Nicaragua 1

Today, as I was drafting a particularly venomous message to my credit card company about a stalled insurance claim, I noticed an anonymous payment has been made into my account. The claim money has finally come through. After two months of increasingly terse correspondence about the claim, I'd expected the company would be desperate to tell me the matter was closed. But there has been nothing. No email, no fanfare, no declaration of their extraordinary generosity, just $200 dropped unceremoniously into my account on the back of my 3 unanswered messages. That they failed to inform me of this should come as no surprise, of course, because I've discovered in the whole drawn-out process that there's no limit to their ineptitude.

Rice drying in a courtyard, Balgue village, Isla Ometepe

That the company offered 'stolen card protection' was always curious to me. Bundled into a package of other benefits - zero international withdrawal fees, theft & damage insurance on items purchased, refunds on the difference of items that go on sale after you've bought them - it seemed like the ideal travel card and this episode aside, it's been great. 

When the time came to make a claim after being pick pocketed in Ecuador, I had a quick look at the contract guff. It noted, 'if your card is stolen, we'll pay $200 just for the inconvenience'. Sounded simple, only I hadn't counted on the inconvenience being dealing with their staff. I've spent over an hour on hold, spoken to half the sub-continent, been directed to non-existent websites and had non-applicable forms sent to me. I've filed forms only to have them returned because the format wasn't suitable and had letters delivered to my home address, despite telling them I'm traveling numerous times. 

Arriving at the lodge after a sweaty climb up the hill. It was hot.

In one of their most frustrating messages they informed me that my unique claim number was 'TBA' and insisted all future correspondence quoted this number and should be made by post or fax. All their messages were suffixed with the infuriating slogan, 'Imagination at Work'. I said I didn't have access to a fax, but that imagination was at work in South America too and would it be possible to photograph a copy of the police report and send it by email? I was still waiting for an answer to that question when the payment was made.

For a service pitched at travelers they make it very difficult to claim from overseas. Whether they deliberately make the process obstructive by employing morons, I'm not sure. Certainly it would deter people with less spare time than I have from following through with a claim. But most people who have less spare time than me probably earn more than me too. Because for us, $200 represents 100% of our earnings for FY12. And we probably make it stretch further also. In Nicaragua, where we arrive after making a brief stopover in Costa Rica, $200 equates to a week of living expenses - for the two of us. So well worth the effort.

It goes so far that we're able to 'splash-out', by Nicaraguan standards at least, on a $10/night dorm at a luxury ecolodge on Isla Ometepe. The site for the lodge is spectacular: perched on the lower slopes of Vulcan Maderas in the middle of Lake Nicaragua with views out over neighboring Vulcan Concepcion. Ometepe is formed entirely of these two volcanoes which merge at their base to form one island on Central America's largest lake. The pace of life here is slow and the people remain unjaded to travelers because there's relatively little tourist presence. Agriculture is still the way of life and the locals are friendly and welcoming. 

View from deck chair at our lodge

Venturing out in the heat

Swimming at Ojo de Agua - Eye of Water, a natural spring on the island

We make no plans in particular for our 4 days here, except to climb to the crater of the volcano, but again our luck with this is bad. The weather clouds in on the morning we hope to climb and the tour guide arrives at the lodge soaking wet to tell us the bad news. It's the third time we've missed out on doing a volcano climb after failed attempts in Chile and Ecuador due to rainy weather. Naturally the weather improves almost immediately after the guide has left and stays clear for the rest of our time. We decide that it's just not meant to be and settle for some less strenuous walks around the beach with bodegas serving gallo pinto, Nicaragua's take on rice'n'beans, and cold bottles of cerveza at convenient points along the way.

Irrigation man

Hitching a ride in the tray of a ute

At night the sounds of the bush are brought to our open-walled, thatched roof dorm. Under the protection of a mosquito net (I still find this exciting, like a 5 year old building forts with furniture. Knowing the blood sucking bastards can't get inside is also reassuring given that neither of us are taking malarias pills) we can hear howler monkeys roar in the trees. Gorillas could be plotting a coup of the lodge such is the noise, but by daylight the howler monkeys can be seen in the trees and are not much bigger than a teddy bear. All of which is in keeping with our guidebook description of Isla Ometepe: 'a place that belongs in fairytales or fantasy novels'. This feels about right. Just another place to jostle for position in our highlights reel.

xN&G

Panama

Tankers wait in the harbour for passage through the canal

Arriving in Panama brings a new feeling of excitement for both of us. Whereas our time in South America had been researched and roughy mapped out before we left, Central America is the complete unknown. It'd had never been in the original plans to make it this far north and it's a late change to avoid expensive flights to Mexico. Admittedly Nic has been the driving force on the research front, but Ecuador aside, we've both had at least some idea about the places we were visiting and when. 

