Ylang Ylang

To be inundated in every crevice of your olfactory caves with the smell of ylang ylang is totally  orgasmic. Inhaling her scent deeply within infuses every molecule of your being with sensual delight. Each day we are here awakens our systems of sensing more fully,to experience the beauty within and surrounding us.

Our evening ritual of "sun gazing"while watching the red glowing orb submerge into the ocean washes  our eyes and opens the pineal gland to allow for seeing with a wider lens. The morning bird song accompanied by the enchanting  rhythms of the waves opens our ears to the more subtle tones of sound and quiets the mind so that we can hear. On the beach,where we  stretch,dance,walk,lie on the sand and swim in the ocean, the  stresses that keep us from feeling ebb away like the receding tide.

The  pools of water left by the low tide and warmed by the sun beckon to be entered. Yesterday, while relaxing there the taste of pure peace filled my heart. Full body,belly rising,lungs expanding heart opening breathing while lying in the womb of the Great Mother,I was floating in bliss. With eyes closed and facing toward the direction of the sun I saw,felt,tasted,smelled and heard the moment and it was divine.

Now,sipping my coffee,listening to the birds,seeing the ocean from the elevated view our cliff dwelling offers and loving it all I know that now is exactly where I want to be,greeting this new day.

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly,what is essential is invisible to the eye".
                                                         
                                                                                 Antoine De Saint-Exuupery

Prisms

Prisms

I love when my timing is perfect unaided by the clock.  When my natural course can dictate my  arrival and departure I'm un encumbered by the stress artificial rhythms instill on us and rejoice in the absence of rushing. When moving in an unhurried pace I experience an increased sense of connection and of being in the "Tao",

Sophia and I went for a walk today in the rainforest,of which there are three types:cloud,semi dry and humid. Puntarenes,where we are staying at a guest house that sits on the cliffs above where the Golfo Dulce meets the Pacific,is a humid virgin rainforest. We are at the edge of habitation by foreigners.Further on holds only a scattering of indigenous villages inhabited by the Barrucas, We are in a land rich with the nectars of the jungle and the abundance of the sea.
While we were walking I commented to Sophia that I had heard but not seen any frogs yet.A moment later a camouflaged in the color of the surrounding leaves frog showed itself.A short while after that we saw an extraordinary black bodied with an iridescent green outline one too. We saw monkeys,scarlet macaws,toucans,fish and seed pods worth keeping and maybe someday making jewelry from because they're so smooth,heart shaped,chestnut brown and BEAUTIFUL that they should be on display to a bigger audience than the ground surface creatures including the black light dazzling  green frog.
Along our walk we came to a most exquisite place,a waterfall. The visual stunning of that clean jungle water cascading down a 40 foot rock wall, carved smooth into intricate designs,was only the beginning of our pleasure. Upon entrance into its radiant water we were shown the jewels inside. A trillion rainbows of light bathed and surrounded our bodies and danced on our skin. We were there at the perfect moment,when the sun shines briefly through a breath of space created between trees and lands exactly on the water to reveal its true nature.

There are an infinite number of opportunities to bathe in the light but WOW was that one fun !

Lying in the hammock listening to the crickets and sea I am happy,content ( there are no bugs)and renewed by my baptism from the holy waters. I may even stay awake past nine but probably not because the early mornings chorus of birds is not to be slept through. I have to stretch my attention wide to  simultaneously hear them all.

David comes back a week from today to dance with me at Envision. I have to admit its nice to  have the hammock to myself but I'd gladly move over to be with him so that we could share in the   RAINBOWS OF LIGHT   THAT  IS   OUR LOVE..

                                       

Scarlet Macaws

Scarlet Macaws


The Osa Peninsula is by far our favorite part of Costa Rica. Daily and multiple sightings of the gloriously colored scarlet macaw make the heart sing praise to the designer of this living rainbow.  We seem, although we aren't completely sure, to have arrived during mating season, so that the pairs of macaws (because they always travel in pairs) were constantly wrestling in the trees and squawking, caterwauling even, at each other, creating such a din that they were always easy to spot.
David, as gracious as always, has returned early to the States. His explanation for his departure was that a month of traveling was enough but my suspicion is that he wanted to support Sophia and I having time for just the two of us to travel together. She'll be leaving for a year toVermont soon after our return home and he knows how much she and I value and need our "mother daughter time". Thank you David. You are a rare gem of a man. My gratitude for your love is as full as the ocean is of water.
Today,she and I along with some friends,both new and known, hiked to a primary rainforest area recently purchased by one of the group members.Giant trees towered overhead in the verdant jungle. They are a magnificent sight that raise the eyes to the heavens and whisper an ancient echo of vibration that astounds those below. To be in their presence touches the core of my being with awe.
We are staying at a retreat center named Guaria de Osa where the jungle meets the ocean and the head meets the heart. We cooked dinner tonight as a gift to the wonderful people we've met here and to give us all a  reprieve from the temporary cook that is filling in until the next one arrives who obviously needs to pursue a different profession. Our curry made from fresh turmeric, ginger and coconut harvested from here was a huge hit.

