by Chad Cunningham
Do you ever feel like getting away from “it all”? Recently, my girlfriend, a friend and I had the opportunity to take a trip down the Río San Juan. I stuffed a Moon Book, pair of boxer shorts and a clean shirt in my pack and we headed down to the Lake to catch the ferry. When we arrived at the ticket counter we were given the option of first class or standard. Since first class tickets for the ferry are only 100 córdobas, we chose to ride like kings. My girlfriend kept the tickets so I wouldn’t lose them.
The boat was going to take 12 hours so we thought a bottle of Flor de Caña was in order. We headed down the road to the local pulpería for a (12 hour size) bottle. Arriving at the gate to get on the boat, we searched every pocket of my cargo shorts, every pocket in all three backpacks, inside the Moon Book and of course, the one pocket in my girlfriend’s board shorts, but the tickets were nowhere to be seen. At least I didn’t lose them. 200 córdobas later and we were back in line at the dock entrance. Riding like kings for only 200 cords each, still not so bad.
Immediately through the gate, we had the pleasure of meeting our Captain; first class has its privileges. He greeted us, checked our passports and immediately took possession of our giant bottle of Flor de Caña. No drinking on the boat. I had managed to find the only place in Nicaragua where you weren’t allowed to suckle on a baggy of aguardiente (fire water).
With our stamps in order and our bottle riding safely in the Captain’s chamber, we boarded the boat for the 12 sober hours across Lake Cocibolca. The first class suite consisted of padded chairs, bench tables, television and a wall unit air conditioner. Pretty nice, I thought. We got the perfect table in front of the T.V. and staked a claim in the cubby hole underneath the T.V. for that night’s rest.
Once the boat was properly weighted down with plantains we started off across the lake. I was busy watching the porthole for photo opportunities when I was rudely interrupted by that white noise that televisions made before 1973 when you popped in a VHS cassette. I decided to sleep through the Chuck Norris classic, “Delta Force 3” but was abruptly awakened by that wonderful white noise at intermission. With dry contact lenses and bloodshot eyes I enjoyed the featured premiere of “Wishmaster 3”. The movie ended and the boat trudged on through the night. I stumbled out of my King’s Quarters cubby hole to find that with each stop the ferry made, more and more colorful plastic sacks, backpacks and people were filling the first class lounge. When my girlfriend and I were joined in our cubby hole by a large Nicaraguan woman and her baby I realized my 200 córdoba first class ticket wasn’t exactly a key to The Beverly Hilton.
Somehow, I was able to sleep most of the night away. I woke up just in time to check the Moon Book about San Carlos. I read the opening quote by Edward Marriot which stated, “A place where the air smelled sour as old banknotes; where dead animals lay unremarked in the streets for days; where each day felt hotter than the last; where things of all kinds felt near their end.” That sounded no worse than an amusement park in the States to me. I ignored the book’s advice and headed off the ramp with high hopes.
Immediately after exiting the ferry we were approached by the hordes of trip vendors trying to sell us tickets down the river. Being the veteran travelers that we are, we knew better than to take the first offer. We paid the 3 dollars for the tickets anyway. After about 3 minutes of conversing we realized that we were veteran travelers and we shouldn’t have taken the first offer. We asked for our money back. The ticket salesman gave our money back with a smirk and a giggle. We took off into San Carlos searching for the better deal. Straight away, we came across a bloated rat floating upside down in a pool of stagnant water. Mr. Marriot was right! But just to make sure, I made a mental note to check if the rat was still there when we returned a week later.
In about 10 minutes we realized that while there were other ways down the river, none were awake at 7 a.m. and none would take us for under $100 if they were awake. So being the veteran travelers that we are we went back and purchased the tickets from the guy who had sold them to us originally.
After another hour swatting mosquitoes and sopping the grease off our Gallo Pinto, we were on the first of our many Lancha rides, in extremely high spirits and ready for the trip into the jungle. We waved goodbye to the mosquitoes and dead rats and said hello to the other 70 people packed on our boat.
Two hours down river we woke up our friend who had managed to sleep in an upright position, the true sign of a veteran traveler. We were in Sábalos. We were ready to put our feet on the ground and didn’t care to wait another hour to get further down river to El Castillo so we exited the boat.
Getting off the boat paid off, as we were soon sitting at a Soda enjoying a cold one. We sat and read the guide book which informed us that the town had more bars and hostels than El Castillo. We looked around and asked ourselves how that was possible and then decided to move further downstream for some luxury lounging.
After a few minutes of negotiating boat rides, we saw Yaro speeding around the corner in his water Taxi. He promptly swept us up and zipped us over to Sábalos Lodge. Sábalos is Yaro’s beautiful “true” eco-lodge with rustic cabins, beautiful wildlife, extraordinary service and excellent food. We enjoyed every minute of our time there. Most of the time was spent lying in hammocks and drinking our giant bottle of rum on our porch that was perched nicely over the rushing water. Despite being told a family of alligators lived in the tributary only 15 feet away, I was still happy to strip down to my boxer shorts, grab the rope and jump into the swiftly flowing water. I almost lost my only pair of boxers to the currents - veteran travelers travel light. We decided to stay on an extra night because we were told a group from CNN was on the river doing a story and we may be able to catch a ride down river. The group didn’t show until Sunday morning but our nights at Sábalos were wonderful.
