The Coronegroni Vacation

Hey everybody,

Well... this is something. For those of you that may not have known, Dawn and I were in Italy from mid-February to early March.  Yes, that Italy. Usually the first thing that I think of when I return from a vacation is where I'm going to have my next vacation, but now I'm just wondering *when* I'm going to have my next vacation. I'm not quite sure what to say about our three weeks in Europe during that particular moment in time.  I was so happy to just get away from work and the house, and it was the first time in 2.5 years that Dawn and I were able to take a vacation together.  I'd been wanting to see my family, and to see my brother Stefano and his family's B&B outside of Lucca.  I'd been wanting to see Carnevale again and share that experience with Dawn.  I'd been wanting to go to Napoli and see Pompeii.   I'd been wanting to finally visit Prague.  We did all those things and yet it was... weird.

You don't expect the backdrop of your vacation to be the buildup of a global pandemic.  When we first arrived in Italy,  there were comments and discussions about Coronavirus, but folks were treating it more as a punch line to a joke than anything else.  We had our temperature screened when we landed but it was more of a laugh than anything else. Carnevale went on as it always does, the weather posing more of a threat to festivities than any virus.  We took the train to Napoli to meet Mark, visited Pompeii, ate real pizza and drank real espresso. Day by day, though, the news got worse and worse.  On the train ride back from Napoli, the screens flashed periodic updates on Coronavirus safety.  We commiserated with Stefano that this was all overblown and it would hurt their nascent B&B business.  At first, the authorities encouraged people not to overreact or panic.  A few days later, entire villages in the north were being shut down and put into quarantine.  By the end of our second week there, my niece's school was closed and the B&B's bookings had dried up.  We questioned whether we would be let into the Czech Republic for our trip to Prague, or if we would be let back into Italy if we left.  Italian hospitals in the north began to fill up.  Older people started dying.  By the time our last few days of vacation rolled around, Dawn and I worried that our flight would be among those cancelled and that we would be stuck abroad on lockdown for who knows how long.  What began with ridicule turned to concern and then to anxiety, not only for us but for the whole country it seemed.  It was not exactly a backdrop for the relaxing vacation we'd hoped for, but in spite of the circumstances we tried to make the most of it.

With my brother Stefano at Carnevale

One of the reasons we decided on a February trip was so Dawn could experience Carnevale and we didn't miss out on that.  Patrizia (my stepmom) dug a couple of costumes out of boxes so we could join the 80,000 people wandering along Viareggio's seaside promenade; eating, drinking, singing and dancing while gazing at 4-story mechanized papier-mache floats making their way down the street.  It's truly a unique experience that takes place over four weeks before lent, with five days dedicated to parades and with different parts of the city throwing nighttime parties throughout.  It's very difficult to describe the spectacle in pictures, so I posted as many videos as seem reasonable.  Still, the scale, the choreography, the exuberance and the general air of happiness are impossible to capture in a digital medium.  We went to the parades twice, bookended around our trip to Napoli so that Mark could also experience Carnevale.  We saw fireworks, we drank, we danced, we ate cuttlefish and chard risotto, and Mark and I ended up in a mosh pit during a punk/ska performance of Viareggio carnevale songs.

Pizzas at Da Michele

Right, so I said Napoli.  Within an hour of arriving we ate pizza at Da Michele and saw a dead body in the street.  The next morning we had a legit Neapolitan espresso so that completed the Napoli trifecta.  Mark is in love with this city and has been there half a dozen times.  It's easy to understand why, with its mix of history, beauty, grittiness and wonderful food... not to mention the ruins of Pompeii.  We stayed with Luigi at the Palazzo Bevilacqua where we were provided with fresh pastries every morning like sfogliatelle and baba.  We took the funicular up to Castel Sant' Angelo for views of the bay and the entire city then roamed along the Spanish quarter.  Napoli is a dirty city, with piles of garbage, lots of soot and plenty of dog poop to go around.  Did I mention the dead body?  Anyhow, there is so much to offer that you can get past all that, and I haven't even talked about Pompeii yet.  My love for ancient cities is well-documented (see Ephesus, Rome, etc.), and Pompeii was no different.  Nothing I'm going to write here is going to do a better job describing this marvel than what you will find through a cursory search on the internet, so I'm just going to say that modern-day humans are arrogant morons.  We think anything before computers was the dark ages, yet here is a city from almost 2000 years ago that had everything any human being would need to live a fulfilling life.

