After this I didn’t walk anywhere at night without my headlamp.

Our second-to-last day in Nicaragua, we found a tarantula in our hotel room.  The next day, we found a scorpion attempting to hitch a ride in Lanie’s backpack.  Apparently we were no longer welcome in Nicaragua, so it’s just as well that we headed to the border the next day.

Look who wants to come home with us.

Costa Rica logistics have already proven to be far more complicated, for some reason.  For the few days preceding our travels, I was spending much of my time hunched over the computer, trying to figure out where we were going to go and how we were going to get there.  In the end, we were forced to conclude that we’d need to rent a car for a while.

Our travel day looked like this:

• 9 am ferry from Ometepe to the mainland
• Taxi ride to the border (we’d been planning to take a taxi to the bus terminal and the bus to the border, but for $25 we decided to take the shortcut)
• Walk across the no-man’s-land border area, which involved having our passports checked three times by Nicaragua and three times by Costa Rica.
• Bus to Liberia, Costa Rica.
• Taxi to the Liberia airport where we picked up our rental car.  (In shock from the price of the cab ($40!  For 9 km!  Nicaragua, we miss you already), we go the cheaper route and do not get an SUV.  We will regret this decision later.)
• Drive for a couple of hours to the place I’d managed to rent last-minute for the night, from airbnb.  It was not exactly a palace, and was in the middle of nowhere, but the drive was beautiful.
• Drive back out to the nearest town to stock up on groceries, since we have a kitchen.
• Drive back to the house because Bob forgot his wallet.
• Drive back to the store again and back to the house again.  (For the most part we haven’t lost/forgotten things too much on this trip.  But this house proved to be some kind of Bermuda-triangle type location with a magnetic pull over our belongings.  This will also come up again later.)

I guess the novelty of restaurants really has worn off, because the kids were thrilled to shop for groceries and cook dinner.  Bob and I were instructed to sit down and mostly stay out of the way while they worked together to whip up pasta with chorizo, garlic, olive oil, tomatoes, and cheese.  (Afterwards, they fought bitterly for about four hours about who would sleep where.  But it was nice while it lasted.)

In the middle of the night, Bob and I were abruptly awakened by a very loud, very strange sound.  It sounded like someone saying, “HHHHHHahhhhh” in this raspy voice, and must have been right outside the window.  (It was so loud, we initially thought it was inside the house.)  Bob asked the caretakers here about it the next day, and it turns out we heard an ocelot!  (They called it a “tigrillo”.)

Being more aware of the road conditions, we decided we were too far to attempt our original plan of spending a day in Rincon de la Vieja National Park.  Instead, we went to a nearby resort that featured hot springs, mud baths, and pools, plus hiking along a beautiful canyon in the forest, with a warm thermal river running through the middle.

It was a very fancy place (though bizarrely, as it was even more in the middle of nowhere) with fluffy white towels and deferential waiters.  However, the price for a day’s admission seemed exorbitant.  We elected, therefore, to forgo add-ons like zip-lining and white-water tubing.  It was very pleasant soaking in the hot river in the middle of the woods, and took the last of the soreness out of our muscles from our previous hike.

Dinner brought another misadventure.  We thought we were buying salt in the grocery store, when we saw a packet of white crystals labeled, “Sal ingleterre”.  Nadia put some into her signature guacamole, then grimaced as she tasted it.  We quickly determined that whatever it was that we’d bought, it was not edible (Epsom salts, maybe?)  It was horribly wrenching for us to throw away that big bowl of otherwise perfect guacamole.  (Luckily there was another bowl that was untainted.)

As we packed up and headed out the next day, the Bermuda triangle effect struck again.  About 20 minutes into our journey, Bob asked, “Did you take the water bottles out of the fridge?”  Nope, even though I’d checked the place about 20 times, we’d forgotten all our water and bottles.  Back we went, down the rough dirt road, to the amusement of the caretakers.  On the road again!  Except, about 15 minutes later, Nadia: “I don’t remember packing up my kindle!”  After a check of the bags, AGAIN we headed back.  This last time, Bob told them, “Anything else we left here is yours.”

