The first destination in Nicaragua which is worth to talk about became Jiquilillo. A small village at the Pacific Coast, mentioned as one of the sights in the famous travel guides. The weather was forcing me to several stops. I had some good laughs with the locals. Out of the Central American nations, Nicaragua most recently ended its war. This might be one of the reasons for their coldness in first place. It's hard to find a smiling local. But, and this surprised me, people were well dressed, looked healthy and talked educated. I spend my pauses with sucking cold water out of dozens of water bags. They were very small sized, 125ml and after a while my pockets were full of plastic bags. The road became less comfortable as I turned off the Panamerican Highway in the direction of north-west. Soon I cycled on loneliness and found my junction after some trouble to identify the signs. I had to cycle eight kilometer on a terrible dirt road to get to the coast and finally I saw some houses and Niseema who already walked through the whole village. At this time I could not thank Remo, the Swiss cyclist I met in Guatemala, enough for giving me his secure tubes. The sharp stones would have been a big worry without them but I arrived without that a harm was done to my bike. The liquid in the tubes spreads immediately into the accruing holes and a flat won't happen. I asked Niseema about the options for our staying but I wanted to see them with my own eyes. I should listen more to her opinion, she was totally right. There is a typical beach house complex for tourists. Some cabins on grassland. An outdoor community place with kitchen, hammocks and guitar playing foreigners. It looked good but had no view on the cost. Really basic but it offers a sense of security and almost every tourist who followed the advice in the travel guide, had already checked in to hang around in the community area in spite of a lack of attractions. There was just one other place which opened for tourists. Beside it did not approach "gringos" by its appearance it has the advantage to be directly at the beach. An Italian opened this nice beach hostel and serves traditional Italian pizza out of an outdoor furnace. We asked for camping and were allowed to pitch my tent, hang the hammock and feel free to act like being home. The environment is beautiful but it surprised me how less people want to improve their life. As much as I was positively surprised in the cities, I was shocked about the boredom of some parts of Nicaraguan society. Fishermen stay on the sea for hours. As soon as they come home, they get drunk. There is one restaurant in Jiquilillo but all they serve is rice and beans, a really basic salad which actually is just a leaf of lettuce, a tomato sliced in two pieces and maybe a piece of unwashed cucumber. The salad is dirty and full of ants. They serve fish and little black and hard beefsteaks. The meat is just thrown on a fireplace without to care about time and heat intensity. The interior looks cheap and dirty. A TV is the attention for all guests. I spend my next weeks to understand those habits of "Nicaragüenses." The city is in a interesting stage. Life is simple, nobody expect much. Somebody had the idea to write something on his empty guide pages about Jiquilillo and suddenly strange, tall, white people arrive to walk through the streets in search for entertainment and bring some money with them to spend. They do not fit in. Their appearance is more or less a alien one.

A white person tends to look crazy between Latinos. There is almost nobody who fits in the local life. A Central American society is strongly influenced by indigenous culture and poorness. There are the hippie tourists with strange hair, long beards, colorful skirts and neck cloth, bracelets and guitars. There is the surf dude with a muscular body and no processing shirt. There is the unsuitable tourist, who does not fit into the lifestyle, the black duckling who watches everything with an aura of distancing. I call them Safari visitors. There is the long time traveler, the extreme cool guy, the actual more modest and really cool guy and the party girl. There are the old and the young versions of each category and all started to come to this little village at the Nicaraguan Pacific Coast. It is still in the beginning. Not a lot of tourists take the detour but it is enough movement to convince the regional authority to build a new main road. Beside that the locals did not quit understand how to handle those white people. The next years will bring more orientation, more infrastructure etc. It is questionable if this is something to applause for but it was interesting to witness this stage of change.

I had no problem with focusing at the beach and what it offers me. My hammock gave me some comfort; we even slept outside instead using the tent which additionally became a highway of ants, anyway. My knees bleed after we Europeans decided to show the locals what makes European soccer effective. It was amusing how my English friend and me played sudden defense after the level of tricks became to much. For five minutes two old tall guys played tough against those kids. The sun was setting while the ball kept rolling over the sand and shells. We played until there was no light, my knees were bleeding by the shells, my old body soared and the little kids kept teasing me for my missed . At this evening I saw the ten puppies for the first time. The house dog romance with a street dog resulted in plenty of new life. At this night I did not know how much this birth will influence me later on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Through it somewhere!"