After returning to Viareggio and once Carnevale was over, Dawn and I retreated for a few days into the countryside to stay at La Casa di Alice, my family's B&B located outside of Lucca.  Yes, this is the part where I shill for my family.  I'm not even going to say anything... I'll include links to Tripadvisor and Booking.com reviews and you can judge for yourself.  If you want to spend a couple of days hiking, biking or just relaxing in the Tuscan hills you should check it out.  15 minutes to Lucca, 15 minutes to the beach, beautiful views and excellent food.  No, Stefano will not bake a pizza for you in his wood-burning oven.  Family only.

Before heading to Prague, my cousin forwarded me an article that they were taking special care to screen travelers coming from Italy.  We thought our flight might be cancelled, but our experience was quite the opposite.  After landing we didn't even have our temperature checked, we were simply handed a flyer that described the symptoms and that was it.  At times I enjoy being contrary, but in this instance I'm going to join the chorus and say that Prague should be visited.  Prague gives Paris a run for its money for most beautifully lit city by night.  We stayed in the old town and walked everywhere we wanted to go.  People were friendly, English is spoken everywhere and prices are reasonable.  We lucked out with crystal clear skies, which we took advantage of by climbing to the top of Petrin Tower for 360 degree hilltop views of the entire city.  We strolled through Prague Castle which was still surprisingly crowded, though I can't imagine how late February crowds compare to those at the peak of summer.  The food and beer were excellent and three days went by too quickly.  We spent the better part of a day touring the Jewish quarter, its striking/spooky/jagged cemetery and several synagogues.  When I sit down to write these stories, I always think about how to make something enjoyable to read through humor, or sarcasm, or relating an anecdote.  None of that applies here, so I'll only say that if you go to Prague you need to visit the Jewish quarter and see the names on the Pinkas synagogue walls.   Nobody enjoys putting themselves through an experience that can be emotionally turbulent, but there are events in history that should never and can never be forgotten. Put yourself through it to remember, and take something back with you as a keepsake.  I bought a small clay golem.

Our last few days were spent in Viareggio with family, enjoying their company and their food while fighting low-level anxiety about the heightening of this pandemic.  We watched a few parody videos about how the news had exaggerated the threat, but there was a more serious edge than there had been when we arrived.  Over 25% of flights were cancelled the week we departed, and Italy went on lockdown only 3 days after we left.  We weren't sure what to expect going through customs in San Francisco, but the officer seemed more concerned about whether or not I was accurately cataloguing the gifts I had brought back than the fact that we had just returned from a virus hotspot.  He did not even ask us where we flew in from... we volunteered that information.  We were waved through without checking our temperature or any further instructions, and took it upon ourselves to self-quarantine for two weeks.

Folks, before I leave you I'd like to talk about the greatest cocktail ever invented:  the Negroni.  The hipsters got a hold of it a few years ago so chances are you already know what it is, for better or for worse.  Viareggio is the home of the first ever Negroni club (Club del Negroni) and bar, where they make over a dozen variations of the cocktail as well as Negroni-based dinners.  As huge fans of this drink, Dawn and I made a point to visit this strangely artistic hole-in-the wall, and if you're ever in Viareggio you should too.  The owners are more than happy to wax poetic about their unsuccessful attempts at launching clubs all over the world, and to share their experiences creating all sorts of Negroni concoctions (try the Negroni beer).  While in Prague, we stumbled upon another "Negroni club" which, while lacking the charm of the original, still served Negroni which, honestly, is the bare minimum required to operate a Negroni club.  Good enough for us.  We also capped off our vacation with a housemade Negroni provided by Il Bresci (my dad).  Whatever it lacked in flavor was made up for in enthusiasm.  By the way, through extensive research I have determined that the best Negroni is made with Dutch Courage gin and Cocchi vermouth with a couple of dashes of orange bitters.

