card. On one side is a picture of a little angel and on the other side is a prayer in Spanish asking for Gods protection and guidance. I read it and begin to hand it back to him but he indicates that I should keep it. I thank him, and in turn offer him a BMWMOA (that's the BMW Motorcycle Owners of America for those uninformed masses who may be reading this) sticker. Now, an angel for a motorcycle sticker, I'm not sure who got the better end of the deal, but he seemed happy with the outcome. The crowd could translate everything except "Owners", and I had to dig out my dictionary to give them the translation: duenos. Now I'm not a particularly religious or superstitious person, but I figured it can't hurt, so I tucked the little angel in my wallet.

On the ride back towards Matagalpa, it begins to rain, so I pull over to put on my Aerostich pants. A man riding the other direction on a Yamaha 125 stops and walks back to where I was. He just wanted to look at the bike and find out where I was from. The majority of time, if someone ventures a guess as to where I'm from, they guess Germany. We chatted for about 10 minutes, then said our "Mucho gustos" and headed our seperate ways.

I retraced my route back to the Pan-American Highway, and headed back north for several miles until I picked up the turnoff southwest towards Leon, Nicaragua's 2nd largest city. Leon lies in the fertile agricultural lowlands and as I proceeded southwest I could feel the heat and humidity increasing.

On the way I stopped at a small comedor for lunch. The comida corriente (typical meal of local food and usually the cheapest item on the menu) was fried chicken, gallo pinto, salad, cheese and tortillas. Price was C9 (about US$1) plus drink. A poster of Kathy Ireland in a bathing suit adorned the dining area. I just love to see the finer aspects of American culture making inroads here in Central America.

I arrived in Leon about 3pm and the first hotel, Hotel America, with a room with a private bath for C70 (US$8.25), was not motorcycle-accessable so I prceeded on to my next choice, Hotel Europa, a little farther from the town plaza. They had an interior courtyard, part of which was devoted to parking, the other part having numerous plants, tables and chairs. A room with fan and shared bath was C60 (US$7) and I took one. This place also had rooms with private bath and fan for C100, and rooms with air-conditioning for I didn't ask how much. It also has a rerstaurant and small bar on site. It's actually supposed to be one of Leon's nicer hotels. The guidebooks had indicated that Leon didn't have a lot of lodging geared to the budget traveller, and that the next step down was in fact a dive, both figuratively and literally.

Outside the big cities, one can live incredibly cheap if one wants to. Even with the inflated prices of Leon, today cost only about US$18. Yesterday in Matagalpa cost about US$13, and that was with splurging for breakfast and lunch, not ordering the plato typico, and not staying in the cheapest dives.

I walked the seven blocks to the plaza and along the way a parade passed by in the street. I'm not sure what the occasion was. Many people were in costumes, including ghosts, devils, batman, and others. A marching band brought up the rear, proceeded by cheerleaders and baton twirlers in skimpy white outfits.

By the time I made it to the plaza it had started to rain, so I grabbed a table under an awning at a plaza-side cafe and had dinner. The comida corriente here was C44, for about the same things I had at lunch, plus fried plantanos. Inflated city prices.

During dinner it began to dump rain, the heaviest of the trip I believe. The rain was bouncing off the streets and sidewalks, and, if Leon has a storm sewer system, it couldn't keep up as the street autfront began to fill with water. A drunk stumbled in out of the rain, drenched and hovers over the family at the table behind me. They get up and move inside. Then he stumbles over to my table and is tottering, seemingly about ready to fall onto my table. Fortunately by this time I had finished dinner and only had my drink left, so I picked up my stuff and moved inside. The drunk follows me in but sees the other family and goes over to them. The lady has had it by this time and violently shoves him towards the door, but he is persistent and returns. By this time the proprietor, a lady sees what is going on and comes out carrying a 3 foot long metal pipe, banging it on the tile floor as she approaches. This doesn't deter the drunk and he persists in leaning over the chairs and table. The lady diner then grabs the pipe from the proprietor and starts poking the drunk in the chest and waving it at his face. I thought she was going to take a swing at him. This deters him for a couple of minutes but soon he is back. Finally the man takes the pipe and using it as a cattle prod, drives the drunk back out into the street and the rain. The drunk finally got the point and left.