Living the easy life

…or at least, they looked us over, raised their eyebrows, and smiled condescendingly when we said we were going to try to hike the Volcan Madera on Ometepe Island.

I actually thought they were probably right.  We had read and heard a lot about how hard the hike was — 9 km one way, much of it straight up.  But we figured we’d give it a shot and maybe at least get to one of the viewpoints partway up.  So we hired our guide, ordered sandwiches from our hotel, filled up all available water bottles, and headed out at 7:30 the next morning.

Petroglyph on the mountain

Ometepe is a figure-eight shaped island composed entirely of two volcanoes — one active, one inactive.  The active one, Concepcion, is a steep, smooth brown cone, rising dramatically from the lake like a child’s drawing of a volcano.  Madera is slightly smaller and more irregular, covered with trees and vegetation.  We thought we were attempting the easier of the two, but our guide disabused us of this notion.  “No, that one is longer, but less hard.  You walk the whole way.  This one…”  Here he mimed climbing vertically with hands and feet, a look of great exertion on his face.

Undeterred, we set off through the already hot sun.  Adding insult to injury is that our hotel is on the slopes of Volcan Madera, but in order to get to the trail we had to descend the long, steep driveway — only to climb back up on the trail about a quarter mile down the road.

The previous day, we had cleverly stocked up on small candies to distribute as bribes when the going got tough.  The kids began asking for them about half a kilometer in, but we managed to hold off for two or three.  The first half of the hike was not easy — it was pretty steeply uphill, and we were all huffing and puffing — but we were still walking upright.  A couple of hours in we weren’t hot anymore; we’d entered the cloud forest and a damp wind made us chilly.

We had expected this hike to be long.  We’d expected it to be strenuous.  What we’d failed to foresee — and what no one had warned us about — is that hiking in a perpetual cloud forest means mud.  As we ascended, the ground got ever more wet and slippery, at the same time that it grew ever more steep.  Soon we needed to use our hands to grab roots and pull us up the slippery inclines.  Did I mention that we were hiking in Keen sandals?  Soon we were covered in wet mud, squelching along with every step.

At this point Bob and I began to fixate on an unpleasant prospect: getting back down.  We were afraid it would be just too treacherous, especially with our legs growing more tired by the minute.  Bob talked to the guide, who suggested a good turn-around spot about half an hour distant, and we resolved to give up our attempt on the top.

Well, 3/5 of the family resolved this.  When we eventually reached the spot in question, Zoe and Lanie were extremely determined to go on.  A couple of hikers from our hotel passed us on their way back from the summit, and said it was only another 45 minutes or so.  This convinced Nadia that we should try as well.  Our guide, impassive the whole day, said it was up to us — so in a moment of weakness, we agreed to go for it.

Our guide (who, by the way, was 68 years old and had done this hike for the past 7 days running) shepherds Lanie to the summit ridge.

At this point the really difficult part began — at least for Bob and I.  The kids were now in their element, because scrambling up the almost vertical inclines was easier and more fun for them than plodding up hills on foot.  They were ahead of us with the guide, who, now that we’d committed, clearly wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.  (We kept hearing his voice ahead: “Keep going.”  Resting was not permitted.)

And half an hour later, muscles aching and soaked with mud, we made it.  And we were rewarded for our efforts.  Usually the summit of the mountain is in a permanent cloud, and hikers who complete the arduous journey get rewarded with only a view of swirling white.  But our day was crystal clear (according to our guide, the first clear day in at least four weeks).  We were able to peer down into the crater and see the hidden lake within it, and look down the other side and see the two perfect circular coastlines of the island, Volcan Concepcion looming between them and Lake Nicaragua stretching away into the distance beyond.

Going down was as bad as we’d feared.  Lanie, who had shown truly superhuman strength in making it the whole way up, had a very hard time getting back down once the adrenaline of the ascent had left her.  The rest of us weren’t feeling so great either.  Unlike most hikes, the descent was the worst part of this one, and seemed truly intermnable.