Tomorrow we leave for the Golfo Dulce where the water is calm and clear to go snorkeling. We are blessed in a million ways each moment.

Border Crossings

Border Crossings/Crossing Borders

We left San Carlos in a covered panga with about 15-20 other passengers, heading up the Rio Frio from its juncture with Lake Colcibolca toward its headwaters somewhere past Los Chiles, Costa Rica. Our commitment to travel by boat, whenever given the option,was well rewarded. The wild life and fauna were spectacular.  We were in the most monkey-rich territory that we had seen.  Unusual scenarios:  a lone capuchin so close to the water that it seemed to be fishing; a single howler, high up in tree whose upper reaches were not obscured by foliage, hanging by his tail like Curious George, obviously enjoying it.

Upon the easiest border crossing either of us has ever known,we were immediately struck by the vast economic difference between the two countries. Wooden shacks and highly-populated downtowns as opposed to clean streets, cement houses, and more vehicles dominated the external change.  Although it meandered after Los Chiles through several beautiful mountain pueblos, the three day series of busses and transfers down the country left us missing the simplicity of Nicaragua. Admittedly,at the same time, it was awesome to order a salad last night that included more than a bite of lettuce.  After a month of so many patacones and so much gallo pinto, it was a welcome change.

Our journey was aided and improved by the interactions with Ticos and fellow travelers along the way. There are a million simple ways, in the most minute of interactions,to find beauty in this world.  Simple acts of kindness from locals to foreign strangers stood out along the way.  A Nicaraguan working in Costa Rica shared information and pleasantries and monkey spottings with us in the panga.  A rubber stamp salesman who joined us on the bus in Quezada shared his photos of his true passion:  oil and pastels, murals, sculpture.  Then he led the way for several blocks through crowded San Ramon to the bus stop for the Puntarenas bus just before it left the station.

We exchanged the bus in Golfito for a panga on the way to the tiny, pura vida port town of Puerto Jimenez, but only after a pan-fried marlin fillet with a decent salad and a double scoop cone of rum raisin.The Osa Peninsula in the Southern most tip of the country is by far our favorite part. The tranquilo vibe, the calm waters of Golfo Dulce, the wilderness bordering the immense ancient growth jungle of Corcovado National Park are only some of what we love here. We're visiting Davids friend Yanina and her partner Ron. Tomorrow we will all go with some more of their friends by boat into the Golfo Dulce. We are assured we'll see dolphins, giant sea turtles, do some snorkeling, and possibly see whales and whale sharks, besides some monkey viewing at the national park just north of Golfito.  Whatever gifts are offered to us will be appreciated and nothing will be missed as we practice gratitude for what is presented and the absence of greed for what is not.

Contraction

Upon our arrival in San Juan de Nicaragua, we found our chosen hotel easily, and the duena, Dona Marta, gave us her last room, even though it had been reserved by someone else, saying that she would find him a room elsewhere, but that there were no other large rooms available in town.  We unpacked, settled in, and after assessing our cash on hand, realized that we needed to find a bank or an ATM right away.  No such luck, Marta told us.  Nothing like that in this part of the country.  David got queasy and anxious.  After some quick calculations, he decided that we didn't even have enough for the panga ride back to San Carlos if we had to stay two more nights since there was no Wednesday panga.  And that meant not eating at all for the next two days.  Sandy, maintaining her indomitably positive outlook and sense of humor, suggested pimping him out to an older Canadian woman we'd met who was traveling alone.  David, however, had contracted down into a humorless funk and was diligently searching for a serious solution to the issue at hand.

