Isla Ometepe and the Mundial

From San Juan del Sur we left for Isla Ometepe on Lake Nicaragua. By this point Adam had become the third party in our journey. After being ripped off by two guys posing as taxi drivers and piling into an unmarked car we made our way to the small boat that would take us to the island. We were among the last to board, thus the last to pick our seats. We decided on a small platform in the middle of the boat where we sat on our backpacks to avoid the oil, dirt, and later inch of water that covered the floor.

Day Glo Cowboy on the Boat to Ometepe

Standing above me and above the engine room, a crew member methodically pumped what appeared to be a broom stick up and down a long black tube, creating a makeshift bilge pipe. I asked Joee (who was in the Navy for 4 ½ years), “That’s not how they did it on your boat, did they?” He laughed and told me, “No, bilge pipes normally aren’t hand operated.”

As the man in front of me slowly pumped water out of the makeshift bilge pipe I quickly learned why they usually aren’t made out of PVC pipe, a broom stick, or run on man power. One wrong stroke and water jettisoned from the open pipe leaving me with a face full of dirty water and miscellaneous boat drudge. Joee laughed and I gave him the “Why me?” look.

View from the Boat

Thirty minutes later we hit land, made our way off the boat, and piled into the back of a taxi pickup truck. Four of the other passengers were heading to an eco-farm, Zopilote, which is seated at the base of one of the island’s two volcanoes. After a great experience at Lost and Found in Panama, we decided to give Zopilote a shot.

After a 200 meter hike we made our way to the main office. Similar to Lost and Found the grounds are spread out between various buildings, making it a challenge to find your way from building to building at night, and even more difficult to dodge the armies of ants that are waiting to attack if you don’t watch your step. Unlike Lost and Found, Zopilote is much more self-sustaining. The bathroom consisted of a compost toilet where instead of flushing you dump rice shells down the bowl. Surprisingly enough it smelt better than most of the other public restrooms in Central America. Volunteers help on the farm where they produce their own breads, yogurt, granola, liquors, and pasta sauce, amongst a number of other items.

Zopilote

There isn’t much to do on the island besides hiking or hanging out on the beach so we spent the first night drinking wine and telling stories over candle light as the electricity kept dodging on and off. It was during this first night that Adam regaled us with his highly entertaining and sometimes inappropriate stories of being a school teacher in the South. He has the unfortunate habit of falling in love always with the wrong person, some of them much younger and sometimes former students. After the wine ran dry we headed off to our hammocks for the night. The wine did little to help with the uncomfortable experience and the following morning we immediately switched over to the dorms.

Our original plan was to travel to Granada on Sunday. This was before we learned that Central America, especially the small island, more or less shut down on Sundays. It truly is a day of rest. Instead we stayed behind to watch the World Cup. We made the 20 minute walk to Little Morgan’s, which was the place to be on Isla Ometepe for the game.  I should also mention that Little Morgan's is ridiculously beautiful.  Lush green foliage, tons of colorful flowers, beautiful view of the lake, perfect down to the kittens chasing butterflies in the flower beds. 

Walk Down to Little Morgan's

Joee and I were both rutting for Holland, having respective friends from the country. Judging from the orange get-up and the bag of orange flowers that he was showering everyone with, so was the guy across the table from us.

Dutch Spirit

It was a good game, good food, good company, but a shame that Holland didn’t win. I was happy that we had stayed and happy that I could experience the Mundial in a country where it’s truly a game of blood, sweat and tears.

Joee Pouring Some Out for Our Lost Dutchmen

The next morning we checked out and made our way back to the mainland. We walked twenty minutes down a dirt road until we could flag down the bus. As we sat waiting for our second bus connection we noticed one of the boxes on the side of the road was periodically moving and cluckling. The rest of the passengers and the free range chickens roaming the side of the street didn’t seem too concerned that one of their comrades was locked in cardboard box, so I can only assume it is commonplace. One bus connection later and we were at the main dock. I was surprised to see a huge ferry, carrying cars and all, waiting to take us back to shore. As Joee and I ran to catch it we heard Adam yelling, “Run Joee, run!” He’d left Zopilote after the first night, presumably for less hippy digs. It wasn’t until we were waiting on the bus to head north to Granada that we saw him board with presumably his next love conquest. Joee and I sat quietly reading our books in the row in front of them as we heard Adam recite the less risqué stories we were heard only nights before.