The rain simply would not let up. I hung around for almost two hours but there was no letup. By this time it was thundering and lightening, and the lightening lit up the trees in the plaza and the cathedral's spires. When the restaurant finally closed about 8pm, I decided to take a taxi back to my hotel, but everyone else in the city had the same idea, as taxi after taxi drove by full. Several others outside the restaurant were also waiting for taxis. Finally about a half hour later I get a ride in a taxi with 4 others. The fare was C8 back to my hotel.

Monday November 18 (59088 odo)

Leon still is very liberal, and many of the founders of the Sandinista movement studied in the University here. The presence of the University and its students makes aleon a very vibrant city. During the revolution, virtually the entire town fought against the Somoza regime and the city was the site of fierce street battles between the Sandinistas and Somozas National Guard. Somoza even had the city bombed. Many murals throughout the city attest to this period in Nicaraguas history and the many town people who lost their lives.

Leon's cathedral, occupying an entire city block just east of the main plaza, is the largest in Central America. The inside is immaculate and spectacular, containing a huge gold-leaf altar and numerous beautiful paintings showing various scenes in Jesus' life. Many famous Nicaraguans are buried inside, including Ruben Dario, the famous poet and Leon's favorite son. A life-size statue of a sorrowful lion sits atop his tomb and a statue of Saint Paul watches over it. Construction of the cathedral took over 100 years beginning in 1746. Leon has many other churches and cathedrals of which I visited a handful.

The Museo Ruben Dario, located in the house where the poet grew up, was closed Mondays, so hopefully I can see it tomorrow before leaving Leon. The Galeria de Heros y Matires displays photos of Leons residents who died fighting for the FSLN during the 1978-79 revolution and a map showing how the fighting developed around Leon. I counted more than 300 photos.

Nearby, commemorated by a plaque on it's outside wall, is the house where Anastasio Somoza Garcia, father of dictator Anastasio Somoza Debayle, was assasinated by poet Rigoberto Lopez Perez on September 21, 1956. Lopez Perez was killed on the spot and became a national hero. The plaque reads in part that his action marked the "beginning of the end" of the Somoza dictatorship.

Large murals devoted to the revolution are everywhere. One mural, a backdrop to a basketball court full of guys shooting hoops, depicts an army helmet labelled "CIA" with a large two-headed, red, white, and blue snake emerging from it and blood dripping from the snake's fangs.

Fittingly, throughout Leon, especially in the main plaza, there are numerous statues of lions. Leon is probably on of my favorite large cities so far. It really doesn't feel like a large city, many streets are paved with cobblestones, or paving stones, and the people are friendly. Several times while walking through the streets people would stop me just to talk. And the colonial architecture is beautiful.

Had a huge plate of chop suey at the Hong Kong Rrestaurant for C15 (US$1.75). I forgot the guidebooks advice to order it "sin salsa" and it arrived with a huge dollup of ketchup and mustard in the middle. Other than that it was great. They were playing various pop love songs, some in English, others in Spanish to American tunes which I recognized. It kind of depressed me, but in a reflective, positive sort of way. It was nice hearing those song and thinking of Noemi, but sad because of the uncertainty in our situation.

While having a coke in the plaza, later in the afternoon I ran into the 2 Danish women who are also staying at Hotel Europa. They are both studying political science and have been travelling solely in Nicaragua for 2 months now. A very appropriate foe a political science major to travel. They suggested not even stopping in Managua, that there was not much to see and it was one of their least favorite cities. I had heard the same from several other travellers and am probably going to skip it as well. After they left, Henry, travelling solo from Germany, asked if he could join me at my table. He hadn't heard about the Panama-Columbia Ferry so I was able to give him some information and phone numbers regarding it.

It rained several times during the day and fairly heavily again this evening. I wonder if the clothes I had washed today will be dry tomorrow when I'm ready to leave?

Tuesday November 19 (59088 odo)

Up until Leon I had been able to use my Honduras map, but now I was off that map, and I was a bit surprised to find that I didn't have a map specifically of Nicaragua. I was relegated to using a map of Central America which was at such a scale to be fairly useless except for gross navigation. I wasn't planning to stop in Managua, but was headed to Masaya, southeast of the capital. Fortunately there was a perifico, a route which encircled the downtown part of Managua, and it was well marked, so getting to the other side of Managua was painless.