Sandy remained unconcerned, believing that a solution that didn't involve white slavery or any diminishment of personal integrity would present itself if we remained open and positive.  Gradually her ever-smiling nature wore down his funkeated resistance to the point that he began smiling as well.  Over a lunch of giant river shrimp which Sandy found to be tastier than lobster, she suggested that David go ask one of the panga colectivo workers if we could ride for free and pay later when we got to San Carlos.  Once again holding firm in the face of David's dubiousness, she won the day when the panga guy said, "Sure!"

After lunch we strolled through this, the fourth auto-less town that we had visited in Nicaragua, (along with El Castillo, Sabalos, and Little Corn) enjoying the blend of modern streetlights gracing the wide central promenade with its 19th century glory fading brick by brick. On our stroll, Sandy, basking in previous successes, suggested that we ask Marta if we could send money back for our meals and room after we arrived at San Carlos.  Without hesitation, Marta, upon hearing the question, responded that we could, of course, pay later.

So we leave tomorrow on the 5 am panga rapido.  Seven hours later we will hit an ATM, pay the panga driver, and have him carry back the remainder to Marta.  Breathing in, breathing out.  Expanding, contracting.  All in a day's flow.  Our challenge is to not get stuck in this or that, to not let the eddies of life keep us out of the flow for too long, removing us from the deepwater channel.

Rolling Down the River

Rolling Down the River

Fortunately, Minor had booked us seats two days ago on the Rapido (express panga) to San Juan de Nicaragua because the  panga was totally full, not counting kids, who seem to be able to ride in the same seat with their moms up to about the age of 10 or 12.  Apparently the moms' life jackets are sufficiently buoyant to keep the kids afloat in case of an accident that puts us in the water because although each other passenger was required to have a jacket, the kids weren't.

The Río San Juan below Bartola is a tale of two sides.  On the northern side is the Indio Maiz Reserve of Nicaragua, one of the more pristine rainforests of Central America.  On the southern side is Costa Rica, a continual display of clear-cuts, erosion, farming, and heavy machinery.  I believe that Nicaragua began complaining about the erosion's effect on the river some years back, and Costa Rica has erected some green cloth erosion control panels in places, but there seem to be fresh, bare hillsides in many places.

Although I have seen several osprey and a treeful of howlers, the superabundant waterfowl of the river directly below Lake Cocibolca has thinned significantly into just the occasional kingfisher or giant egret or cormorant or heron.    We are apparently also coming down into caiman and crocodile country, although we have yet to spot one.

The trip down to Boca San Carlos, where we would have spent the third night of the kayak tour had we continued past Castillo, took two hours by express panga, a ratio that would have indicated at the minimum some 12 - 14 hours in a kayak, given that the same panga took 1 1/2 hrs. to get to Castillo from San Carlos (our starting point....which is a completely different location from Boca de San Carlos), and it took us 14 hrs. of paddling to get to Castillo.

The Spaces in Between

How did we get here to this place?  This place being this planet, this era, these friends around us because of certain choices made or unmade.  Such a huge question that it begs being  asked periodically.  Otherwise, we begin to take it for granted.

This place also meaning here, physically, in Castillo.  How did we get here from Big Corn?   It was quite the process, though not nearly the ordeal as getting out to Big Corn from Managua and included a series of the minute details and unexpected surprises that comprise our lives regardless of where we are but are often accentuated while traveling.

After a quick easy flight, we were the first ones out of the airport with luggage, eschewed the first taxi offer of $20, and got one for $6 who took us to the Mayoreo Bus Station where we were led directly onto the bus for a seven hour ride.  Getting off in the town of San Carlos, we called Philippe, who sent a panga as soon as one was available, to take us to his "eco-lodge".  The lodge seems to focus more on fishing and on his cuisine rather than on other amenities like running water or queen-sized beds or fans, but he rented us two kayaks and a guide, and we took off immediately the next morning.

Going down river we spent our first night at a remote lodge in the hills above the river. We shared our room with the bats that live there. I'm afraid one was given a start when it accidentally brushed up against my arm when I got up to pee in the middle of the night.  This lodge had been arranged in advance by ...... an employee at the Esquina del Lago lodge where we hired the kayaks and guide.  The river lodge with the bats appeared like a peanut butter Jesus sandwich....Christ's face swirled in the Skippy bringing us so much divine joy after an intensely grueling day of paddling without current into a fierce wind.   Franci, the owner, has chosen and set up a beautiful place with individual wooden bungalows set in a row, all with a river view, down the hill from the kitchen and bar so that it was easier to stumble home after a tasty meal.  The next morning she served us organic coffee at 5 am from her personal stock, sat and chatted with us about her vision for the next steps in the process of remodeling the place, much as Angeline would have done back home, and refused my handshake in favor of a huge, smiling hug.