I hope the pictures are as fun for you to view as they were for us to snap (see link below to album).  Also, thank you moms for watching the dogs!

https://photos.app.goo.gl/FpJ7Ebn8xdWhbb2C9

Take 'er easy,
Dave

Epilogue:  I am writing this in early July and I just received the results from a blood test.  Sure enough I have Covid antibodies although strangely Dawn's results came back negative.  Can't say that I'm too surprised about testing positive... we were in Italy for 3 weeks and went to a party with 80,000 people.  When we left in mid-February, Covid was more of a shoulder shrug than an exclamation point. Now we know better and I consider myself lucky that I'm healthy and lucky that my family is doing fine.  This disease has killed and will kill a lot of people.  Wear your fucking mask please.

Ice Baths in the Jungle

Hey everybody,

I'm on a streak of Central American countries the last few years.  Dawn again couldn't join me so I had to pick somewhere relatively closeby.  I was trying to figure out where to go when my buddy Julian said "Why don't you look for a Wim Hof method class?"  I'd been practicing the WHM for a couple of years before all this life business happened with the new job and the house which someday I will write about and yes I will call that post "The Money Pit."  Anyhow, the timing was that there was a WHM retreat in Costa Rica in early August.  So I signed up and immediately got a phone call from the trainer telling me to start taking daily cold showers and hiking 3x/week for at least 45 minutes.  Oh, and bring a headlamp and boots (for snakes).

I was on the fence about whether or not to rent a car given that I was traveling alone.  It turned out to be a good decision because it's the rainy season and I'd have the autonomy to travel on my own schedule.  When picked up my Suzuki Jimny 4x4, the rental guy had four pieces of advice:  Drive defensively, don't offer the cops a bribe if they pull you over, don't try to drive through a river, and use Waze because there are no addresses in Costa Rica (!).

I spent my first few days in Uvita, a small village in the southwest corner of CR right on the Pacific coast.  The area around Uvita is known for whale watching and surfing, although there are much better waves for the latter farther north.  Given that it was rainy season, the town was relatively desolate which suited me just fine.  The only time I ever saw people was at restaurants or when I went on a whale watching boat tour.  The Marino Ballena national park is an aquatic area off the shore of Uvita that is known as a migration stop for Humpback whales.  We saw several whales and their calves swimming a few dozen feet from our boat.  The boat dropped me off on a small offshore island named Whale's Tail which is connected by a sand bridge to the mainland during low tide.

It rained during most of my stay in Uvita which suited me just fine.  The best time to be on a beach is during a rainstorm because you get it all to yourself.  It's magical.  Besides, tropical rain isn't really rain anyway.  It's showering with your clothes on.  I will also take a brief interlude to dispense unsolicited travel advice:  If you're going to bring board shorts/swim trunks on your trip, make sure to try them on before you go.  Apparently I've put on a few pounds in the last 5 years, so I was sporting a wicked muffin top while fighting to keep the velcro fly from flying open every time I hit a wave.  The sun finally decided to make an appearance on my last morning in Uvita, giving me a glimpse of the entirety of the gorgeous coastline and beach bookended by cliffs.  I can imagine what it's like in high season, but on this day there were only a few folks out for a stroll and a small surfing class in the whitewash.

Costa Ricans are known as "ticos" and their national slogan is "Pura Vida" which, as far as slogans go, is quite good.  You hear it announced over the airplane loudspeaker as you land and it's plastered on advertisements all over the airport.  I wasn't sure if it was some kind of marketing, although folks did occasionally use it as a greeting.  Especially surfers.

After Uvita it was a couple hours drive south nearly on the border with Panama to the location of the WHM retreat; a sustainable treehouse community called Finca Bellavista.  I had zero idea what to expect either from the location or from the retreat itself.  It took about 15 minutes of offroad 4-wheeling to get to the site of the Finca in the midst of the southern jungle of Costa Rica, and it was more beautifult than I imagined.  Finca Bellavista sits on 600 acres of rainforest with a river, waterfall, organic garden, hiking trails, monkeys, sloths, tropical birds and snakes.  And bugs.  The base camp is a large wooden building where folks hang out and meals are served, and there is a little rancho on the side with a large deck and a covered space for yoga and happy hour drinks.  The treehouses themselves are all privately owned but centrally managed, and our particular treehouse was owned by Ian, the WHM instructor leading the retreat.