Did I just translate right? My adrenaline had risen immensely to a point of full anger and disgust an. It took my some effort to keep control about the words I have chose to show off my opinion towards the acting of the caretaker and his son who both stand just a few meters away. The kid still hold a tiny puppy in his hand as would it be a dirty sock while his father also showed this cruel attitude to it. As we arrived at the hostel we saw a bunch if five days old puppies and screaming for food. Just one puppy did not scream. It was the smallest and we took it in our hands, hugged it and forced the owner of the mother dog to put it on a teat while the dog mother feed the offspring. Unfortunately this was just one feeding. One the next day the little boy approached us happily by showing the almost dead animal. Joyful he told us "look, a dead one", knowingly that it still breathed, almost not recognizable but it was alive. His father had no better meaning about the worth of life but obviously thought it is not good to show tourists a dying animal. After my insisting, he called his son for putting it at least back to the mother. Noticeably disappointed and not knowing what he did wrong, his son put the puppy in the corner with the nine others and the mother. It still was alone, two meters away from the teats and warmth of his family and I had to see him struggling in the fight for air and the search for something to lean on. I sat down and took the puppy, his nose dry, his nostrils and mouth filled with sand. My efforts to clean its nose resulted that his skin came off. I stayed; nobody should die alone. Niseema saw me sitting in the corner and was in the same sad mood like me as she saw the little princess on my chest. We tried to clean her breathing with water and she had the idea to feed her with milk from the store. I always thought a dog stomach cannot handle it but to see this little creature fighting for the drops of liquid was priceless. Obviously it was the last puppy to birth, what brought it in a bad position for the first important feeding and the following ones. To small and weak to fight for a teat, her body could not develop and her chances kept decreasing.

We took her into our tent, build a fortress in one of the corner and felt asleep. The little creature somehow managed to break through the barrier between her and us which we had constructed to protect her. The little puppy did not like to be alone, she crawled until Niseemas feed and cuddled her in the middle of the night. After this night "Fuchur" slept almost every night on my blank chest. We kept her and hoped to do the best to keep her alive. Fuchurs fur is white with a little developing brown. Her permanent smile reminded me of the luck dragon in the book ‘Never Ending Story’, written by Michael Ende and we named our new angle that way.

We took her with us to Masaya, one of the biggest cities in Nicaragua but still not recogognizable industry or cultural life which I thought will be at least all centered in the capital Managua. It felt like having a little family. I was so happy and stressed at the same time. Fuchur became the center of attention. Her ups and downs gave us sorrows and hope, proudly we walked through the markets, Fuchur wrapped in a towel, to search a bottle for easier feeding. By now we had four different opinions about the milk we should use. I desperately searched for a decent answer but all vetenerians told us something else. In the meanwhile Fuchur opened one of her eyes and began to walk like crazy in circles in search of Niseema and me. The warmth of our bodies was her biggest need. She had a troubleful life but always smiled and never cried. Our little angle died after 14 days. She opened both eyes on her last day on this earth and so I could say goodbye and thank her for her smiles and to tell how sorry I am that we couldn’t help her more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Those two weeks were challenging and we needed some peace. 'Isla de Ometepe' sounded like the best place to go. Ometepe is the most important sight of Nicaragua and hardly to miss. A huge lake fills the heart of that nation. One island, consisting of two volcanoes, is the must-have seen sight but before I could rest my mind I had to force my body to a bestperformance. Cycling became a massacre against my body. I had an appointment, where and when I will have to meet my fellow companion who took the bus. I could have eased the day by finally repair my bicycle which still was damaged by all that busing in El Salvador and Honduras, but laziness had other plans with me. I told Niseema about my approximate arrival, I even mentioned occurring problems like road condition, roadwork, wind and altitude to prepare a possible delay. There were no challenging hills, Nicaragua is flat throughout the Panamerican Highway, but near the lake are strong south winds all over the year. Headwind for 80km in devastating heat. I know my girlfriend; she won’t wait until the last minute of our appointment. If I say it will take between 5-6 hours I can be sure she leaves the place after 4h50min after I started cycling and begans to worry or to walk around in boredom. I put all my energy in the paddles and without even having a break to eat and rest, I arrived just in time and saw her, of course, leaving.

 

Ometepe is gorgeous even if we arrived in March, which is the dry-season and the vegetation is poor. Still there are plenty of tourists but the Ometepe island is big enough to find both, peace and community. We found our camping in the middle between the two volcanoes. It was a good compromise. A huge area on a little hill with open community spaces and wonderful nature. Not one day we joined the other tourists for their organized parties but we had outdoor showers, a tower to overview the island and watch hummingbirds, a yoga place and other nice facilities. The nearby beach 'Santo Domingo' became our most visited sight. Unfortunately we found out later, that flees are in the sand. It took us three days to get them out of our hair. We looked like apes. The next day we asked around for entertainment. A gorgeous waterfall is located on the less developed part of the island. We have chosen a Sunday to go there. No bus and the good paved road ends after hundred meters to change into a bad dirt road. After forty minutes of waiting and we could hitch a hike in the only car which came by. On the pickup were sitting some partying locals with the same destination. To spend all the day with them was a pleasure. The hike to the waterfall presented me the most marvelous blue butterfly, a 'mariposa azul'. Its beauty is indescribable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The waterfall itself is absolutely worth to visit. The dry-season limits the water so you can stay in a small refreshing puddle while water falls on you from a high of 180m. On the way back we stopped at a restaurant next to the beach, we are still far away from the usual tourist spots and were able to enjoy Nicaraguan habits.