We scooped up any info they had about our possible destinations down river. Words like Jurassic mosquitoes, Gallo Pinto overload, sheets of heavy rain and Manatee popped up. I could do without the first three but who doesn’t want to see a sea cow? That was enough motivation for us to keep going. I pulled up my super stretched out boxers and we headed off for our next destination.
Our next stop was only 20 minutes downriver at the Monte Cristo Resort. We were greeted by a friendly staff and had a Nicaragüense lunch with Agustin, the owner, who was busy organizing a gathering of political leaders for that evening. The price at Monte Cristo is all-inclusive. I don’t have to tell you what our first question was, but let’s just say Agustin, was quickly off for more supplies. We had an excellent meal and finished off a few bottles of what I think was aguardiente. The political meeting began breaking up so we moved into the crowd and enjoyed some wonderful conversations with an extremely drunk bearded leader who had walked 2 days to get there. A general in the Sandinistan Army at the age of 14, he was carrying a beautiful new machete. Later we found out that the machete came in return for his switching political parties. He told us that he wanted the machete because it reminded him of the one he had used to kill 100 men in the war. We bowed with respect as he left our table.
No matter how drunk you think you are, you never really feel aguardiente until the next morning. Hang-overs, horseback riding, and hot-tubbing sum up the rest of our time in Monte Cristo. I recommend a visit.
The next morning it was off to San Juan del Norte. Against the advice of just about everyone, we jumped on another boat heading to the end of the river. The boat couldn’t stop at the dock we were on, so we had a small boat race up to the side to get us on. I held on to my boxers and made the leap. We were on a cargo boat. A faster boat sped by but we were informed that that boat only went to El Castillo. We needed to get to San Juan so we accepted our fate of slowly trudging down the river in a huge cargo boat that pushed another huge engineless cargo boat full of plantains and Nicaraguans down the river.
When we arrived in El Castillo, we were told to get into the faster boat because it was faster. That made sense to us. We obeyed and climbed over the boat with no motor onto a packed faster boat without any seats available. After assessing our situation, we decided, as a group of veteran travelers, that it would be best to ride the large boat in comfort than be crammed on the small boat for 8 hours. We climbed back over the boat with no motor onto the cargo boat and had a cigarette next to a 55 gallon drum of diesel. We were then told that they had made room for us on the fast boat so we repeated step two.
We arrived in San Juan del Norte at dusk. (The cargo boat arrived 12 hours later still pushing the boat with no motor) At first sight the town wasn’t bad at all. It was a charming town on the Caribbean. It had lights and high sidewalks to keep you from walking in the surrounding swamp. We were offered a hotel room by the people at the docks but, as if we didn’t learn our lesson in San Carlos, we went on to explore by ourselves. We made haste back to the dock in hope of finding one of the men that was offering rooms. As we commented about the hordes of mosquitoes that must dwell in the swamps around us, our guide comforted us by saying they wouldn’t be out for another 20 minutes.
Like clockwork they came and we reached for the 12 dollar can of bug repellent. There is not enough DEET on the planet to survive a night in San Juan without being bitten.
After deciding to split from our guide we stumbled our way through the dark to the only hotel in town. It was nice enough but one thing worried me. Upon checking in, we were given the key and industrial sprayer of BAYGON poison. We quickly left for the bar.
In the bar we were joined by our host Agustin who warned us about drinking the Flor de Caña only to be “shushed” by the seasoned veteran travelers who were on vacation and didn’t mind spending a couple extra Cordobas, Colones or Dollars. In San Juan they use all three currencies freely. You can imagine our surprise when after 2 bottles of rum we were ask to pay the tab of 805 Cordobas, 20,250 Colones or 50 Dollars. Again we were stumped we had managed to find the only place in Nicaragua where a bottle of rum cost more than 6 dollars. After much belligerent arguing we paid the tab and were kindly told, “next time drink ‘pass for scotch’ - it’s cheaper”. We thanked our kind host and went on our way.
We made our way through the dark, back to the room to find out that there was no power or water. The town shuts off from 11 p.m. until 3 p.m. We had to catch the next boat out of town which left at 5 a.m. and our backpacks were strewn about the pitch black room. We tried to sleep. The next morning we were awakened by the largest choir of ungodly roosters ever to crow. Luckily they started at 2 a.m. I tossed and turned until I heard footsteps outside then I woke the others and we began groping the floor and shelves for our clothes and bug spray. When our backpacks felt about the correct weight, we groped our way out the door, down the dark trail towards the boat. We asked a passer-by the time and were informed it was 3 minutes to 5. The next boat wouldn’t leave San Juan del Norte for 3 more days. We ran for the dock.
Although I highlighted some of the inconveniences we faced for comical reasons, we had a great time. The Río San Juan has an abundance of beautiful wildlife and scenery. Every town had its charm and the people we met were all exceptionally friendly. I will definitely travel to the river again but I probably will stop at El Castillo next time. I would recommend any place we stayed and I hope that Waves’ readers will enjoy the places we went as much as we did.
By the way, we didn’t see a Manatee, the rat was still in the ditch in San Carlos, the boat was also loaded with plantains on the return trip and we saw “Wishmaster 3” again.
