it's august 1st! august fooool'ssss
After a few more days at Nina and María’s, we set off on the long journey to Ometepe, a gorgeous island in Lake Cocibolca, home to two huge volcanoes connected by an isthmus, waterfalls, swimming holes, and of course, amazing people. A car ride, 2 hours bus ride, taxi ride, and 1 hour ferry ride later, we arrived at a little hotel on the water and, over a chicken soup and garlicky steak dinner, set up a day trip with one of the local guides to the Cascadas (cascades) the next day. We set out at about 6am (but not before the restaurant specially made me pan francés, French toast, drizzled in honey…yum!), met up with our guide, Nestor, and started the drive in his jeep to the base of the Volcán Maderas (the smaller, dormant one of the two volcanoes). Nestor…well let’s just say, Nestor provided for a lot of laughs. After hearing my name, he asked my parents how old I was; when they informed him, 19, he looked back while driving and said something to the effect of “Really?! 19 years? Ah…they make ‘em big in the Estados Unidos!”. I soon learned that he’s 23, his favorite kind of music is Mexican mariachi (think: Vicente!), and oh there’s plenty more to come.
We arrived, after the bumpiest drive imaginable, at the volcano, and began the 2-hour hike, basically straight up the side. Now, my parents are pretty fit, but with the mud and rocks, mom was naturally taking it a bit slower (especially after her having toppled down the mountain with Edwin on our last hike…), so I found myself, unintentially, almost exclusively alone with Nestor. For your enjoyment, a list of his more choice remarks:
-Sooo, do you like rap? Do you listen to it? -Mentions some artist with a really silly name I’ve never heard of-
-Flat out: ¿Tenés novio? (Do you have a boyfriend?) Then right on to…
-How many boyfriends have you had? For how long? Why’d you break up? (it amuses me that the word for “broke up” is “cortado” - cut off)
-¿Crees en el amor del primer visto? (Do you believe in love at first sight?)
-At what age do women marry in the EEUU? (/do you think is good to marry)? My answer: oh, 25, 30, algo así (something like that). Then, in asking him what he thought: aquí las chicas ya están embarasadas cuando tienen quince años! (Here the girls are already pregnant at 15!)
-Do you like Nicaragua? When will you come back? Regresará bien casada (you’ll come back well married)- I can be your guide then, too, I’ll take you around the island.
-Tells me he’s had 3 novias, girlfriends, and now, “ando en busca de una” (he goes in search of another) …(I just love the romanticism of this language ☺)
-The question repeated multiple times, which I continually had no concept of how to answer: Pues, ¿Por qué no tenés novio? (Well, why don’t you have a boyfriend?)
At this point we reached the breathtaking, 35-meter-high cascades, which run into a little river and have only a small wading pool at their base; so naturally my dad went swimming, while we watched on and laughed at his hamming it up; took a few pictures, ate a few almonds for energy, and began the 2 hours back down- by far the most treacherous part. Nestor and I were again in the lead, and as it began to rain (very heavily, as in, we were soaked within minutes), he helped me out a bit more, slipping down the scary, muddy rocks. As a disclaimer, Nestor was not at all bad-looking; but of course, my heart belonged to Edwin. ☺ So I tried not to skip a beat when he paused after helping me down some rocks and said, “Eres bien bonita” (you’re really pretty”); wiping rain out of my eyes I replied, “Gracias…¿mojada?” (thanks…all wet?) And we laughed a bit and that helped break some ice.
We talked about my family in Managua, Spanish poetry, how much the mosquitoes liked me (“hmm…pues, huele rico el repelente” = “hmm…well, the repellent smells pretty good”). On poetry, he remarked “Recomiendo un chileno, Pablo Neruda; poemas bien bonitos. ¿Has leido ‘El cartero’? Poema lindo, muy lindo. Es para las enamoradas.” ( = I recommend a Chilean, Pablo Neruda; beautiful poems. Have you read “The Postman”? Beautiful poem, quite beautiful. It’s for lovers.). I must remember to find and read that one!