It turns out only three of us signed up for the retreat:  me, a Bulgarian/Israeli guy named Yati who's been living in Costa Rica for 14 years, and Wallace, a 71-year old retiree from Beaufort, South Carolina.  Quite an eclectic mix.  The retreat itself was a fantastic experience.  We had a regular routine of waking up at 5AM, which is really fucking early, except that's when the sun comes out in Costa Rica and the entire jungle around you wakes up.  Maybe someone can explain to me why, if Costa Rica is parallel with Florida, it is two hours behind the eastern time zone.  Anyhow, it was a 45 minute hike down from the treehouse to the base camp, where we'd start off the day with intense breath work.  We did five cycles of deep breathing and retention, each day with a different focus.  The breath work is what got me hooked into the WHM in the first place, because I discovered I can use these techniques for relaxation, for energy, or to simply connect with your body.  After the breath work, Ian would take us through a very relaxing guided meditation, and lastly, the ice bath.  When I mention ice baths and cold showers that's usually when people tune out anything I have to say about the WHM.  If you've never been in an ice bath, you should try it.  The key is to learn to relax and breathe normally when your body is telling you to get the fuck out.  If you can learn to go with it, the feeling can become quite pleasant.  It will give you more energy than 10 cups of coffee.  There's quite a bit of information on the web on the benefits of ice baths (cardiovascular health, reduced inflammation, brown fat production) but it's the internet so take it with a grain of salt.  All I know is that it feels great... usually when it's over but still!  An ice bath in Costa Rica, however, requires one of the Finca employees to drive to a nearby town and pick up over 200 lbs of ice each day.  Every day after this cycle had been completed I felt amazing.  I learned quite a few new breath techniques that I'd love to share.  If you're interested I'd be happy to talk you through them next time I see you.

In the mornings and afternoons we'd go on hikes up the river to the waterfall, where you could lie on a rock and let the water rush over you.  We'd try more breathing exercises with pushups, including once where we performed breath work in a downpour on a deck overlooking the canopy of the jungle.  One day we drove up into the hills because Yati insisted that he could find magic mushrooms if we could get to a cow pasture (no luck).  I forgot to mention that Yati is also a natural medicine specialist.  He showed us a natural coagulant called Dragon's Blood made out of tree sap that you can use to form a pellicle over cuts and bites.  He also somehow talked me into putting some kind of local honey in my eyes after insisting it would clear up my vision.  The ensuing 10 minutes of nonstop crying could broadly be described as "clearing my vision" so technically he was correct.

There were a few other tourists staying at the Finca, although we mostly talked to the staff and volunteers who worked there.  The volunteers are mostly backpackers who exchange work (clerical, manual, teaching yoga, etc.) for a place to stay.  The intersection of people who are willing to travel to Costa Rica for a WHM retreat and backpackery volunteers produces interesting topics of conversation, including (but not limited to):

• Nutrition
• Physical and Mental health
• Natural medicine and remedies
• GMOs
• Microdosing psilocybin
• Mass hypnosis
• Vibration levels
• Mind control
• Vaccines being used for pacification
• Fluoride being used for pacification
• Tooth fillings being used for pacification
• Alien abductions
• Reptilians

I've been in a pretty square routine the last few years and it's nice to be reminded that there are multiple ways you can choose to live your life.  I didn't agree with (or even understand) some of the subjects that folks were talking about, but I enjoyed listening to the different perspectives.  That being said, if someone had mentioned "flat earth" I would have lost my shit.

I needed that retreat.  After four days in the jungle I felt more relaxed and energized than I have in a very long time.  My retreat companions were wonderful company, and I especially connected with Yati.  Some folks just have a good vibe about them.  After saying goodbye to my new friends, I had one more day before needing to head home so I decided to stay in Dominical, a small surf town a bit north of Uvita.  While this little town is easily walkable in less than 20 minutes, it contains many shops, restaurant and bars on the way to its renowned surf beach.   It even has its own microbrewery, Fuego Brew Co, that produces fairly decent beers.  I spent a couple of afternoon hours on the beach watching the surfers, and decided screw it I'm surfing too.  That excursion lasted approximately 30 minutes and mostly consisted of me popping up and then flying off a surfboard into the whitewash.  I got up once, and that's enough to say I've surfed in Costa Rica.