By the time we’d gotten back to the hotel (this involved going back UP the steep hill, which nearly finished me off) I was definitely at the end of my strength, which made me further marvel at the kids’ accomplishment.  Our first stop had to be at the outdoor shower outside the pool, where we discovered that the mud was more tenacious than we’d hoped.  Days, and several showers, later, I still don’t think we’re 100% clean.  And I’m pretty certain our shoes will never be the same.

But after an outdoor shower, followed by an indoor shower, we had the reward we’d been thinking about all the way down — sinking into the hot tub as the sun set brilliantly behind the lake.  Eventually we were able to drag ourselves out and consume large dinners before staggering off to bed.

Ometepe is the first place Jen described to us when she starting laying the plans for this trip.  It is an island with twin volcanoes rising  more than a thousand meters out of the middle of massive Lake Nicaragua.  On the map the figure-eight-shaped land mass seemed very remote and exotic.

Nice view from the bar, eh, Tattoo?

From the ferry,  taking in the imposing cones draped in their own cloud tops, we felt like we were arriving at Fantasy Island.  Those of us who are older than 40 felt that, at least.

The port city of Moyogalpa welcomed us with a few blocks of multi-colored houses and a very Carribean feel.  Our hotel was less than an hour away, on the south half of the island.  It is at the base of the shorter, dormant volcano, Volcan Madera.  It is the most posh place we’ve stayed at during our time in Nicaragua.

Straight from the guidebook?

We did not find Mr. Rourke at the Hotel Omaja, but after a quick glance at the infinity pool with the cone of the the larger volcano, Volcan Concepcion, strategically placed in the background, Jen realized that the scene was familiar.  “I’m almost certain that this was in the one of the Nicaragua guidebooks I used,” she said.  It definitely was a view worthy of a guidebook cover.  Anyone who wants to check up on Jen’s suspicion can visit the travel guide section of the Durham Public Library and compare it to the pictures in this blog.

The sun sets; Lanie snags the hot tub.

The hotel treats us to sunsets that compare to the sunsets from the surf camp in Jiquilillo.  It also has plates of pasta that the girls can’t finish, which is impressive.   It has satellite tv with gloriously unadulterated, non-subtitled English programming.  And, an almost complete novelty for us in Central America, when you turn on the left handle of the bathroom sink, hot water comes out.   The shower has hot water, too.

Jen takes a break from Mojitos.

So there’s not much more we can ask for.  But here’s what we do ask for:  mojitos for Jen (this is her new favorite drink); fruit smoothies for the girls (the restaurant in the pueblo at the bottom of the hill has two types: one mixes the blended fruit with milk and another mixes the fruit with water.  They are both very enjoyable.);  pancakes (the banana ones at the restaurant in the pueblo are world-class, particularly with local honey on them; and extra towels.   Also, the girls don’t ask, but they wait patiently for the heat to be turned on in the hot tub — then they wait no-so-patiently for the 20-somthings visiting from Canada to get out of the hot tub.

Did we mention there are volcanoes on this island?

Mostly, Ometepe has simply been a pleasant place to be — more than worth the uncomfortable ferry trip from the mainland.  We have hiked around a little, once to a waterfall on the side of Volcan Madera, and once through the pueblo to a few beaches on Lake Nicaragua.  We’ve gotten to know the pueblo, Merida, a little bit.   The girls have a favorite little tienda where the lady is very nice and has lots of candy on her counter that costs a half cordoba apiece.    She also sells these fried round pastries with sugar on them.   I asked her what they’re called.  She said donuts.

This is a seriously tall waterfall.

Today was a rest day.  We’re recovering from yesterday’s six-kilometer hike to and from the waterfall (possibly the highest waterfall I’ve ever seen) and preparing for a summit attempt of the mighty  Volcan Madera, 1,400 or so meters above our hotel.  We currently have no plans to take on 1,600-plus-meter Volcan Concepcion, but we’ll see how our legs feel tomorrow.  Actually, we’re not sure how far we’ll make it up Madera.   Several people have suggested a lookout point about half way up as a good stopping point for us.  Then again, they don’t know about the boot camp training Lanie went through this winter.