Smooth connections, a restful haven, an exuberant, generous woman taking care of us after a hard workout, each comprises a part of the memory of this trip that encourages us to be smiling and generous in return.

Rio San Juan

A low fog has settled in on the Río San Juan flowing alongside this town of El Castillo, probably matching the fog in many of the heads adorning the pillows in this colorful fishing village.  Some of those heads, such as the one we saw being carried home in his own canoe by some of his drinking buddies, may not have even made it to a pillow. We on, the other hand, are into our second week of sobriety (yes, definitely temporary). Admittedly, some Cana de Flora, the local rum would have ben helpful these last few days as we paddled endlessly down the river, a grueling 14 hrs. of paddling over the last two days that has left our shoulders bunched and bound, and our spirits ready for a break.  Despite the super-abundance of flora and fauna that we saw, aided immensely by our beautiful young guide named Minor, we have decided to exchange the grueling aspect of so much paddling each day for the more vacation-like process of choosing to stay or go.  Today we stay here in Castillo, in a small hospedaje with a corner room overhanging one of the few rapids on this river, a rapid named Caudal del Diablo, which was watched over by cannons in the fort on the hill above us, guarding against the English, Danish, and French pirate longboats trying to make their way up the river to sack the town of Granada back in the 18th Century.

A flock of florescent green parrots squawks as it flies past. The bird life is diverse and colorfully spectacular, the jungle along the banks verdant with orchids and a  healthy tarpon population abides here. We are on the edge of the Indio Maiz reserve, one of the last and largest virgin rain forests in Central America.   The preservation of nature is at the heart of most of what seems to happen in this town.  Almost every restaurant or hospedaje (hotel/hostel) or pulperia (corner store) has a guide service connection where one can arrange to travel by panga to Bartola, the entrance to the reserve for a 2-3 hour hike on one of three senderos (trails) to view toucans and parrots, iguanas and jesus lizards that run across the water standing up on their two hind legs, turtles and small colorful frogs, wild pigs and monkeys, as well as orchids, poponjoche, and other amazing flowers attended by butterflies and hummingbirds.

The town itself demonstrates its commitment to preservation through a daily horse and wagon garbage patrol emptying the town-provided cans that line the streets, accompanied by signs declaring that a clean, safe, beautiful, and healthy life is the right and responsibility of all citizens. There are no motorized vehicles here and we welcome the relief of the slow and gentle pace. There is a palpable difference in the energy of a place without autos that is more attractive than any glittering diamond. A further tuning of our bodies' electrical systems is taking place aided by the physical exertion of the last days, simply being on the river and landing at this sweet place. Our ears are being cleared by the lack of artificial sound replaced by bird, river and frog song. Our eyes are being washed clean by the sights surrounding us.  Healing happens here.

Before we end this blog entry, we feel compelled to speak a bit more about the illustrious Minor.   As we paddled down the river, he would wait for us, gesturing toward this tree or that vine, pointing out sloths and capuchins and howlers and iguanas.  He knew the plant names and bird names.  He knew where to find the animals by what they ate.  He knew which fruits were edible for humans, which for monkeys, and which were poisonous.  He would also wait patiently as our energy flagged, then pull us along by telling us that there was only another hour of paddling, mas o menos, or dos vueltas mas (two more turns) mas o menos, dangling the carrot in front of our mulish noses so that we had hopeful energy once again.  We joked together and reveled in natural beauty together and shared the love of the riparian zone, together.  We trusted him as soon as we met him; such is his energy.  It is our major regret in not continuing to San Juan de Nicaragua by kayak that we will not be enjoying his company for the next 3 days.  We said goodbye to him last night with hugs and his sincere entreaty that we call him when we return to San Carlos.

Fireflies

The magic of travel evidences itself in so many ways.  Lately there have been pinpoints of light, flickers in the darkness, that elicit our exclamations of joy.  Many of them emanate from the hammock where we lay together, shaded by the coco palms, next to the aquamarine sea.  There we quietly embrace the rhythm of the sea which fills our hearts with its steady beat bringing our attention to the breath and helping us simply to be. A more tranquil mind, the soothing of our over-burdened nervous systems, our bodies made fresh from the deep rest we've gained, we are almost healed from the various maladies incurred on the journey and before, during the time of work and holidays, packed into spaces with more cars and people than usual, all of us going toward some place to buy some thing for someone.  It takes some healing afterward, healing from that pressure, that density.  We breathe a sigh of relief, but there are deeper parts that have been subsumed, pushed downward and inward by that pressure, that require a deeper healing.  That's one of the main reasons that we are here.  That and fireflies.