4 miles northwest of Masaya is Nicaragua's only national park, Volcan Masaya National Park. As I approached from Managua, the sky ahead was dark gray, and it began sprinkling. The lady at the entrance booth said the gasses may stop but it was unpredictable, that it had been venting all day. It turned out that a good portion of the "clouds I saw were in fact clouds of gasses being vented by the volcano! I paid the C20 entry fee and began the ride to the top. There is a paved road which goes all the way to the top, literally to the edge of the actively venting crater. The summit actually has about four craters, two of them being concentric. Only one crater is active at this time and it just vents large billowing clouds of white-gray, sulphur-smelling smoke. Huge clouds would billow up from the crater such that you really couldn't see down into the crater to judge how deep it was. There was a strong wind blowing from the southwest and it carried the smoke down the northeast slopes, over the highway and towards Lake Nicaragua. As I approached the summit I had to pass through the foul-smelling clouds several times, and when they obscured the sun they created a glowing orange fireball. There was a peak towering above the crater, but the clouds of steam billowing out of the crater were so thick that only occasionally would you catch a glimpse of the summit and the cross erected there. Supposedly the Spanish first erected a cross there because they believed the volcano was an entrance to hell, inhabited by devils. The road actually encircled the active crater, passing between it and the San Feernando crater which has been inactive for more than 200 years and whose slopes are now forested,however that part of the road was closed because it was in poor repair. I hiked to the rim of the San Fernando crater for a spectacular view back down to the venting crater and a view down inside the San Fernando crater. It is more 650m wide and 200m deep. Unfortunately the heavy clouds of steam, blowing down the slopes to the northeast prevented me from seeing the splendid vistas of Lake Masaya and Lake Nicaragua and Grenada. As I rode down, I again had to pass through the clouds of steam/smoke which were heavier and more foul smelling than on the way up. It also began to rain. Up on the top it has been clear and sunny. The volcano and its steam were ceating their own weather.

I planned to stay in a cheap hospedaje in the nearby village of Masaya, on Lake Masaya opposite the Volcano Masaya, however there was no way to get my motorcycle inside. The proprietor, an elderly gentleman graciously gave me directions to another hotel, out on the main highway, he said had parking for my bike. When I got back out to my bike, it was surrounded by a crowd of school boys and girls, dressed in their blue and white uniforms. The girls asked if I could sing and dance and I said yes, but badly.

Back out on the main highway, heading towards the other hotel, I passed two bikes, obviously travelers not locals, going the other way. Such occurances are so rare that you always pull over and check your mirror to see if they are stopping. They did the same thing and we both turned around, meeting halfway and pulling over to the side of the road.

They were German, Stephan riding a Honda V45 Sabre (like the one '92 I used to own and totaled) and Mike riding a 20 year old Kawasaki 400. They had bought them in San Francisco, CA and had left there at the end of August, several weeks after me. They had just crossed the Honduran/Nicaraguan border this morning and were blasting through in 2 days, stopping in Grenada tonight. After talking for a half hour, they headed south to Granada and I headed up the street to find my hotel. However when I got there I found that it was very expensive at C150 (US$17), something I should have expected since hotels right on the highway are usually more expensive than those in the towns themselves. So I remounted the bike and headed to Granada, where I again ran into Stephan and Mike out front of the same hotel I was headed for.

A room with fan and shared bath was C25 plus C5 for parking the motorcycle inside in the courtyard. Later we walked across the street to a small comedor, where the meal was cooked outfront on tables set up on the sidewalk. The comida corrienta was a huge plate of barbequed chicken, gallo pinto, salad, and banana chips, for C14. Stephan was a industrial mechanic, while Mike was in school studying literature and geography. They also planned to blast through Costa Rica because of how expensive it is.

Wednesday November 20

Markus, a Swiss guy staying also at the Hospedaje Vargas for over a week now, took us over to the market where there were several cheap comedors to choose from. We walked through aisle after of aisle of produce, hanging meats, and ordinary household products, to a dark, smokefilled building housing the eateries. Smoke from the cooking fires filled the upper reaches of the room and over the years had turned the walls and ceilings black. We settled on one that was serving pollo (chicken) that morning and had a large plate of chicken, gallo pinto, salad and fried cheese for C10. Yes, that's what I had for dinner last night as well, but it's good food, filling and cheap. In fact this morning I couldn't finish all the rice and tortillas, and when a young boy saw I was finished, asked if he could have the leftovers. Only when I said yes, did he come over and, while standing there, finish the food off my plate. Then he turned to me and said "Muchos gracias".

Markus had been riding a '91 XR600R, but ran out of money and had to sell it for US$600. He was going to be going back to Switzerland, via the States, in several weeks.