Thankfully, this was not our boat.

The ferry ride was very long. We have been on the dover dunkirk ferry before and it was really fun, so we decided to go on one again. Luckily we took the one that was one hour instead of four hours. All the other people in my family felt sea sick. I did not. It was fun sitting there with the boat rocking on the waves.

Lanie enjoys a mango before we embark.

The man who was collecting money for the ferry solved the problem of feeling sea sick! He took out some hard candies and gave them to us. They were delicious. They helped my whole family. They were little cherry candies with gum inside!

The rest of the ride I was happy. I sang songs to keep myself occupied. I watched Lake Nicaragua and saw we were getting closer to Ometepe Island. It was awesome to see.

As the ferry rounds the island, the waves calm down and the view of Volcan Concepcion gets even better.

Mombacho is an active volcano. Zoe sticks her hand in a steam vent, just to check.

The other day we returned to the cloud forest. First we went on a hike around the main crater of Mombacho Volcano. We got a ride to the top.  When we got there, it was cold and misty.

Perezoso! Did you know they can swim, too?.

About five minutes into the walk, we saw people pointing to something in a tree up ahead and and taking pictures. When we got to where they were, our guide pointed out a sloth in the tree.
It was much smaller than I expected sloths to be. Our guide said that was because it was only so eleven months old. He also said that sloths are great swimmers. That really suprised me!

It’s a porcupine, but it looks fuzzy.

Later on our guide pointed to what looked like a fluffy ball in a tree. I couldn’t figure out what it was. After looking at it for a while, he said that it was a porcupine. It looked soft, not spiny. The guide lead us along a small path to the back of the tree to see its white face. It was asleep.

After the hike we drove down the mountain a little ways for ziplining. I had been looking forward to ziplining for a long time. It was so fun! After getting all our equipment, we drove up to a large tree with a platform. There were eleven zipline segments with platforms and sometimes bridges connecting them. On some of the segments, our guides helped us do special things like getting in a superman position or going upside down. On the last segment, our ropes were longer so we got to swing back and forth. That was my favorite segment.

Lanie did tricks, too, but they’re mostly on video. Look for on on Youtube soon.

Backpacker-type people will sniff about Granada being a town that caters to tourists.  This is indisputably true — but I say, it’s not such a bad thing to be catered to once in a while.

We already took a day trip to Granada when we were at La Mariposa.  Though we enjoyed it, we weren’t necessarily planning a return trip — until we did some calculations and found that trying to get from the cloud forest of La Miraflor to our next destination of Ometepe Island would involve at least three buses, four taxis, and a ferry, which we weren’t Herculean enough to attempt in a single day.  Luckily, Granada was in the middle, and a couple of days of city life, with all its attendant comforts, didn’t sound bad at all.

Granada is the perfect city for strolling, with its houses of every color, striking churches, and vibrant market.  Our hotel was right around the corner from a cobblestone street that was closed to cars (although, inexplicably, one still rolled by every now and then) and lined with bars and restaurants with outdoor tables.  As the lake breezes swept the heat of the day away, it was heavenly to sit outside with a mojito (2 for $2), listening to the roaming musicians and the Latin music drifting out of the bars.

Of course, the other side of the tourist coin is the street vendors that approach every few seconds, looking to sell you sunglasses, cashews, hammocks, and jewelry.  However, in almost all cases we find that they retreat immediately when we say, “No, gracias”, so they really aren’t so bad.  (Sometimes they’re even convenient.  One day the girls decided they wanted to buy sunglasses, and had them in hand about 5 minutes later.  And once we ALL were wearing sunglasses, the sunglass vendors at any rate no longer approached.)

Bob and I snuck out for happy hour around the corner.