Overall, I loved Costa Rica and would be happy to return.  People are friendly, it's easy to get around, the food is good, I ate a lot of ceviche, the landscape is beautiful, the beaches are beautiful, the Pacific is surprisingly warm, and there are a ton of things to do.  I'd like to come back with Dawn someday and see more of this country.

Coming back home was a bit of a culture shock after I was able to detach so completely, and I thought I should try to get my thoughts into words quickly before I lost them.  I'm no longer on Facebook so this story may not make it out to all the folks that might be interested.  Feel free to share this with whomever you think would enjoy it on your preferred social media platform.

Without further ado, to view the photos click on this link:
https://photos.app.goo.gl/w3XGUHf2uvD974628

Take 'er easy,
Dave

Velia Leoni (April 1, 1916 – January 14, 2019)

Hey everybody,

This isn't a travel story, but it's kind of an amazing story anyway.  My grandma passed away a few weeks ago and to say she had a remarkable 102 years on earth is a bit of an understatement.  I'm going to let the text of my mom's eulogy speak for itself.

Take 'er easy,
Dave

_________________________________________________________________________________

In 1912, my mother’s nineteen-year-old parents Giulio Bertolucci and Assida Baldini were married in Viareggio, Italy. (Our native Viareggio is a Tuscan coastal town of beach resorts, fisherman, merchant marines and famous for its winter Carnival).

Like many contemporaries, my grandparents decided to come to America to improve their lives.  My mother’s mother had a brother and uncle in San Francisco, so they came to the city by the bay, infamous Barbary Coast and all. They settled, of course, in the Italian neighborhood.

In 1913, Nonno Giulio and Nonna Assida welcomed baby Raffaello and on April 1, 1916 my mother was born in San Mateo close to here on Delaware Street (near San Mateo High School). At that time, my grandfather, a masonry contractor was working on the Carolands Mansion in Hillsborough.

When she was 2, Velia survived the devastating Spanish Flu pandemic.

The family moved back to San Francisco and survived WWI.

My grandparents worked long hours with the goal of returning home, so my mother and uncle were cared for by English-speaking nuns at a day-care center. As a result, when Velia was 3 and her family returned to Italy, she only spoke very broken Italian.

When she got to Viareggio, Velia was teased mercilessly. That experience marked her for life, so much so that she resolved to learn the language of any place where she might find herself.
Velia grew up with many of her first cousins in the same apartment building.

Little Velia was a tomboy. She was strong and fast.  She tried to play with her brother and the other boys. She often heard, “Go away, you’re a girl!” The few times they did let her play, she beat them.

Velia was generous.  She often gave up her small allowance to her beloved Raffaellino so he could go to the movies. She knew her brother dreamed of becoming a silent film director.

My grandmother loved to tell this story: When Velia was in 5th grade in Viareggio, my grandmother heard a knock at the door.  She opened the door, surprised to see my mother standing there with her 5th grade teacher (who had been my mother’s teacher for 5 long years).  The teacher said, “There is one month left before elementary school ends.  She’s smart, she’s graduating.  Just keep her home.  I can’t deal with this anymore!”

Sadly, loss was a recurrent theme in Velia’s life: When Velia was 11, she lost her only brother, who was 14, to peritonitis. Velia also mourned the deaths of young uncles and an aunt.
Velia’s first cousins became brothers and sisters to her, a feeling she maintained all her life.  She is the last of her first cousins to pass away.

As a teenager, Velia lived in Nice, France where my grandparents owned an Italian restaurant.  Those were her happiest childhood memories.  As she had resolved earlier, she quickly learned French and got up at 4:00 am to go to the market and buy fresh ingredients for the restaurant.
Velia also lived in Corsica, Sicily and Sardinia during the time my grandfather co-owned a wholesale produce business.

At 17 Velia helped at her uncle’s produce store in Viareggio.  Across the street was the Leoni Pharmacy. Velia met Angelo Leoni (better known to family and friends as “Gioli” and as Babbo – Tuscan for Dad – to us). He was the love of her life.

As in Romeo and Juliet, our Babbo’s wealthy family fought against this relationship for 5 years and tried everything to break them apart. Despite their efforts, there was something about Velia my dad could not resist. They married in April 1939 and moved to Venice, another of my mom’s favorite places, where life was very good for a brief time until WWII erupted.