After breakfast, Stephan and Mike loaded their bikes and headed south to the border. I went and got a haircut. Ronaldo, the young guy who helped run the hospedaje, recommended a barbershop just off the plaza which he said charged C10. With the aid of the haircutting terminology cheatsheet I had prepared several days before, and a photo of myself which must have been taken shortly after a previous haircut, I ended up with a pretty good cut. The charge was C15, not C10 lile Ronaldo had said, and I have a feeling it was due to Gringo-inflation.

In the afternoon I walked to the Convent de San Francisco, formerly the site of the University of Grenada until shutdown by the dictator Somoza in 1951, and now home to the Squire Collection, some 30 pieces of pre-Columbian stone statuary from the Isla Zapatera in Lago de Nicaragua. They are of black basalt, are dated feom 800-1200 AD, and depict human, animal, and combined human-animal forms from the Chorotega culture.

Afterwards I walked down to the Malecon and park along the lakeshore. Away in the distance to the south the conical cone of Volcan Concepcion, one of two volcanos on Isla de Ometepa in Lake Nicaragua, was visable. I wanted to check into boat schedules and whether I could take the bike on one out to Isla de Ometepe. Unfortunately the boat offices were closed.

It rained on and off all day. The hospedaje had cable TV and so from CNN I learned that this weather was from the fringes of Huricane Marcos in the Carribean.

For dinner I walked across the street to the little comedor, and who should I meet there but Tamil, one of the Israelis who I had met almost a month earlier at Finca Ixobal in Poptun, Guatemala. He was now travelling solo, having split up with his previous traveling partner.

Thursday November 21 (59193 odo)

After breakfast, I left in a light rain. It rained off and on the 60 miles to the border. During a construction zone, just after having passed a whole line of vehicles waiting at a flagman, and then being waved through by the flagman, the engine stutters and dies. I coast off onto the shoulder and park the bike. Fortunateely its not raining at the moment. I immediately think of the wet ignition systen problem I had had almost 3 months ago (boy, it just seems like yesterday), but the rain hadn't been that heavy, and it had stalled in a different manner, almost like it had run out of gas, and I had just filled the tank this morning when I left Granada. So instead of checking the plugs for spark, I pulled the carb bowls off and both were dry. Despite both the petcocks being open, no fuel was flowing. I jiggled the float and float valve, but still no fuel. I took the cap off the tank to check the fuel, and I could here a hiss as air was sucked into the tank, and fuel instantly began running out of both carbs. I checked the cap and the vent line but both checked out OK and with the cap back in place fuel still flowed OK. I think the problem was the one-way check valve I have in the vent line to prevent fuel from spilling if I drop the bike. My guess is that somehow the little ball valve got stuck, maybe with dirt, sealing the air vent. Eventually enough of a vacuum was drawn in the tank to prevent the ball valve from opening. I was explaining my hypotheses and what I was doing to two Nicaraguan men on bicycles who had stopped to see what was going on.

I stopped in the small town of Rivas, just shy of the border for a coke and to let the border post open after lunch. At the border, procedures on the Nicaraguan side took aver an hour. and the exit fee was C5 plus US$2. There was a lot of running back and forth between offices, very inefficient. In one office there were 2 desks, 8 feet apart, which I had to visit. However in between I had to go to another office to have photocopies made of my passport, drivers license, title, and the vehicle document issued when I entered Nicaragua, then go to another office down the street to turn in the copies and have the vehicle document stamped.

As seems to be the trend a young guide had approached me as I rode up to the border crossing, offering his services. I told him it wasn't necessary, to which he replied, yes it was necessary. I didn't acknowledge that response one way or the other, since I had a feeling, from what I read of Nicaraguan beaurocracy, that I might need him, and he ran on ahead, motioning to me to follow. Another bigger, slightly older boy tried to edge in on him, telling me he would be my guide, and leading the way along with my original "guide." They almost came to blows over it, and I finally tired of their bickering, and turned to the older boy and said, "Amigo, tengo guia ya." He finally took the hint and left. The whole process took over an hour.

At the final vehicle verification, I showed the location of the bike's identification numbers, and the boy read them off, while the inspector "checked" them against the document, looking up at me laughing and shrugged, not actually checking them. While walking around I had heard several other guides offering their services to others for C1, so I paid my guide C2, about US$0.25. He seemed possibly a tad disappointed, but didn't protest.

