Remember that time you were robbed, injured while drunk, injured while sober, ripped-off, spent the night as a bed-bug buffet, experienced the most epic of diarrhoea and did things to the toilet you didn’t realise a human could do, crashed your scooter, or had a combination of the previous while at the same time coming down with malaria?
Just keep telling yourself “It’s all part of the adventure.”
“It’s all Part of The Adventure” a euphemism backpackers use when things go to shit.
After having an amazing time working on a farm on the island paradise of Ometepe, Nicaragua I was really excited to be going back there , only this time with my boyfriend, Dean. I was so excited for us to explore this magical place together.
Look at this place, what could possibly go wrong?
As things turned out, going to McDonalds in our pajamas, ordering two Big Macs, then eating them while ignoring each other on our respective laptops at someone’s Grandmother’s house would have been a more fun and romantic time.
From the start, the heat was stifling. For the most part, Nicaragua is hot. You don’t go there to sit by the fire with a cup of cocoa, but the days and nights we were on Ometepe were unbearable. The humidity sucked the life out of us and left us both unable to sleep. Without even a whisper of a breeze, the only way to fall asleep was to get drunk first, but inevitably we’d wake up a few hours later, drenched in sweat and spend the rest of the night tossing and turning in a fitful, half-sleep.
Despite the suffocating heat and a lack of sleep, we were determined to have a good time. On our second day, we thought it would be fun to hire some bikes and explore the island.
Never in my life have I endured arse-pain like the vinyl hell that was my bike seat. As I rode I had to constantly re-position myself to share the agony to different parts of my cheeks. Finally, 4km of suffering later, we got to our destination, Ojo de Agua, a beautiful spring-water swimming hole. Admittedly, we did have a pretty good day there, until we had to turn around and endure the brutal bum-bruising return trip.
After another humid night, we woke up exhausted, but still wanted to try and make the most of our time. Neither of us wanted to look at a bicycle again, so we rented a scooter instead and headed off for another “fun” day of exploring. We’d read some pretty good stuff online about a waterfall called San Ramon-
“Once you reach the waterfall it feels like heaven, pictures do not do justice for this place, the waterfall is so high in person and so beautiful to look at”
And, it was only a three kilometre hike. Easy! We decided to head there first.
I remain convinced there is no way that hike was 3km. It felt like 10km at least, maybe 100.
One website told us,
“At the end the path becomes a little steep, but in general the hike is not very tough.”
Shit. I’d hate to see what whoever wrote that’s idea of a “kind of tough hike” is. Everest?
It was not fun. It was shit and hot and then it got shitter and hotter. Typically unprepared, with just a small bottle water between us, the climb became horrendous as sweat rained out of every pour and we had nothing to replace it with.
Finally, close to dropping dead we made it to the waterfall.
It was alright.
I think maybe the people that wrote about how good it was haven’t seen a lot of waterfalls.
Exhausted and now massively dehydrated I stood under the waterfall with my mouth open drinking it in by the gallon, random, water-borne illnesses be damned.
After our waterfall “adventure” we decided to ride back out to Agua de Oja and chill out in the water for a bit, before spending the afternoon exploring more of the island by scooter. Back at Agua De Ojo, we dumped all our stuff on a chair, stripped down to our swimmers and got in the cool water. Floating around, I kept glancing back, keeping half an eye on our stuff.
“I`m so exhausted” I told Dean.
“Me too” he said, “Maybe we bail tomorrow, I can’t take too many more nights not sleeping”.
I agreed, “Tomorrow, lets just get up and go.”
We climbed out of the water and made our way back over to our stuff and picking up my clothes I realised,
“Fuck! The bag has gone!”
We both looked around as though it was suddenly going to appear, but it was long gone. Dean’s camera (notice the lack of photos?), money and the bloody scooter key were all in that bag. The also randomly stole Dean’s shitty old thongs, leaving him to go home barefoot.
I remain eternally grateful to the staff at Agua De Ojo who went out of their way to help us, moving the scooter somewhere safe in case whoever had the key came back to try and take it and even going as far as to drive us to the scooter-hire man so we could explain what happened.
In my shitty, broken Spanish I tried to tell scooter-hire man how our bag had been stolen with the bike key in it. I assumed we’d have to pay a few bucks to get a new key cut but scooter-hire man told us,
“There is no spare key so this whole bit here needs replacing. It’s going to be $100.”
“Then we are going to need to pick it upso you’ll have to pay….” I could see where he was going with this, adding more on top of the $100.
$100 was already over the top and who doesn’t have a spare key?
I did the only thing I could think of and “burst into tears”.
“Oh God, it`s just, we had so much in that bag” I gasped for air between sobs, “camera, phone, money”. I fake-sobbed harder.
Somebody get me an Oscar.
“Tranquila, tranquila” said scooter-hire man. We still had to pay $100, but anything else he was going to tack on to that was forgotten.
Relieved that the scooter was dealt with and trying not to feel too upset about the camera being stolen, we returned to our accommodation where Dean immediately fell down some stairs.
“We need to get the hell off this island.”
The next morning we headed off to catch the first ferry we could. A taxi offered to take us to the port for $3 each. Three. Dollars. I can spend $60 down the pub without blinking at home, but no, I wanted to be a “real” backpacker and I insisted we take the bus instead.
The concept of a “bus stop” in Ometepe is apparently open to interpretation. The bus just stopped where ever anyone liked. Someone would wave down the bus and get on, then maddeningly, someone got off a thirty meters down the road. With all the stopping and starting it took one hour and fifty minutes. We arrived at the port to see our ferry sailing away into the distance. Luckily, there was another soon after, the first thing to go right for us since we had arrived.
Back on the mainland, we took a cab to San Juan Del Sur, where we checked into a hotel, cranked up the air-con and cracked open a well earned beer.
What’s your travel disaster story? Ever returned to somewhere you loved, only to have everything go wrong?