My father went off to a war that Italians predicted would last for only two weeks. My parents went south to the region of Puglia where my father was stationed until a pregnant Velia went back to Viareggio with her parents because they thought they’d be safer there.  Wrong.
They soon had to abandon Nazi-occupied Viareggio and seek refuge in the nearby village of Bozzano. There, in her 7th month of pregnancy, she gave birth to twin girls, Margherita and Elisa. The only available medical help was a midwife and one, very old doctor.  The first baby died at 10 days old and the second at 12 days old.

Shortly thereafter, my father was taken prisoner by the Germans and swept off to a Polish labor camp. Hitler refused to declare Italians as prisoners of war, so the Geneva Convention rules did not apply. We can only imagine what took place at those camps. While trying to survive the bombings and invasions in Italy herself, Velia did not know for 16 months whether her husband was alive or dead.

Thankfully, my father returned home after the war 100 lbs lighter and in terrible condition but he was alive! They had another baby girl in 1946. Elisa caught pneumonia at six months and died. I was the 4th daughter.

In 1950 in Velia’s early 30s my parents followed my grandfather to the US hoping to make a better life for us. Though educated, my mother and father spoke no English. She learned English but never lost her accent.

They settled in the Bay Area and later my little sister Sirenetta was born at Mills Hospital in San Mateo.

They had a dream of returning to Italy that never came true.
My father became a U.S. citizen. He and my mom were proud to be in America. They never missed voting in an election. They loved celebrating Thanksgiving and the 4th of July.

Our home was open and welcoming. When it came time to set the table, we would routinely ask, “For how many people?” 20 guests were not uncommon on the weekends, eating great food, drinking Italian wine and often singing and dancing.
Velia and her mother were gourmet cooks, so people were deliciously surprised, especially at the Holidays where Tuscan traditions were maintained and preparations took days.  Everything, even bread was fresh and from scratch and the magic was in each and every detail.

In Velia’s later years, she won several awards for her home-made vinegar.

She was very intuitive and smart.  She was genuinely curious about people. And the woman could talk like no one else I’ve ever known.

Velia talked to everyone, from relatives to the mail carrier, our teachers, neighbors or complete strangers and remembered the smallest details about their lives.

She was thin skinned and never forgot if she felt offended by what someone said or did.  There was a “Velia List” if you know what I mean.  I was on it often.  Some of you were too.
When she spoke to others, however, she had no filters. How many times did we think, “I can’t believe what she just said!?!!”

Our parents worked very hard at several endeavors: For a few years, they owned “Leoni Imports” on Burlingame Avenue.  However, my father’s post-war life was scarred by frequent bouts of ill health.  My mother had many health challenges as well. She was famous for going to doctors regularly. Some became family friends.

After all she’d been through, depression, anxiety and fear were her frequent companions.

Velia was a very strict and protective mother, partly because she feared what might happen to us.

I had been living in Italy for 11 years when my father passed away in March of 1980. In September of that year, my sons and I moved back to Burlingame to be with my mother and sister.

Grief for my father was strong with Velia but she told us repeatedly she got through it thanks to the company of her little grandsons David and Angelo Bresci who were the lights of her life to the end.  In fact, Sirenetta and I became invisible: My sister and I could be in a room and our mom would totally ignore us in a rush to hug her grandsons. We knew where we stood and that was alright.

I was required to travel extensively for work.  I was only able to do so because I knew my sons had a second home, would be well-taken-care-of and had someone who’d watch them like a hawk!

Although dementia marred her last years, Velia continued to socialize, eat her healthy Italian diet and frequently visit all her doctors who were amazed at her physical strength and health.

She was tenacious, spirited, ornery and the most determined person I have known.

For Velia, it was family first. She had a real soft spot for my husband John.  She immediately loved his children Julie and David and David’s wife Mai.  She was especially thrilled by little Maddie who blessed our family with her presence 2 ½ years ago.  Velia and Maddie were fascinated with each other.

She lovingly welcomed my son Dave’s girlfriend Dawn into our family.

Velia considered friends extended family. Many of you felt that love.

