Isla Ometepe and Monkey Island

Nearly 6 years ago, a coworker went to Nicaragua and visited Isla Ometepe.  I didn’t know the name of it then, just that there were two volcanoes in the middle of a lake in Nicaragua.  I google-mapped the satellite view and saw the white puffs of smoke from each volcano, the dusty road that lined the parameter, the vast blue lake rippled with tiny waves.  They have freshwater sharks here, the only place in the world, a feat achieved as the ocean bay slowly filled in and formed the lake over thousands of years.

It’s been on my must see list ever since.

We booked a room in Granada, our first stop in Nicaragua, but before getting too comfortable, we took the shuttle south to San Jorge, where we could catch the ferry to the island.  It was standing room only, and everyone was pressed against the rails as we disembarked.  We managed a spot on the second floor, a fact we would soon find out that makes no difference.

The ferry just goes.  The waves are choppy and the ferry cuts through them losing no speed.  The boat dips, crests a wave, then crashes down again and no one takes their foot off the gas.  Within in moments, the ferry plowed through a large wave and the spray reach the top levels.  We’re soaked.  The folks on the floor below us are scrambling for covered.  They look like they just got back from a water park.

As travelers we have everything we own with us.  It would take days for my books to dry out.  Thankfully we packed our laptops in such a way they couldn’t get wet.  They were the only things.

We booked a place on the smaller of the two volcanoes, just an hour car ride away, which is misleading because the rough roads kept our speed to 5-10 mph the entire trip.  It’s quiet here at 7 pm.  Just the sound of us shuffling along the dirt road and the din of cicadas surround us.  Thankfully the hotel offers a dinner buffet, nothing else is open.  We’re here.  In the middle of Lake Nicaragua in the most untouched location I’ve been in for a long time.  It’s so peaceful you can feel it, like it has it’s own sensation.  It’s not uncommon to be caught in a reverie here.  To stop talking and slip away and let yourself examine the quiet.

In fact, if I could honeymoon again, this is where I’d do it.  Our rooms even look ready for the event, with crisp white sheets, a gossamer mosquito net draped tastefully, and our towels folded into swans with fresh picked flowers.  On our second floor bungalow, you can see the lake and enjoy the breeze on our personal hammock.  All of this for $28/night.  Blissed.

We stayed for four days.  We took long walks.  Ran into horses and chickens that roam the island.  Counted geckos from the hammock.  Looked for those sharks in the water off the end of a pier.  Kayaked.  Hiked.  Ate sandwiches with fresh made bread.

It felt like we did so much, but we missed a lot too… like climbing to the hot springs at the top of the volcano, or diving off the waterfalls or horseback riding or camping… much to still see if we return.

On the last day we explored Monkey Island.  Not on foot, no, we were warned that the monkeys don’t take kindly to visitors– instead gliding along the edge of the island, on our kayak, taking pictures.  Someone brings fresh fruit and rough grains to feed the monkeys. We spied a family of three, the baby monkey the most curious about us, jumping from limb to limb to get a little closer. Maybe too close. This was the highlight of the trip, sitting in that kayak, watching the monkeys. Until the mom-monkey charged at us. And I thought for sure I was going to be monkey-dinner. I was taking video at the time, but what you miss right after I drop the camera is the monkey jumping to the last branch about an arms length from me and barring it’s sharp little teeth at me, while I wave my kayak paddle in the air because, well, I thought the monkey might jump on my head. Yes, true story. But there’s video! Ha! Enjoy.