But then, back to the same old subject: “¿Por qué no tenés novio? ¿Sus padres no lo permiten? ¿Tenés un hermano celoso? ¿Eres celosa? (Me: -no…pues, tengo razón…*confused Estelí*-) ( = Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Your parents don’t permit it? You have a jealous brother? You’re a jealous girlfriend? Uh…no, well, I’m reasonable…) ???
Nestor finally let up on the interrogation regarding my lovelife, after my parents caught up, but on the butterfly-surrounded walk back to the jeep he said quietly so they couldn’t hear, “Las mariposas te persiguen- sabes por qué? Las mariposas persiguen la belleza…¿no lo crees, hmm? E’h que, no me persiguen, pero vos…” = “The butterflies pursue you- know why? They follow beauty; don’t believe me, huh? It’s that, they don’t follow me, but you…”. And promptly, after his having asked me whether I prefer dating “Latinos o los gringos?”, we got cokes with the family and all this crazy talk was over. ☺
We made it back to the new hotel, right on the lake’s beach, and settled in to watch the orangey sunset behind darkening volcanoes; we all three were so caught up in hammock-lounging, brief lake-swimming, and picture-taking that our one set of keys got locked in the little room. The jovial owner, Faber, said no big deal, but when we couldn’t find the spare key that fit and the mosquitoes started coming out fast, we got a little nervous. Finally Faber grinned at us (I gathered at this point that my dad had surreptitiously been teaching him English after dinner…those teachers, always on duty!), and yelled “Yasmir!”, at which point a tiny little kid, about 5 years old, came running, climbed through the room window like a pro, and came out the door dancing a little as we all clapped. A truly joyous occasion; he followed us around the hotel from then on, hoping we’d take more pictures or call him our “héroe del día” (hero of the day) some more. ☺ Truthfully, his father Faber became equally attached, perhaps even more adorable: having worked as a guide for years in Ometepe, he had finally begun to learn English and was experiencing much more lucrative business by guiding tourists bilingually. He flat out asked my parents to move there, for free room and board, if they could come and teach English to the organized union of guides on the Isla. We were sorry to leave the next morning, but he and his wife made us a beautiful breakfast and hugged us repeatedly before we went, insisting upon pictures and email correspondence. I’m hoping my dad’ll take that job someday…maybe after retiring ☺
We had met up with Nestor once again, to finish our Ometepe excursions with a couple of swimming stops: we went to the presa, or the Ojo de agua, which was basically a natural spring/pool at which a little river originated- it was so amazing to dive down in the perfectly clear still water and look at fish and volcanic rocks. Then we finally stopped off at a more tourist-y spot, the Charco verde (green puddle!/lagoon), a little offshoot of Lake Cocibolca, perfect for swimming and closer volcano viewing. It was so peaceful to watch the lake sparkle, and the lush trees bend tenderly to kiss the water; we were sorry to leave so soon. Hanging out with his friends, Nestor called out “Estelíiiii” and of course I turned, and they looked confused, saying “Moyogalpaaaa…??” (another name of a town). I started laughing and Nestor explained my name, and then was so kind as to tell them I’m getting married over here; married on the island, eh? Gonna marry an islander, eh? To which I managed to reply, in my finest Nicaraguan accent, “¡tal beh!”, and walked back to the jeep laughing with Nestor and my parents, his friends calling after us “Adiohhh E’telíii!”
A good two days, hmm? We snapped some final pictures and got some lobster-worthy sunburns on the boatride back; once again we were home in Managua, with stories to tell and more adventure ahead.
Enough for tonight! Only one more Nica update ahead, it may be the hardest to finish…but currently I’m on a quick weekend getaway, up in Sonora with my parents before they go back to school [work], and it’s lovvvvely up here. I have my own room at this little bed and breakfast on top of a tall hill, with complimentary, well, everything, from toothbrushes to hot cocoa and coffee to a huge movie and book collection to gigantic homecooked breakfasts in the morning; guess I should go to sleep huh? :D This is the perfect place to write though…so quiet…exactly what I’ve needed these harrowing past few days. Much love to all, be home Tuesday!
Hugs,
Estelí