And there is still plenty of genuine Nicaragua around the edges.  One day, looking to arm ourselves for a picnic, we headed into the huge street market, which takes up a couple of blocks with warrens of vendor stalls.  (Bizarrely, there were seemingly hundreds of stalls all selling the same types of fruits and vegetables — I don’t know how they possibly survived.)  There were booths with huge sacks full of beans and grains, being sold by weight (also dog food!)  We successfully procured avocados, tomatoes, a lime, and a stack of homemade tortillas.

Serenaded by street performers during dinner.  Bob was very excited about the lefty guitar player.

It was crowded and chaotic, but as with everywhere in Nicaragua pretty much everyone was polite and helpful to us.  And with the exception of cab drivers, we haven’t found anyone who has tried to cheat us, despite our sometimes shaky grasp of exchange rates.  (You can pay with dollars anywhere here, but you usually get your change in cordobas.)  Yesterday we were walking through another section of the market on our way to the bus station, weaving through the crowds and stalls while wearing all our possessions on our backs, and someone started shouting, “Rivas?  Rivas?”  (This is the name of the town where we were headed by bus.)  My instinct is to ignore things like this, assuming they either want to sell us something or somehow get our money, but luckily Bob has more faith in humanity.  He said “yes” to the man, who then helpfully told us that we should take a left at the next corner since the bus station is hard to find.  Not an experience I’ve ever had in an American city!

Parents are SO embarrassing

Beautiful views of La Miraflor as we head for Esteli.

We started yesterday in the grey mist of a Miraflor morning. One last batch of pancakes, then a short walk to the main road for the 6:30 bus back down towards sea level. Despite multiple offers of substantial money — up to $70 that we would have split equitably with our friend and fellow Lindos Ojos guest Senor Joe — our hosts could not find anyone with a pickup truck who wanted to bring us to Esteli. I even heard Marcial call out to one friend in a coffee finca while we rode past on our horses the other day, but the friend’s truck was out of commission, or so the friend claimed.)

Zoe’s LL Bean thermometer, compass, magnifying glass zipper pull is being a little generous here. It was in the low 60s when we started our trip.

That means we sat at the bus stop with six legs of transportation between us and our hotel in Granada. At least we hope it was our hotel. Without Internet (and without cell phone service due to the poor communication skills of Mobal International Telephones) we had to ask the finca’s owner Katharina to call hotels for us when she went home to Esteli on Sunday. She sent back a note with her ever-dutiful daughter that said Granada was almost full, but there was a hotel with room of five. We would have to call and confirm before we got on the bus in Esteli.

One hint that my backpack made it inside the bus: the Main Street Makery luggage tag hanging from the overhead rack.

Leg 1: Although there would be an express bus later in the morning, we chose the 6:30 bus because it was more likely to have space for all five of us (six counting senor Joe) and our luggage. We get up early here anyway, and we pack up quickly. Not only did we not have trouble finding seats, our luggage got to ride with us in the main cabin. (You may remember that my backpack had to ride on top of the bus on the way up to La Miraflor.)
Two and half hours later, leg one was complete. In the hubbub of the Cotran Norte bus terminal — very near the spot where Jen was kidnapped a few days before — we tried to reach the Granada hotel on Katharina’s daughter’s cell phone. Nobody answered. Cue suspenseful music.

Leg 2: Ok, now back to the peppy Benny Hill music to accent our travels. A short walk out of the terminal to a crosswalk on the Pan American Highway. A man assured us that the cars would let us cross if we started walking into the road. Miraculously, no one even beeped. A small taxi stopped for us, even though the taxista’s girlfriend was taking up the passenger seat. All five of us sat in the back this time. The drive is only about a kilometer. It costs 40 $C. Why does every city in Nicaragua need multiple bus terminals? The taxi lobby must be very strong.

Greyhounds on the seat covers — a true mark of luxury.

Leg 3: A man in the Cotran Sur Terminal seemed interested in giving Jen a ride to Managua, then he saw the girls and me and pointed us to the ticket window. We bought tickets for 70 $C per person. The local to Managua was just about to pull out. No way, buddy. Tickets for us. Individual seats. Baggage storage below. An hour more of our lives to enjoy at the end of line.