Not that we knew that there were fireflies here when we started out.  They were just one of the magical apparitions that blinked our way once we got here.  One evening Sandy was sitting on a log, quietly reflecting, when she noticed them and pointed them out to me.  I couldn't remember seeing any since I was a child in Texas.  I'm sure that I have seen them since, but sometimes magic gets lost in the meantime.  Another piece of magic appeared the day that we took the 1/2 hour panga ride over to Little Corn Island:  no cars, no motorized vehicles of any kind on the island.  How soothing!  What a throwback to an earlier time, if not for the availability of cappuccino and burgers and ice cream sundaes.  Oh well, gotta put up with a few modern conveniences, eh?

We are now on a plane leaving Corn Island and bound for Managua where we'll catch a bus to San Carlos. We depart with gratitude in our hearts for the many gifts we have received, our daily infusion of noni juice, the delicious coconut milk seafood soup locally called rondon, the many wonderful people that we met, sunrises, stars and the myriad ways we enjoyed the ocean and beaches. Now we are ready for some adventure!

The plane morphed into a chicken bus making stops every few minutes to pick up another passenger and wedge them into the aisle, or to allow the food hawkers ("Quesoillo!  Soillo!", "Pan de pina! Postre! Pina! Pan!") or the drink purveyors ("Gaseosa! Seosa! Seosa!") or the phone card vendors ("Claro! Movistar!") to squeeze and push and shout their way through from front to back and return before getting off at the next stop.  We endure the 6 hour trip for $6 in order to get to San Carlos, the jumping off point for a 120 mile eastward kayak trip down the Río San Juan to San Juan del Nicaragua (the name being changed from San Juan del Norte in recent years to help cement Nicaragua's claim to the north side of the San Juan River in a border dispute with Costa Rica.)

We will spend a couple of nights at an ecolodge called Esquina del Lago before leaving on the journey.  There we will meet up with our guide, negotiate a price for his services, as well as the type and process of food and lodging along the way.  We have brought a tent and sleeping bags, and have been assured that we will have an opportunity to use them on this journey if we so choose, and I'm sure the choice each day will be based in part on the size and number of crocodiles that we have seen.  Meanwhile, my left butt cheek longs for the asistante de bus to call out, "San Carlos!  San Carlos! E-pa!"  as soon as possible.

Now, we are here sitting aside Lake Cocibolca, the largest freshwater lake in Central America, awaiting the panga that will take us to our temporary home while watching the sun set, the children play on the malecon (waterfront) and enjoying, once again, the easy vibe of Nicaragua.  Pura vida, even though we have yet to reach Costa Rica.

Intuition

Dear ones,

We send you a glorious sunrise greeting from Big Corn Island, sitting among the palms, sipping our Nica coffee and reflecting upon intuition.  The primary event that led us to this reflection occurred a couple of days ago.

The morning began as usual:  up in time to greet the sunrise dawning behind cumulus clouds to the east over the Caribbean.  We were granted various boons for our chosen earliness, including the companionship of the largest hermit crab either of us had ever seen knuckling its way in a circumnavigation around the yard within one of the more beautifully intact conch shells we have seen on the island.

We decided to take a walk starting up a hill just outside of our lodging into a different and more remote part of the island than we had explored, stopping almost immediately at the opulent resort-styled hotel just up the road from us, where we greeted by a pair of toucans in a cage, hopped upon by a capuchin monkey on a tethered leash, and visited the concrete enclosure of a small crocodile.  Sandwiched between these enclosures were an outdoor spa with booths for massage, pedicures, and facials, an infinity-view pool, a rooftop fireplace/barbecue/movie-viewing area, and 24 hour full-service, balcony perched bedrooms.  We left to go for a jungle walk up the hill.