Because of this I've been a bit dismissive of travelers whose pre-holiday research didn't extend beyond the airline website. Surely there's added enjoyment with at least some expectation of what you're seeing and doing? Our experiences at Machu Picchu or Torres del Paine, or any number of other places suggests so. And the memory of a clueless traveller we met in Vietnam, who fell into every tourist trap imaginable after boarding the outward flight straight from his goodbye drinks is a good warning to do at least the bare minimum of background work.

But I'm starting to think there're some advantages to traveling blindly to a new destination. Just like the expectations of New Years Eve often weighs down the night, the guidebook hype or photoshopped pictures can sell something that real-life can't deliver. The hawkers and touts, stifling humidity or rubbish strewn streets - these things are left out of the descriptions. It's not that any of these omissions can ever be endearing, but the real attraction of a new place tends to shine through in spite of these factors when expectations haven't been driven up. So with flights to Cuba flying out from Cancun in just under 6 weeks, we disembark in Panama with almost zero idea how we'll make the 3000km journey to Mexico. We're officially ignorant tourists and it's exciting. 

Miraflores lock

At this point I note that my knowledge of central american geography is awful. I know Mexico sits at the top of the map and dwarfs its neighbors to the south. I know that Panama occupies the skinny bit at the bottom because this is the logical place to build a canal. But the rest of the countries muddled in the middle, to my uneducated mind at least, have spent their entire history recovering alternately from either civil war or natural disasters. The very little I know about Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador, Nicaragua and Costa Rica was fed to me by Judy Bailey at 6pm news time. I need to find the middle ground between ignorance and over expectation.

It's with some luck then that the first people we meet in our hostel have spent the last year traveling solely in Central America. They're rushing out the door to the airport but there's just enough time for them to condense their epic itinerary into a few personal highlights. Even luckier is that they're headed to Colombia and so it's a chance to ditch the Lonely Planet South America in exchange for the less brick-like Central America version. I start educating myself about places that were formerly just a wiggly line on the map.

Panama City comes across as a strange mix of South America and the Middle East. The latin-american influences are obvious and expected, but it's peculiar to see modern skyscrapers alongside traditional markets. It bills itself as the most cosmopolitan city of Central America and the Dubai of the Western Hemisphere. It's a safe feeling introduction to Central American capital cities which, as I begin to learn about in the LP, are not the best places to roam. Like Ecuador, its primary currency is the US dollar and the american influence is noticeable also. It's not love at first sight but there's enough happening to keep us busy for a few days. 

Pilfered from another blog because we didn't have anything better of the skyline 

It's a sloth. Near desperation point after not seeing one in 6 months in South America, Nic spots it on arrival at Bocas.

This includes a visit to the Panama Canal, which I'm very keen to see despite feeling a lack of enthusiasm on Nic's part. It's impressive to see huge tankers passing through the narrow locks but the displays and video are a bit light on info to keep me interested. Surprisingly Nic seems to take a lot more from it than I do, which just affirms my new thoughts on trying to travel without preconceptions.

Spotted red dart frog, native to Isla Bastimentos. The size of a thumbnail he narrowly avoids falling under my shoe.

Selling coconuts to the few beachgoers at Bastimentos

We depart from Panama City to the Caribbean islands of Bocas del Toro, close to the border with Costa Rica and 600km closer to Mexico. Bocas del Toro, we read on the bus, is a collection of several islands and a popular backpacker spot. But relatively fresh from our time in San Blas the main island fails to meet up to the Caribbean dream. There's hardly a beach to speak of and the waterfront is surrounded by mangroves. For me, mangroves fall under the same category as birds and clowns - complete irrational fear.

Thankfully only 15min by water taxi is Isla Bastimentos which couldn't be more different to dirty Isla Colon. Cheap accommodation (a failed resort that's been converted to a hostel) on an otherwise mostly vacant, jungle island. Mangroves at a minimum. Four days of reading on the beach mixed in with swimming, eating and drinking. Paradise found again. 

xN&G