Even in her last few years, as her dementia increased, our mother enjoyed being with family and friends, eating good food and, of course, talking.  Towards the end, she even started singing.
I am comforted by and proud of the fact that I produced her two most wonderful and cherished gifts.  Nothing lit up her eyes and made her as proud as her adored grandsons Dave and Angelo.

I want to honor and thank my sister, Sirenetta. Some of you have dealt with dementia and Alzheimer’s.  It takes unbelievable devotion, love, strength and patience to confront that terrible affliction. Sirenetta was lovingly there for my mom 24/7.  She is our hero!

Addio e grazie, Mamma.  Stai tranquilla.

What you've heard about El Salvador is probably wrong

Hey everybody,

Nine times out of ten when I told someone that I was going to be taking a trip to El Salvador they would say "That's the murder capital of the world!"  They made it sound like I'd be airlifted into a green zone where I would have to duck and cover to make our way from the airport to the nearest safe house.  No one said anything to the effect of "It's going to be super chill borderline boring and you might be the only foreign tourists there.  And you will eat a shitload of pupusas."  Which is more or less what happened.

I met Rich at the airport in San Salvador.  He flew in from Toronto and we managed to coordinate well enough that our flights landed within 20 minutes of each other.  As we exited the airport and were slammed by a wave of tropical heat, we noticed there were no bullets flying overhead or bodies lying in the street.  Just a big crowd of people waiting for their loved ones and cab drivers jostling for fares.  We got a ride from a guy named Milton who lived in the U.S. for 12 years but then was deported back to El Salvador.  "Lawyer was no good."

Our first couple of days in El Salvador we stayed at Playa El Tunco which loosely translates to Pig Beach. We arrived at 9PM on a Saturday night to complete party madness.  We saw a handful of backpackers along the two or three walking streets in the small village, but the partygoers were mostly Salvadoreans who came down to spend the weekend from San Salvador.  Multiple open-air bars were blasting music out into the streets, beers were a dollar, drunk people were roaming the streets, and Rich and I wondered if we'd be able to deal with this chaos for three more days.

El Tunco

Our fears were unfounded.  I wouldn't say El Tunco was completely deserted the following day but it did inspire us to begin our "Where is everybody?" montage that you'll see in the photo album.  Our daily routine largely involved finding the best pupusas in town and then... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .  On our third day we found a guide to take us to the nearby Tamanique waterfalls which happen to grace the cover of Moon's guide to El Salvador.  Our guide was Johnny, a local kid who works freelance as a guide and as a carpenter.  I should note here that any conversation I'll describe in this post involves me speaking Spanish with somebody else so they should all have approximately 674 asterisks. 

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I've had the above paragraphs written in draft form for about 4 months.  For some reason I haven't been able to bring myself to finish so I'm going to just write a couple more paragraphs and send it out.  Maybe it's work, or the house money pit, or other life stuff, or I'm not the writer I used to be, or maybe part of it is that El Salvador didn't really hold many exciting adventures for me and Rich.  After the second day, we started taking selfies at every locale or restaurant where we were the only tourists... and there were many.

I guess the things that really stick out to me about El Salvador are how relaxed it was.  The food was good, the landscape was beautiful, and the people were really kind.  When we were at the Tamanique waterfall we saw an entire family of 10 climb down to the base of the falls, from grandmother to baby.  They laid out a lunch spread for themselves, then proceeded to make lunch plates for both Rich and me.  That memory of kindness and generosity will stick with me for a long time.

Family lunch on the right

We visited a coffee farm that's running on equipment that's more than 100 years old, where we discovered that it's acceptable to export up to 12% "bad" beans to the United States but Italy will only accept up to 2%.  We stayed in a hill town where we were kept awake by howling dogs, fireworks and chickens.  We visited Mayan ruins.  In Santa Ana we were propositioned by prostitutes a block from our hostel on the way back from another delicious pupusa dinner.  We hiked a volcano.  We went to a speakeasy bar that could only be identified by the color of the door.  And that was pretty much it.

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Pictures here: https://photos.app.goo.gl/KHEp9dNmNHq2aVCb9

Anyhow, I'm off Facebook for the usual reasons so if you'd like to be notified of these posts please remember to subscribe.