Soon after our departure we encountered two young men, both in their teens sitting on a rock beside the jungle path. We had stoppped just before seeing them to look up into the trees after David exclaimed when I asked him what he was looking at, " I feel eyes in the trees". They asked us the time which we could only guess at, commenting that it was time for a walk and continued on our way only a short distance before stepping away from the main path to examine the ruin of a stone building  of an unknown, previous era which the jungle had begun to reclaim.  Sandy had, as I had had, an intuitive feeling, an awareness on a psychic level, that we shouldn't have gone down that path, that the two young men had a subtle malevolence in their beings.  Not overtly so.  Not strongly so, but malevolent nonetheless.  I, too, felt uneasy about leaving the main road, but I chose also not to react to that uneasiness.  Instead, we both agreed to continue down the slope away from the main, the more-traveled, the wider, the more-open path. When, after just a short while, we decided to turn back we again encountered the two men but this time there was no denying that something was definitely wrong. They were coming to seek us out, machetes in arms to rob us. David's reply to their demand to show them what was in our backpack was ,"Why?" The one boy mumbled something about his mother being sick while the other one, standing behind David, sheepishly looked like he'd rather not be involved. I followed David's question with commenting on how we didn't have anything worth stealing because we were staying just down the way and were going on a walk and hadn't brought any money. Still holding the machete  with the blade vertical approximately even with his face, he reached out with his left hand to feel the contents of the daypack that David was still wearing.  Sandy took the verbal lead again and said that we only had a water bottle in the pack, and when he queried about what else he was feeling, said that it was our room key attached to a block of wood. He demonstrated his inexperience at this newly chosen profession and lack of conviction by neither opening the backpack nor searching us, but rather stepped aside and with a slight bow waved us on our way.

Their lack of violent aggression, the apologetic bow, and their lack of reaping any spoils whatsoever, influenced our decision to continue on our late morning stroll, not without some misgivings about whether the incident was completely over, if nothing more than serving to put us on an emotional high alert until we encountered civilization. Before leaving the immediate area of the encounter, however, we paused to retrieve the Leatherman hidden within the pack, that Sandy had purposely forgotten to mention in the inventory she had given to our young thief, and grabbed a couple of stout tree branches for walking sticks.

Our choice to continue rather than turning back rewarded us with an immersion in the densest, tallest jungle forest we had experienced on the island, complete with a deliciously aromatic, lusciously sweetly-fragranced tree in full bloom as well as a sighting of the first raptor we had encountered on the island, a white-headed, gray-bodied solitary bird that is most probably a black-collared hawk.

Life is a continual teacher, a balance.  Because we live in  a stressed environment, a world in peril, an angst-ridden society, we are perhaps constantly using this heightened awareness, this state of intuitive high-alert, causing it to lose its elasticity, much like an overused muscle, so that it is not available as often, not as distinguishable from the norm, from the everyday.

When we fail to heed our intuition, the results are oftentimes instructive in a disappointing or negative way. We both wish for the time when intuition becomes is readily recognized and heeded.

Are we Corny yet?

In anticipation of the gifts that are assuredly to come, the relaxation, the nervous system's polarization, the heart's emancipation, we, after a week in Nicanation, have finally arrived.  Letting go of time-framed reality that is our life in the You Ess off Aaaaa, we're settling into the Caribbean's Ocean song and rhythms of the heart's way.

 Our loves that we have not left behind but carry on our journey, we bid you well and send you deep, warm messages to add to the fires in your hearth, to add to the winter light, to suffuse your home with delight and pleasure in the moment's glory.  This warmth that we share with you would be nurtured even further by photos of the aquamarine wavetops backlit by sunrise on the Caribbean, but alas, we still haven't mastered the GoPro download process, so, technologically challenged, we proceed with courage and the written word sans image.

Here we are on Corn a week after the infamous sloshing, puking, 8 hour Capt. D adventure, and todo es tranquilo.  Even better.  Todo es perfectamente tranquilo porque estamos viviendo en la pura vida de una lugar bien confortable.  We now sit listening to the songs of the ocean:  the surf thunder, the wind shriek and whisper (variably, subjectively), the sun mutedly set before the luna nubilely rises and moans of her undying love for the stars.  Our bare feet fall and rise softly on coral crushed into the finest grains of sand by the inexorable surf.

Beisbol!  Batter up!  20 Cordobas for the blaring reggae beat, the beer, the empanadas, the full-voiced, Jamaican-sounding patois hurled at the umpire from the batter's mother at the top row of the stands.  Taxis using wolf-whistle horns to solicit 75 cent fares to anywhere on the island, this island
where lobster can be found at any little dive, hole-in-the-wall restaurante, but broccoli is unknown.  This island where five bucks will buy a meal that we couldn't finish, but not for lack of trying due to its deliciousness.

