We woke up in time to get a pretty decent breakfast as part of our package deal. Of course the sun was bright and hot as anything, one of the hottest mornings we have had yet. From the cafe window we can see the giant orange truck-bus that will take us to our destination. Our guide's name is Anthony, as legitimate a guy as any with his bulging biceps and swinging dreadlocks and just barely accented English. We pile on this large contraption, all 34 of us sitting on benches facing each other for the hour's ride to the base of the volcano. I had to stop making eye contact with all of the locals we passed by so I wouldn't feel like the epitome of gringo. Sometimes I'm weirdly self conscious like that.
There were quite a few Americans, quite a few Canadians, and a handful of Europeans, Scotland, Ireland, Germany, Holland and Iceland. We were all appropriately chatty, exchanging hellos, where are you froms, what brings you to Nicaragua, etc. (side note in this: on my plane ride from Atlanta to Managua, my neighbor was a friendly German man and we got to chatting for a bit. Being all nervous excited about going, it felt in a way very reassuring to meet another person heading to Nica. He was going to a language school in Granada and kept me company throughout our customs line before going separate ways. Hearing all these stories and plans and adventures from all these different people has had a similar effect on me--that being that I continue to feel less and less insane for choosing to volunteer in Nica. I think if I ever have doubts of what I'm doing, all I need to do is find a hostel full of young people from everywhere living out of backpacks and traveling, because as much as it's like okay, we are painfully not from here, we are also in a relatively similar boat. That's what I felt when chatting with all these international gringos gone thrill-seeking.)
The bus ride was bumpy as all heck, somehow maneuvering the soft volcanic sand that had taken over since the main road. Tree branches flying everywhere, the horizon one of forest smelling jungle trees and volcanoes. What a fiery landscape Nicaragua has....it feels very much alive with all of its volcanoes, all of the steamy sulfur vents and strange hot winds that speak of this our vibrant earth. We stop at the park entrance which has this strange pit of at least fifty iguanas all just hanging out. By this point we have been prepped briefly for the 45 minute hike up Cerro Negro, having taken our "before" photos at the park entrance. Three minutes more on the bus and the jungle has stopped, leaving a rocky, ashy, dark landscape. Everyone was all nervous laughter and jokes and to my great delight quite a few people commented on how this is like Mordor. Yes my friends, that is right. I was about to hike into Mordor.
(It is now significantly later in the day, the city covered in rain. All the old buildings look especially magnificent.)
We got tossed our over the shoulder orange cloth bags containing the jumpsuits we would don, picked up our boards and double checked that we definitely had our goggles. And let me just clarify that by boards I mean pieces of plywood with a square of some sort of very slippery plastic that would help us go faster. There was a rope with a handle and a small triangular section for your bottom. And that was pretty much it. Didn't question it really, even though we easily could have constructed this out of scrap materials in our garage back home. Seems legit.
We began our ascent moving through the rocky sections, feeling very much like epic explorers, like fantasy novel characters out on a grand adventure. Or at least, I was feeling that way. I always feel that way about things like this though. I think part of my adoration of hiking and walking and riding and climbing and adventures on your own two feet and on horseback comes from the little Kelly who will forever be reading books in the backyard, there but not there because imagination is such a great reality. I love that it's like I'm walking into Mordor, or traversing magical lands or trekking to find the answers, like all the characters fully realized in their comfortable novel lives. Lives I've visited again and again. And doing things like that in REAL LIFE are all the cooler because it is REAL LIFE. So even though I may not have swords or crossbows or magic or dragons, I'm doing all that is possible for our human condition.
Because there is magic in the way the old lava spill has coated the land, how the ground folds and crunches beneath you feet, the funny trees on the funny hills in the distance, looking forever like a Dr Seus book. And there is magic in the people taking silly pictures, self conscious but not, humming the epic theme songs of Jurassic Park and Indiana Jones and Star Wars (which I supplied for the Americans who were singing the songs when they couldn't remember--nerd for life), all of us silly and spontaneous and in awe of what this landscape is. Spectacular.