We decide to break a $20 bill by buing something to eat in the well-appoined terminal. A few pieces of pound cake, a few tortas filled with pina and three packets of Ritz crackers peanut butter sandwiches leave us with plenty of change.

The seats on the bus recline and they even have arm rests. Observant passengers notice the cloth seat covers feature a greyhound pattern. No retired school bus this time.
We’re in Managua in just over two hours.

Leg 4: A few steps outside of our greyhound charriot, Jen encountered a taxista who could take us cross town to the Granada buses. But why not let him take us all they way to Granada? He offered $50. Jen declined. He comes down to $40. Legs five and six of our journey vanished into the air.

One of the nice things about taxi rides, and this should really be factored into the price, is that they become a Spanish lesson for me. I sit up front with the driver and we chat for a while.   It’s great practice with a captive audience.  The taxistas tend to speak a brand of Spanish that is more opaque to me than the Spanish our Mariposa professors used, and it’s a lot closer to what people speak on the street.  I nod my head a lot and say, “Si. si.”  Chances are that’s appropriate.

This ride was only an hour but taxista Edgar was amiable and informative. He drove us through the tony Managua neighborhood where foreign diplomats live. He pointed out the huge estate of a former finance minister who has opened up a chain of Walmart-like stores in Nicaragua in his retirement. I saw a fortaleza on top of a mountain that the Sandanistas liberated and turned into a boy scout camp. We looked out over the Laguna de Apollo from the opposite side from where we swam.

Edgar almost met his match finding our hotel, but after asking directions several times he got us there. Then he gave us his number in case we were ever in Managua again. And he took our names and phone number, too. Who knows when he’s going decide to go New England? I think he even gave his number to the clerk at our hotel. Edgar really gets around.
And guess what — it turned out to be our hotel after all. My new friend Mario had a room for five ready for us, with a/c and breakfast included. A big hurrah for the Posada San Jose, two blocks south of the cathedral in Granada, Nicaragua.

In the welcoming embrace of strong wifi.

Everyone quickly settled into the free wifi, but Mario suggested I go across the street to the Corral Restaurant (where, as guests of the Posada San Jose, we get 10 percent off) and watch the Champeons’ League match between Real Madrid — Mario’s favorite team — and Schalke from Germany. I only watched one half but there was plenty of scoring and the beer only cost 28 $C. It was a fine way to spend part of the two hours we gained through greyhound buses and direct taxis.

In Granada later in the day, it got well into the 90s.

Aside from the wifi and European soccer, Granada offers us many other luxuries. We noticed one of them as Edgar picked his way through the city. It was a laundromat and it will charge us by the pound to do our washing. Our clothes are certainly dirty, the only question is how much it will set us back to get it done.

How heavy does this laundry look to you?

What do our blog readers think? How many pounds of dirty clothes can a family create over two days in Leon, two days in Esteli and four days in La Miraflor? Post your guesses here or on Facebook. The person with the closest guess will get his or her name published in our blog in the form of a fictional Nicaraguan who crosses our path. and touches our lives forever.

One of our family’s favorite children’s books is James Herriot’s Treasury for Children, with its funny and heartwarming stories about Herriot’s life as a country vet.  My favorite part is the gorgeous illustrations — and based on those, I’d say La Miraflor greatly resembles the Yorkshire Dales in the early part of the 20th century.

As you stroll down the rocky dirt track, you see fields and mountains rolling away into the distance.  All manner of livestock graze in nearby fields (or often in the road itself).  Dogs and cats stare curiously from the roadside.  There are no power lines or telephone lines, and almost

Our bungalow

no traffic.  Frequently people ride by on horseback, which is the main form of transportation.  A few times a day the peace is shattered by the bus, which rumbles slowly by while blaring its horn to alert the nearby house of its approach (and to encourage livestock to move out of the road).