The rhythm here is unexpectedly Conway Twitty although the teenage girls are undistinguishable from the insouciant, you-don't-exist-to-me adolescents to be found anywhere else even though they were born here.  There is some sort of undecodable message passed along waves unknown and unavailable to adults that somehow made its way even to this tiny 3.8 square mile piece of volcanic rock topped by tropical plants before being uncovered by Conde Nast and Lonely Planet.

Watching the Ducks game here will require an act of God, a satellite dish, and a military escort, but we are off to do our best.  Go Ducks!  And avoid the jellyfish!

The Journey is the Gift is the Present

Lazy day, waking up late to coffee and breakfast already prepared by Miledy (pronounced "me lady").  The smallest pursuits can transform the moment. Like having a cup of french pressed coffee after a week of instant coffee, instant creme served in styrofoam cups. The delight. The pleasure.  The space in between those moments, between those cups of coffee became indelible  memories of this journey,  although not necessarily emblazoned into the highlight reel, rather into the bloopers.
The  harmonious chaos that is Central America affords many opportunities for awe, wonder and gratitude for simple things, like your life....which at times during the 48 hours between cups of coffee seemed as though it might have been at the edge of the abyss looking over and wondering.

We began perusing the Corn Island websites since it was our next destination, and we had no accommodations yet.  We rediscovered that the route, the transport modes, and the schedules to get there were all somewhat  fickle and widely spaced, but that if we packed right away, we might have a fairly direct path.

There are no straight paths here. All are compromised by the meandering realities of the moment.
For instance, according to our guide book, the ferry was set to leave Bluefields for our current destination at 12:00. We were assured early on that the ferry never leaves much before whenever it does. Okay, a time difference, no big deal.  And we were assured by our taxi driver, Jenry (pronounced Henry), that the bus from the Mayoreo station was the more comfortable, express bus from Managua to El Rama, from which we would catch a panga to Bluefields.  Neither noon nor Mayoreo approximated the truth, nor did the clai\m by the next Anglo-sounding-named guy at the bus station that he would call ahead and reserve a spot on the panga. and we could safely leave our bags there on the sidewalk at the #2 slot at Mayoreo for the next 3 hours while we went to dinner out on the malecon, the gaily lit waterfront of Managua.

After a lovely dinner aside Lake Managua we headed back to the station to "wait" ( what else is there to do but simply be ?) some more before the bus finally left for El Rama.  Traveling 7 hours on a school bus with multiple stops ( so much for the "express" ) was wearisome but it paled in comparison to the next phase of the journey.

We pulled into El Rama, where we were immediately taken under wing by an Annie-curled, siempre-smiling, Caribbean young man named Nahum (after the book of the Old Testament) who helped us get tickets on the #7 panga with him which turned out to be piloted by an even younger-looking man who assumed such a serious visage that David imagined it to be his first piloting voyage.  The other panga captains relegated him and us to the untarped panga, so that when the wall of rain hit us, the only protection we had was the black visqueen tarp cut to size to cover us if we held on tightly.  The only way that David knew that he could continue to hold on was to leave his own body uncovered, so he did, and Nahum soon joined him, smiling, of course, even when the motor sputtered and died 20 minutes from Bluefields and the projected 9:00 departure of the "Rio Escondido" boat to Corn Island.

We shouldn't have worried.  We made the Rio Escondido before 9:00, loaded our bags into the hold, sat down next to our new friend, Phillipo, a tour guide from Rome, and waited.  And waited.  And when David finally left to go get fruit and pollo from the local pulperias, the Rio staff started unloading the bags, then stopped when he got back on, then started again for real with an announcement that they wouldn't be departing that day due to a violent storm between Bluefields and Big Corn.

Dilemma decisions are difficult at best.  The Captain D, a small converted freighter that deigned to carry passengers along with goods bound for the island, started adding all of the Escondido passengers to its already full manifest.  Sandy found a spot midship on the second deck so noisy due to its proximity to the diesel engines and so cramped that no one else had claimed it, and settled in.  David joined her before the storm hit, and we had time to cover up with our tent's rainfly as everyone else scurried into a crammed, makeshift, tarp-covered, bunk-laden, quasi-passenger compartment that soon filled with the sound of puking, which we were fortunately spared by the breeze in our faces and the sound of the Diesel engines.  By the time we landed on Big Corn, some 8 hours after leaving Bluefields, approximately 2 dozen of the 250 passengers, us included, had not gotten sick from the sloshing, side-to-side, rolling ride on the Captain D and the close confines that conveyed the smell and sight and sound of their fellow passengers' upheavals. Needless to say, it was a wild ride.
Now, safely arrived on the island, we look back at the trip with gratitude for our well being and look forward to the mysteries and  joy that await our presence.  Each day without projectile vomiting is a beautiful gift.