The evening expanded and I went swimming at sunset. This became the best swimming event in my life. The sunset turned the sky in amazing purple. Fishes permanently jumped out of the water. Apart from that the lake water was quiet, the surface smooth and in the colors of the setting sun reflected on it. On the right side lay the huge natural volcano 'Concepcíon', I turned around to swim back and saw the moon, the other volcano 'Maderas' and all the people were singing and laughing. I felt totally happy to be part of this amazing world we are able to live on. We jumped back into the pickup to sing songs out loud, my nationality forced the others to sing Rammstein and we whistled the melody of “Du Hast”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Quebecoise friend told me of a place called San Juan del Sur and we happily have chosen this place for our last days together before Niseema would return to Mexico. What was planned to be the last harmonic days with Niseema before she had to go back, started in a disaster. We arrived at Easter. The Central American most important feast. Everybody wants to party. In spite of the long journey San Juan was fully booked. It is the only city at the coast with a beach, accommodation and bars. I arrived while hundreds of people walked on the street. It was not easy to find Niseema in this mass and beside our aversion to that crowd, we couldn't find our destination. I was told about a surf camp, a friend of a friend would welcome us anytime. It turned out to be closed until may. To search a room became a torture. $50, $100, $70 for a night. What? People got greedy. Everybody celebrated; drunken people carried plastic chairs and big heat-insulting bags. We became crazy over this search for accommodation finally found a bed in a rear house of a nice family. Tired to death we decided to ignore the event and used the bed we had searched for so long. Despite of the end of Eastern, we left San Juan to search a spot to pitch our tent at the beach. By now I heard of a little hostel which cooperates with the nearby camping time share the facilities. North from San Juan del Sur are some wonderful beaches, reachable just on dirt roads. As I already could hear the waves crushing on the shore, it took me all my strength to get my bicycle over a steep hill. A paradise for surfers but still to many people, we searched for our private wonderland. In the absence of further roads, I had to cycle at the beach and surfer dudes were pretty surprised to see my riding through the waves and avoiding the crabs who walked for hundreds along the shore. After pushing my fully loaded bicycle over the rocks to enter the next lagoon, I finally arrived and as soon as I had pitched my tent in the fine sand to jump in the ocean. High five for that choice. Once you arrived at those beaches at the Nicaraguan south-west coast, you have to ask yourself why you should ever leave again. Despite of the option to camp for free at the beach close to all the surfers, we appreciated the access to bathrooms and kitchen, a shower and barbecue. The chosen camping/hostel complex directly at the beach with no more than a handful of other houses, became our home for the next two weeks. The camping was meant to be closed, the owner will dismantle everything and build a professional one in the year 2014. We were quite happy how it was without renovation. Firewood and a little kitchen place to cook and chill out after sunset as well as the shore just twenty meters away. In the trees we saw a family of howler monkeys. To get some proviant and pleasures like ice-cream, we hitched some hikes to San Juan del Sur. Our cooking was simple but delicious, in the end of the day we asked each other about what we have done, the total relaxation. The waves were up to two meters high, the water clear and salty.

 

One night my new friend and owner of the camping knocked on my tent, something weird at maybe 3 o'clock in the morning. He carried diving masks and a bottle of whiskey with him. Okay, well, to swim in dark water is my biggest fear and in the nights lethal water snakes swim at the shore. The first huge wave hit me hard, instead of watching the wall of water coming out of the dark. As we were behind that barrier I saw why I am out there with him. Every movement let the water shine in bright blue, I was swimming in sea sparkle. Those small dinoflagellates exhibit bioluminescence, when disturbed. And as I recognized this, I began to disturb them all. It was breathtaking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Dive to the ground!"

Even if this would be something I consider in a dark ocean, my fears had already vanished due to adrenaline and fascination. As I was diving to the ground, I could see my arms rushing through the water, it looked like I have had wings. My hand touched something hard and immediately the ground around my hand began to shine. I tried to hit the ground as hard as I could. Suddenly the shining spread out and a huge area of little blue points was enlightened. One of the craziest things in my life.

 

As I wanted to continue to travel south, Niseema saw her time coming to go back to Mexico. The company Tica Bus offers rides from capital to capital through all Latin nations in Central America. This is a safe way to bring her home. Sleeping one night in San Salvador by arriving late is a problematical issue but the bus brings you directly to an hotel and catches you up the next early morning. Otherwise it’ll be more troublesome to find a hotel at night and walk to the far distant terminal early in the morning. In the meanwhile I took a cab to my hotel in Managua, the capital of Nicaragua in which every citizen tells you without being ask for: it is dangerous here! From there I took a city bus. A chaotic ride without any hint where you are and where a station is located. It is hard to get to the bus terminal in such a jumble. I had chosen the faster and therefore most expensive bus which started with delay and let me out far away from the next terminal, there I missed the bus and waited 55min for going to San Juan del Sur. My bike was at the beach and I had trouble to hitch a hike to get closer to it. The tide was so high that I nearly had to swim to get to my camping. I decided it’s to late to cycle against the wind and spend one night more at a dream beach, my dream beach.