Vulnerability and volcanoes

Nicaragua, like a lot of Central America, is a volcanic country. Ometepe Island, where I went yesterday, is so called because in the Indigenous language it meant two mountains. The mountains are actually volcanoes; one dormant - Maderas- and one active, Concepcion. 

Today’s trip was to go to Cerro Negro, a volcanic park, to go sandboarding. I didn’t care about anything else involved in the trip - I just wanted to go sandboarding. I booked the tour three days ago, not noticing the website page said ‘Minimum 4 people’. I have chunky thighs enough for two people and sometimes a split personality but I don’t think that counts. When I hadn’t heard anything last night, I emailed and only received a response this morning - he didn’t know how the system had allowed me to book because there’s a minimum number of travellers. I took a screenshot, reminded them I’d paid already, and got a response back to say my guide, Jonathan would be there by 9.30am.

He wasn’t. A random car pulled up, asked for me, the driver didn’t speak English - I think his name was umbra but who knows. I got in. I felt vulnerable as hell - no one knows me here. I reminded myself that I could have internet access if I needed to pay for it, and I kept my fingers crossed. 

He dropped me off in Leon town centre, after a short walk, I came back to the driver - whose name is actually Carlos - and we met Mario in McDonalds. We stopped off at his house to get the sandboard and equipment, and then off we went again. I know enough Spanish to know he was complaining about having to take me. “Never any single passengers” and “minimum 4 people”. I supposed I should feel grateful. I wasn’t, I was feeling sad. I felt like an inconvenience, even though I was a paying customer. I contemplated not tipping him. 

He bought me fruit - I wondered if I’d get potassium poisoning from eating 3 bananas. We drove to Cerro Negro and I felt bad for Carlos’ car - it wasn’t really made for these volcanic sand roads. We played spot the iguana - well Mario did and I was always too late to even see them. Mario told me that there used to be many iguanas in this area but everybody here ate them.they had them in soups; it tastes like chicken (doesn’t everything exotic?) so now there aren’t many iguanas left.

I paid my entrance fee to the reserve, and we drove to the base of the volcano. Mario had mentioned you could pay a boy to carry your board up, but I didn’t see any and I didn’t ask. It felt like I’d feel more of an achievement if I carried it up myself. Without a comparison, I can’t tell you but it definitely felt like an achievement to get to the top. I only fell over once. I took toddler steps, walked like a penguin to get more ground under my feet. 

Walking up wasn’t easy. I tried to follow in Marino’s footsteps to be sure of where I was stepping; I was reminded of the poem about God carrying a man in his darkest times. I thought about how much of an Agnostic I am. I couldn’t ever say I’m an Atheist - I’m a wishful believer. I wish I could believe in a spiritual force, one capable of miracles and, in short, magic. Not one that created us, but one that can guide and answer our prayers and thoughts. Sometimes I can’t help but think that when I rise up from my darkest days, it’s not my footsteps in the sand. 

We stopped a couple of times for water and to rest. At one point, Mario said he loved it up there, because it was so quiet. It was. The thought crossed my mind, as it had done once or twice today, that perhaps he was going to murder me. It would have been a ridiculously elaborate plan to kidnap and murder a person. I wondered what the police force are like here.

Carrying the board was a challenge enough, but I also had the wind to contend with. At time it was so strong I feared being blown off. I’ve felt that once before - on Tongariro. I kept losing my sunglasses down my nose; they’re not tight at the best of times. I took them off and pocketed them. I resolved to buy some cheap ones somewhere. 

We got to the top, put down the board and equipment, and walked a bit further to look down into the crater. The ground underfoot was warm; scoop the top layer away and the rich brown layer beneath gave off steam. The last time Cerro Negro erupted was 1994 Mario told me. I’d heard a massive siren in the square while I wandered around. False alarm, or warning of something to come? 

I dressed up in an ever-so-flattering yellow, black and denim jumpsuit, gloves and goggles. Mario gave me a quick lesson, and we walked down to the launch point. I was briefly scared, and then I wasn’t. It didn’t feel that high and it didn’t look that steep. I got myself going with hands and feet and set off. 

Volcano sandboarding was fun. I would do it again. The walk up the volcano felt like more of a challenge than launching myself off the volcano with only goggles and gloves for protection, sat on a piece of wood nailed to a piece of metal. Luging in Rotorua was more fun. 

You can watch my Go Pro video on Facebook here.

Afterwards, I watched my hands and face at the office where I paid my entrance fee. A couple of men hanging around outside talked with my guide. One was wearing a tshirt that said “I’m so Irish My liver hurts”. He was the least Irish looking Irishman I ever saw. His Hispanic appearance and fluent Spanish could all have been acquired over time. 

Mario talked loudly to Carlos the ride back along the bumpy sand roads. He sang too. I sat in the back, minding my own business and writing this. 

We dropped Mario back, and Carlos and I drove fast back to Managua. I didn’t tip Mario, but I did tip Carlos. After all, he had driven me to and from Leon. 

Cerro Negro, 16th Febrero

Listened to: Spanish radio of course. 

Watched: the last two episodes of Altered Carbon. Sweet baby Jesus what a hell of a show.

Ate: fruit. 

Drank: lots of water.