I exchanged my remaining Cordobas, about US$21 worth, receiving 4680 Colones. There are about 215 Colones to the dollar, the largest rate yet. I hoped that would be sufficient to get me through the border formalities on the Costa Rican side. Then I rode the 4 km to the Costa Rican border post. For the moment it was not raining. The Costa Rican border procedures were incredibly straightforward and easy, except for having to have copies made and then having the machine I was referred to be out of order. I ended up having to walk down the street a couple of hundred yards to another office to have the copies made. By this time it was beginning to rain again. The fee for my passport was C75 (US$0.35), but for the bike it was C4000 (US$18.60). That just about wiped out my supply of Colones, so I exchanged a US$20 bill to get me through the day until I could find a bank tomorrow.

The entire procedure took a little over a half hour, but by the time I was ready to leave it was 3:45 and it was pouring down rain.

The first 20km from the border the road was terribly potholed, and areas were big mudholes. It was the same on the other side of the border and in the vicinity of about just every other border in Central America. Between the border and the first large city or town the roads are always terrible. I guess because there isn't as much domestic traffic in those areas, and the few people who live in those areas don't have any clout to get the roads repaired.

It poured the entire 50 miles to Liberia, the first major town south of the border, and twice along the way the motor started stuttering as it again suffered fuel starvation. However I was ready for it, and at the first indications, I simply pulled off the vent hose at the gas cap which allowed air into the tank and gas to again flow to the carbs.

The Aerostich couldn't compete with the onslaught of rain, and by the time I arrived in Liberia, my pants were soaked. The first hotel I stopped at was full, one of the first times that had happened on this trip. A block and a half away was the Posada de Tope which had a room for C1000 (US$4.65) and secure parking out back.

It rained on and off all evening. In between major downpours I managed to get dinner and walk around downtown by the plaza for a bit.

Friday November 22

The local Tiko Times English-language paper had a front-page article about how these rains associated with Hurricane Marcos had hit the northwest part of Costa Rica, where I now was, particularly hard. Several bridges on the Nicoya Penninsula, where I had been thinking of going, had been washed out, and there had been numerous mudslides. Several towns on the penninsula were cut off and others had their electricity and phone service disrupted.

As I spent time reading up on Costa Rica I was still somewhat undecided as to what to do, where to go, or how much time to spend in the country on the way south. On the one hand it's an amazingly beautiful country, but it is very expensive by Central American standards, and the weather was making me think about blasting through in search of dryer climes. This was supposed to be the beginning of their "summer" and the end of the rainy season, but the paper was saying this weather might continue till the end of November. The paper also said, that the Carribean coast, surprisingly enough, and Puerto Limon, where I was thinking of going enroute to Panama, was virtually unaffected by the recent rains.

The paper also said that the road which skirts Lake Arenal to the north, a route I had been planning to take to Volcan Arenal, was passable only in 4-wheel drive vehicles.

What to do, what to do? Blast through Costa Rica now, and hope to catch things on my way back north, or spend more time now, despite the weather. I guess I'll sleep on it.

Saturday November 23 (59311 odo)

He didn't motion me to stop until fairly late, so I think he just decided at the last minute he wanted to take a look at the bike, since most other bikes are not going 55-60 mph. I really had to haul on the brakes and came to a stop about 10 feet past him. There were two cops, one in a car, the other one, the one who had waved me over, on a motorcycle, a BMW R80 no less!. He asked for my drivers license, but only looked at it briefly, then handed it back immediately. Then we talked bikes. Before I left I asked if I could take a picture of him with his bike and he said sure.

At Canas I left the Pan American highway and headed east to Volcan Arenal, Costa Ricas most active volcano. The road climbed up through green rolling hills. It was a beautiful sunny day and the blue sky provided a beautiful backdrop to the green mountains. After the town of Tilaran, the road turned north and followed the shoreline of Lake Arenal around the north side of the lake. This was the area where the paper had said was damaged by the recent storms and was passable only by 4wd. There was one 6 mile unpaved stretch, but it wasn't too bad, only a couple of musholes.

Shortly after lunch in Arenal, on the north side of the lake, Volcan Arenal came into view through the forest lining the lakeside. Some clouds had moved in from the east and were obscuring its top, but its massive near-perfect conical base rose above the surrounding landscape. As I crossed the dam at the eastern end of the lake, the view east to the volcano was unobstructed, and as if on cue, the clouds cleared, revealing the entire mountain. Over the next 45 minutes the volcano erupted several times, with a loud, deep rumble and smoke rising from the crater at the summit.