Generosity

You don't have to be rich to be generous.

There is a certain generosity of the earth to allow you to behold its wonders. Each of us has myriad opportunities, both small and large, to share goodness and be gracious with others. Yesterday we were invited to observe and bask in the generosity of  those we call" poor"but show a richness of heart sometimes lacking in the people of more "developed" countries.

Jose, the gardener at our hotel, wakes every morning early to begin diligently sweeping the courtyard walkways.  When we inquired as to which bus to take to get to Volcan Mombacho to view the Mariposario, the butterfly reserve, he graciously said that he had an errand to run which would allow him to lead us there.  How fortunate we were because the bus station was hidden away on a side street with no indicating sign.   It would have been very difficult to locate without Jose's help.

The bus was leaving as we arrived at the station.  We hustled on, and there were only two seats left, not together.  But one of the men sitting alone graciously got up to allow us to sit together. A slight smile, moment's eye contact, faint nod of the head and whisper of gracias, all happening simultaneously, communicated to him our appreciation.

Upon arrival at the entrance to the park at Mombacho, we were told that the Mariposario was closed for the day, so we began to hike up the paved road toward the top of Mombacho.  Along the way, we were granted the beauty of hundreds of butterflies of all colors, as well as hummingbirds and a large, colorful bird with a long tail.

Veering off of the road toward an unmarked jungle path we began to hike toward an unknown destination. It was surprising, to be six miles from Granada and surrounded by dense old growth jungle. Our wonder and joy catapulted to another level when we spotted a family of howler monkeys traipsing through the trees. They stopped to watch us watching them.

Our gaze had been turned upward toward the monkeys by the most amazing sight of the day:  a mini-whirlibird, a dervish with gossamer wings so fine as to be invisible, a dragonfly unlike any we'd ever seen.  It appeared to have a slim body at the center of 4 discorporated dots rotating in unison.  We never saw the wings as it hovered, hovered, hovered, then finally disappeared somewhere within the magic cloak of its wings.

Joyous gratitude was our return gift each time nature granted us these glimpses of generosity...each magical glimpse a circle asking to be completed.

Soft Landings Redux

Adventuring in a new country demands flexibility, but having a plan for your landing zone can really set the tone for the rest of your travels.  Our plan?  Grab a shuttle in the Managua Airport and get out of town as fast as possible.  Go to Granada to the Hotel Casa Barcelona and be flexible from there.

We landed at 12:30 on a Thursday afternoon.  20 minutes and $20 later ($10 apiece entry fee into Nicaragua) we grabbed our bags off the carousel, put them quickly through the scanner, and walked into the airport.  We waded through the normal melee of cab drivers and tour operators vying for our business, walked to a shuttle counter, paid $40 and we were on our way.  Esteban, our congenial driver, was 33 years old, with a wife and a son.  He was aware that the government had accepted the $50 billion proposal from a Chinese businessman to build a canal from Bluefields on the Caribbean side through pristine jungle and forest, through Lago Cocibolca (sometimes known as Lake Nicaragua), and out to the Pacific at San Juan del Sur.  He had no real opinion on it other than that it would provide jobs for the people.  He knew of the protests, but said that their voices didn't necessarily represent a majority of the populace.

When Arenosa commented on the cocos at a fruit stand, he stopped immediately and bought us both fresh, cold coconuts with straws to sip the delicious coco water before continuing on.  He told us of the termales (hot springs) nearby, of the beautiful laguna we should visit, of the volcanoes, and of the artesanal markets in Masaya.  He used his smartphone to find our hotel, taking us right through the middle of the old colonial downtown with its narrow streets, many shops, and people spilling out from all directions, unconcerned that our car was passing within inches of where they strolled or biked.

The hotel was a small, bungalow-style, stucco and tile place with a jungle garden filled with birdsong and swept immaculately clean.  We collapsed into the room and unabashedly slept for 15 quiet, undisturbed hours.  We sit in the room now, listening to the doves coo while we drink from a tray of local cafe con leche.  Our soft landing has set a beautiful tone for the adventures to come.