This volcano climb was much less grueling than Concepcion, but it was out in the open with no shade of which to speak. Luckily there was a steady breeze and the occasional cloud cover, which made the whole hike quite a joy for all of its tricky footing and steep inclines. It wasn't long before we made it up to the "top"; top being the point from which we'd ride. Before suiting up we walked to the edge of the crater, where Anthony scratched the surface of the dirt with his foot and steam issues out of it, hot as anything from the very active volcano beneath our feet. A WAY COOL WAY TO SPEND YOUR SATURDAY! On top of a volcano, feeling the waves of steamy heat, taking those must-have pictures jumping by the edge. (another side note: best decision to buy my camera--it has this incredible speed in taking pictures so it can entirely capture those midair shots, not to mention underwater....so I literally got the COOLEST picture ever of Becky and our guide Anthony ninja-kicking combat style mid air on the edge of the crater. Gracias mi camera!)
And then it was time.
The orange jumpsuits were overly large and all patched up from previous rides. Anthony demonstrated the basics of boarding, at which point everyone sort of stuttered at the thought of our bums on the very back end of a piece of wood barreling down the side of the volcano...yikes. Braking was tapping your heels, steering was tapping whichever direction you wanted to go, and the general position was lean back, hands vertical on the rope and hold your legs off the ground. Ladies first, of course, because chivalry is "alive and well in Nicaragua"....*suspicious eyes*..... And then somehow I was first of the pack to go. Gulp. Pulled my goggles on down and then after a reminder not to get off till the board stopped, WHOOSH. Down the effing volcano!
I realize that perhaps whoosh sounds a little bit corny, but that's what it sounded like. The wind whistled in my ears, throwing rocks and pebbles in my face, coating me with a layer of grit and dirt and volcano. Hit a huge bump but managed to hang on as the board sped towards the end. At this point it became nearly impossible to keep my legs up so I scratched and shredded at my pants...ouch. But also way awesome. I'm not going to reveal my speed (because there was a man with a speedgun timing each of our runs), but I'll let you guess in the comments. Note that the record speed for Bigfoot Hostel boarders is 91km/h. The record speed today was 80......the slowest speed was 16km/h. I figure I came probably like 16th or so out of 34 boarders. ............ Hahaha sorry that makes it sound like there is some sort of mathematical equation for my speed. There definitely isn't; just know that next time the motto is No Fear instead of Let's Try It. ;)
Being the first one down, I had time to readjust my ears to the silence. Speeding down that volcano was wind-grit-noise-exhilaration, the board grating over the fine rocks. Soon thee other girls started arriving, all of us covered from scalp to shoes in volcano dust, all of us laughing and dirty and loving it, cheering for each orange clad daredevil as they came tumbling or speeding or crawling on down. Nothing like an adrenaline rush careening down a volcano to instantly boost camaraderie levels. All too soon after all the excitement, we loaded back onto that orange truck, sweaty and sticking together, cracking open our victory drinks and enjoying the victory cookie.
And of course our drive back to the hostel is about fifty times bumpier and seven times more cheerful than the ride there, which is to say we were an enormous group of dirty gringos hollering through the jungle. At which point I held on to the side of our transport and just took it all in. Typical me to get all philosophical while everyone else is reliving their experiences through excited jolting stories, but there we have it. The top speed champ who didn't answer questions about himself but asked them of others. The waving hands of the curly-haired American. The goggle dirt line across the back of an Irish man's head. How the Scottish couple swayed with the wild bus ride. How everyone cheered, rolled their eyes at the Americans, laughed. How human all the human peoples are.
We bundled out of the truck back at the hostel and enjoyed our free mojitos for completing the trip. Food shower nap repeat, pretty much for the rest of the night. What a day. What a crazy day.
And what a life. There is a CNN report out that lists volcano surfing on Cerro Negro as number two in the Top 50 things to do before you die. And a reader's digest list puts it at number four for one of the most death-defying travel experiences in the world. Hence why you could say I've defied death today ;)
Keep dreaming magical dreams and keep doing magical things. And as the bathroom walls at this hostel say: "I believe in growing things, in things that have grown and died magnificently."
dftba
-k
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