We have had a tranquil few days up here, moving at the slow pace that the place seems to inspire.  We’ve had lots of time for reading, playing games, and playing with the resident animals (which include three dogs, two cats, a baby kitten, innumerable poultry, and several horses).  Our stay includes three large and delicious meals per day, homemade with ingredients from their own vegetable garden (and, in some cases, some of the aforementioned poultry).  Our favorite is breakfast, which starts with organic coffee grown here, along with a big pitcher of steamed milk from their own small dairy herd.  I have never had such delicious milk!  The girls have taken to drinking cups full of it with a small splash of coffee added.

Morning entertainment was watching Marciel shoe a horse. Like everything else, this was done the old-fashioned way, with a simple hammer and knife.

Bob gallantly helps harvest the bok choy.

Our latest adventure here was a horseback ride, which Nadia has been eagerly awaiting the whole week.  Marciel led us down the road for a few miles, up and down a few steep hills, and eventually to a lovely waterfall nestled into the woods.  There is a very deep pool at the base of the falls for swimming — but alas, the water comes from mountain streams and is very cold.  Only Zoe was brave enough to jump into the pool, and even she only did it once.

Soon we’ll be back in the 21st century, with wifi and phones and reliable electricity.  Katharina says that they’re supposed to pave the road soon, and that her neighbor wants to put in a large hotel.  But I’m glad we got to see it as it is now, bumpy roads and all.

Zoe takes the plunge

The day started to clear up before lunch, so we took a walk to a nearby community

Here at 4,000 feet, still in the middle of this Honduras Clipper that brings clouds, wind and an inconsistent drizzle, you could look to the horizon the other morning and see blue sky.  It wasn’t raining in Esteli, maybe 25 kilometers away.  It’s probably been hot there all day.  In the Miraflor, we are learning why we’ve lugged these raincoats and fleeces around for three weeks.  We’re also very happy we have the use of some sturdy rubber boots, courtesy of the finca.  It would not do to wear our sandals around and get our socks all wet.

Making our way through the woods

The hope was that that the storm would pass overnight, but it’s still grey, particularly so in the morning.  The wind is probably not that strong, but because of the way our lodging was built — there’s between half and inch and two inches of open space between the top of the walls and the bottom of the roof — when the breeze picks up, it flows right through this gap and sounds like a subway train is passing directly above the cabana. It drowns out the rooster on the other side of the finca.

The strangler fig is empty because the tree it grew around died and rotted away. This left space for Zoe to climb in.

Marcial, our first day’s finca tour guide and our assistant host, said this morning that the day would calm, and it did.  After lunch, the girls were able to climb around in the 20-meter-tall strangler fig without fear of it toppling over in the wind.  This is actually a valid fear.  We saw several mature trees lying on the ground and Katharina, the owner of the finca and our guide for the day’s forest walk, says this is the result of an uptick in wind this year combined with an the emergence of a swamp in the middle of the forest.  Nobody can tell her why the swamp is forming, but the past three days of intermittent rain in the middle of the dry season will only contribute to the situation.

The outside of the tree was good for climbing, too.

The monster strangler fig is a major attraction in the forest here, and it sadly appears to be a candidate for windfall.  It was listing several degrees from vertical, but it did not lose its footing when Zoe managed to reach a window about 12 meters up.

Katharina points to the huge ant hill. The ants bring back leaf pieces to feed a huge fungus inside. Then the young ants eat the fungus.

When the climbing was done, we were treated to a wonderful display of nature in the form of a leaf-cuter ant highway leading to the ants’ huge colony.  Their order and economy among the chaos of the forest was incredible.

The afternoon held one more treat;  Katharina’s daughter saddled up her horse and let the girls ride around the yard.  Even Lanie got a lift.  They also got a brush to groom the horses as the horses grazed around the compound.  This was more than we could expect, and the girls enjoyed it immensely.

Next up is our big horse ride, possibly to a waterfall.  Marcial seems to think the weather will break and we’ll have a good day for riding.  Let’s hope he’s right.