I was the last passenger in our van, the youngest person by far. There were 5 Canadians, 1 British woman, a man from the Netherlands, and a Nicaraguan woman. We must have looked like a strange crew. Especially when our shuttle bus pulled over to replace a wonky tire.
In true Nicaraguan fashion, the “tire store” was nothing more than a simple wooden home with a man and what I assume was his grandson resting on the hammock outside. I would have taken photos if I weren’t confrounted by the WORST thing that tourists do. My fellows on the bus were all running around pointing and clicking their cameras at EVERYTHING. Sure there was a lot to see, like the chicks dyed pink, yellow, and green. There were the chocoyos (parrots) with clipped wings sitting on the seat. There was an adorable little puppy chasing the chickens. And then there was the family themselves, with that tiny grandson and grandpa sleeping on the hammock.
It was charming. Until we arrived. Instead I humoured myself by observing the clicking and cooing of my fellow tourists, while the Nicaraguan woman and I played with the grandson. We enjoyed making faces at him and having him hold my finger with his tiny, tiny hands. That to me was more magical than a photo of some weird looking chicks. Although it would have been funny too.
WIthin a few moments we were off and running again. We took this bumpy country road to reach Cerro Negro. A part of me loved this long winded trip. In part due to the hilarity of talking to the other tourists on my bus, all of which were over the age of 30, some nearing 50. But for me the more important thing was seeing the country life again. The simple homes, the ox driven carts, the kids walking home from school, and the men trying to make a living. It reminded me a lot of my time in Balgue and I found myself wistfully looking out the window, wishing I could join these people and ride on the ox-pulled carts.
Instead I was whisked off to the visitors centre to write my name, nationality, age, and sex. THEN finally we were getting ready to head out on our 45 minute hike. What was a surprising addition to our journey, beyond random attempts to capture the right song to describe our adventure, was the wind. It was blowing like it had debts to collect. I was blown around (thanks to my new “board” wings) and it was a difficult trek. Right as we reached the top of the big crater, our guide had to direct us on a different path, to avoid the wind.
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| Pre-tobogganing |
We made our way down into the crater and passed sulphur gas clouds and the green tinted rocks surrounding the plume. We summited the volcano and we finally had arrived at our end destination...sort of.
The next stage, after some high five-ing our achievement to summit, was to don the ever-so-sexy janitor style outfits to prepare ourselves for volcano boarding. I think this photo sums up all the sexiness perfectly:
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| Note, the socks. Very stylish! |
It was decided that the youngest should go first, and thus I found myself plunging down the hill. I rode that hill like I was an old rodeo hand. I had my right hand in the air, my left scraping along the earth hoping to keep some composure. But, by the time I hit the steepest part of the volcano, I was ready. I kicked into high gear and flew down the hill! Nearing the base though, things started to get a little tricky.
I hit air. I must have hit a bump someone else’s wipeout left behind, because suddenly I felt my board leave the ground. I crashed and recovered once, twice, but the third time I was lurched forward. Face first into a pile of crusty and sharp lava. For the nerds out there, I believe it was “pahoehoe” lava, so at least I wasn’t careening into lava sharp enough to kill me.
However in true comedic fashion my faceplant was not an incident seen by no one. Not only did my own crew see my wipeout, but a previous group was kind enough to stick around at watch it all go down. Everyone seemed delighted that no lasting damage was done to my face, except a cut or two on my chin.
Instead I was congratulated on my “incredible speed” and my daring for doing such a thing. The six men standing around watching seemingly couldn’t believe that a woman would do such a thing. Or at speed. Perhaps it was because the woman in their group returned. But all I know is that they seemed shocked. And they were in for further surprises, seeing as our group of eight only had two men...
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| Post-volcano boarding...looking pleased! |
All too soon, we were piled into the car again and headed to the office again for a quick snack and chat before going back to Leon.
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