Volcanically Blessed

Nicaragua’s Isla de Ometepe is a slight to behold. The island juts majestically from the hazy blue of Lago de Nicaragua, or Colcibolca (‘the sweet sea’) in the indigenous language of the area, Central America’s biggest lake. Its twin volcano peaks rise from the water, a figure-eight-shaped island cinched in the middle by an isthmus formed from an ancient lava floe. 

Of the two volcanoes that make up this incredible island, Maderas lies dormant, while Concepción is active, and has frequent mood swings, its constant billowing smoke a reminder that, yes, you did build your town below a volcano.

But, neither the island nor its inhabitants have been blasted skyward or covered in blisteringly red molten lava. During its last big eruption in 1957, the president sent boats to evacuate the island, but no one chose to leave. And, surprisingly enough, even when sending towers of flame 15 meters into the sky, Volcán Concepción has been kind enough not to kill any of the natives (at least not in this century). Since then, periodic showers of hot ash and spews of molten rock have occurred every decade or so; the native population just sits back and watches the show.

The risk seems to be worth it to the locals. Beautiful land, sparkling lagoons, rolling fields, and a brick ‘paved’ road lie beneath the roiling clouds that surround the peak of Central America’s most symmetrical volcano. Horses, cows, and the required stray dogs mill aimlessly about. And, though the tourists roll in on a regular basis, the beauty of the land and the stronghold of local communities haven’t been eroded just yet.

Mother Nature and the gods of tourism seem to be smiling upon Ometepe. And it doesn’t hurt that their volcano seems to be friendly.

Hiking in Hindsight

Thailand might have spoiled us a bit, but Costa Rica is not a budget-friendly country (at least not when your budget is backpacker-small). Knowing that much cheaper, less-touristed Nicaraguan awaited us just over the border, we kept our stay in Costa Rica short.

To get the most bang for our buck, we headed to the tourist Mecca of Monetverde and Santa Elena. Not only was the area chockfull of activities, but we had hopes that competition might keep prices low.  

Surprisingly cold, windy, and rainy, Monteverde was, less surprisingly, also fairly expensive. Overflowing with eco-tourism gimmicks (ziplining, canopy suspension bridges, bungee jumping, night hikes, day hikes, and so on and so on), everyone claimed to have the best deal, the best view, the best wildlife. There were butterfly gardens and orchid gardens, frog exhibits and snake exhibits, a bat jungle. When we arrived at the hotel, each attraction was pricier than listed online. And when you went to buy tickets the price jumped again. Admission to the cloud forest reserves in the area was $19 per person, double that if you wanted a guide.  The greed was exhausting.

So we found the one free thing to do in town.

The trail, really more of a muddy road, left from the far edge of town and wound its way up to the local television channels’ towers. It wasn’t in the rainforest reserves, but on a cloudless day the view from the top was supposed to be excellent.

Fortunately, we had a single clear day during our time in Monteverde. After leaving town and making all the appropriate lefts and rights, we found ourselves at the trailhead, joined by a determined little dog. Tail wagging and heads held high, we started off.

Almost immediately, the trail started switchbacking its way skyward, heading up at a near impossible angle. Fortunately fueled by a hostel-made breakfast, we made our way slowly higher. And higher. And higher.

Despite the harsh incline and the muddy conditions, we were in one helluva beautiful situation. All around us, critters flitted, crawled, and soared. Numerous blue morpho butterflies, iridescent azul wingspan bigger than an outstretched hand, floated past us, refusing to pause even momentarily for photographs. A large, brown agouti trotted across our path, only to be promptly chased off by our eager canine friend.

Three kilometers later, we managed to reach the summit, but only with the help of a trick we learned during our coffee tour in Colombia: walking backward. We did probably 60 percent of our hike walking uphill while facing downhill. Given a fairly level surface and even incline (because humans cannot turn their heads around like owls), it is infinitely easier to walk backward when going uphill.

What should have been a climactic moment gazing out across Costa Rica, catching a view of the nearby(ish) volcano, turned out to be shrouded in cloud cover and dappled with rainfall. But the hike, free and solitary, was an adventure in itself. Journey, not destination, right?