Then more clouds moved in and it began to rain. Back at the bike, a guy and a woman walked up. Ishay was an Israeli, riding a Honda XL650. She was his girlfriend, originally from Berkeley, now living in NY City. She had joined him for a couple of weeks in Costa Rica and was returning to the States in a couple of days. They were staying in the same hotel I was heading for in La Fortuna, 20 miles east of the volcano. We agreed to talk later that evening at the hotel.

Hotel Fortuna was also the place to arrange volcano tours. I signed up for an evening tour for later that night. It was US$20 and included a hike to within 500 meters of the "flow", a barbeque, and a soak in the nearby hotsprings of the Rio Tabacon. A bit pricey, but worth it according to several others staying at the hotel. Usually the tour left about 6pm, but if the clouds were obscuring the volcano, the guide would wait until later, to give the best chance of seeing the nighttime fireworks. Last night they hadn't left until 11:30pm.

After the rain, the skies had again cleared and at 5pm the volcanoe was again unobscured, but by 6pm clouds had again moved in to obscure the peak. At 6:45 they started to clear and we left for the drive back to the volcano. In addition to the guide, there 4 of us on the tour, Tamara, an Israeli woman, a Miguel from Spain, and Gregory born in the US and now living in Denver whose parents were Mexican and now living in Mexico again. By the time we drove to the base and began the 45 minute hike up the mountain, the clouds were moving in again. Eventually we reached the foot of the flow which rose some 20 feet above us. This flow was only 4 months old. We circled around the foot of the flow and climbed up onto it from the side. The flow had wiped out anything in its path and was as tall as the trees in the forest on each side of the flow. Volcan Arenal does not have liquid Magma lava flows. Rather it spews large volcanic rocks which avalance down the mountainside. So climbing up the flow was really rock hopping over large volcanic boulders.. At places you could still feel the heat rising from the rocks, and if you dug down through the dirt at several places you got to earth which was almost too hot to hold.

By the timw we got to the highest safe viewing point, the clouds had moved in to completely obscure the peak looming above us. When it would errupt with a deep rumble and roar, we would see the fiery orange rocks that managed to tumble fairly far down the mountainside, but the most spectacular sights higher up the mountainside and at the crater at the summit were largely hidden from us by the clouds. We waited over an hour hoping the clouds would clear but they only seemed to be getting thicker. The guide suggested going back down, having the barbeque, and going to the hotspring, then returning later if it cleared. Back down at the base, we had the barbeque and over the next hour the skies began to clear slowly and by 11:30 we had an unobscured view of the whole mountain and its grand display of fireworks. When it would errupt orange rocks would cascade down the sides looking like a web of orange rivulets from this distance. We were treated to several large erruptions which shot into the air, looking like a roman candle firework. Very spectacular. I hope at least a couple of my photos turn out. We watched the spectacle for almost an hour before the guide said we had to go. Normally the entire tour, including the hotsprings, which we still had to go to, was 3 hours, We had already been out almost 6 hours.

The hot springs was a pool in the river, the temperature of a nice warm bath. It felt great in the cool mountain air. When we got there there was another Tico (Costa Rican) couple already there. The water cascaded out of the pool over a 2 foot falls into a much smaller pool. Several of our group climbed down into the smaller pool where you could sit with the water flowing over your back, almost like a jacuzi. The Tico woman had followed me into the smaller pool and had sat down beside me. Much to my surprise I felt a hand in my crotch, and there was no one on my other side, and it sure as hell wasn't my hand. Just then her companion joined the crowd in the smaller pool, and either she thought better of continuing her explorations or she didn't like what she had found, as the phantom hand disappeared, never to reappear. I just hate it when women view me only as a sex object! Why is it that most women would be extremely offended if the tables were turned and for most men its a fantasy come true? I won't say if it's my fantasy, but it didn't hurt that she was very attractive. I know Noemi, men are slime. After about an hour in the hotsprings we left, getting back to the hotel about 1:30am.

There was a note on my door from Ishay, saying to knock on his door no matter how late I got in. He hadn't returned yet when I left for the volcano and we had wanted to exchange notes. So after waking him up, we talked in the restaurant downstairs for almost an hour, exchanging some addresses in Panama where we could contact each other and pass on info regarding the upcoming Panama-Colombia crossing. I had just that night, from Miguel the Spaniard, heard some unwelcome news. He had told me that the auto ferry from Colon Panama to Cartagena, Colombia was no longer in Business, but didn't have any more details than that. If true, it definitely was going to complicate things. Ishay was traveling with two other Israelis and wasn't planning to cross to Colombia until late December.

druth@bayarea.net

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