Take 'er easy,
Dave

Spleen Sandwich

Hey everybody,

It's taking me a lot longer to write these posts than it used to and I'm not sure why.  Long gone are the days where I lived a life of leisure so maybe that's why.  At dinner the other night I told my buddy Ronnie that I'm going to be starting a new job at the end of the month and he said "You work?  I thought you just traveled around and made beer."  Come on man... I have a job.  I can't travel full-time like Ralf and even he earns travel money buy undergoing medical trials.

Okay back to the topic at hand:  Our trip to Sicily.  I don't recommend taking the ferry from Malta to Sicily for the simple reason that it leaves at 6 AM.  When we told the owner of the hotel in Valletta that we were taking the ferry she scrunched up her face and said "Why aren't you flying?  It's cheaper and faster and you don't have to get up early."  Then once we actually got on the ferry Dawn and I ended up sleeping for most of the time anyway.  So much for the romance of the sea.

I was assured by a company called Siracusa Taxi that a gentleman would be waiting for us at the port in Sicily with my name printed out in bold letters on A4 paper.  When someone is so specific with their directions that they tell you the format of paper they will be using there really is no reason to doubt whether they'll show up... until they don't actually show up.  8 rings into the phone call I heard a groggy voice answer and ask who this is.  I said it's the people who he's supposed to be picking up at the port.  He mumbled something about car trouble then hung up.  This led directly to my first-ever review on TripAdvisor.

Luckily we were found another phone number for a local cab company and within twenty minutes were on our way to Siracusa and, more specifically, Ortigia. If you're not familiar with the history of Siracusa (Syracuse) you should read up on it if you have a chance.  There are stories that stretch back to 600 BC and beyond about not only Siracusa but all of Sicily.  Its central location in the Mediterranean Sea made it a strategic point of interest for Greeks, Romans, Carthaginians, Byzantines... you name it.  Ortigia is a small island off the southeast coast which can aptly be described as Siracusa's old town.  There are warrens of narrow streets leading to larger walking boulevards with beautiful architecture and a coast side ring road with beautiful views of the sea.  It's fairly touristy but with enough quiet alleyways so you feel like you can get away from everything except the construction noise.  As our B&B host Renato said, "Ortigia is old.  Things break."  Speaking of old, we met Mark in Ortigia (he's going to love that one).  Plus Lee, Anna and their daughter future MMA champion Indi so we had the gang all together for our week in Sicily.

Wine tasting in Ragusa

Our first destination outside of Siracusa was the hilltop city of Ragusa.  Lee and Anna's main goal for the week was to give Indi as much beach time as possible so we dropped them off on the coast as the rest of us drove a couple of hours into the hills and mountains of southeastern Sicily.  Ragusa Ibla (the old town) is a UNESCO world heritage site with a dramatic skyline and wide walking streets snaking from a large central cathedral.  It was strangely quiet and tourist-free in mid afternoon which was a nice change from Ortigia.  After lunch we dove into some wine tasting of various types of Nero D'Avola which is the typical varietal from that area of Sicily and one of my favorites.  Spending the afternoon sitting around with a group of friends eating gelato and drinking wine... things could be worse.  On the drive back we decided to stop by the town of Noto even though when I mentioned it to Renato he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Eh... it's just one street," and it turns out he was right.  We spent more time driving around town trying to find parking than we did walking down the main promenade.  Sure it had some nice architecture and a strikingly frescoed cathedral but that description probably fits half the towns in Italy.

Having a rental car is both a curse and a blessing.  You have the freedom to go just about anywhere but you also feel like you have to make your vehicular investment worthwhile.  We spent about five hours in the car the next day but it was completely worth it to visit Mount Etna and, to a lesser extent, Taormina.  Honestly, I just can't get enough volcanoes in my life.  Mountains of fire and gas filled with a sort of primal rage that could erupt at any moment.  Like Stefano.  Maybe what I'm feeling is a brotherly bond with volcanoes.

Dawn on a crater's edge

About halfway up Etna there's a base camp at Rifugio Sapienza comprised of a surprisingly huge car park packed with tour buses, restaurants, food stalls and souvenir shops.  From there Mark, Dawn and I took a wonky 15-minute tram ride up to the 2600 meter mark of the mountain after which you can hike the rest of the way.  We didn't have enough time to hike all the way up to the top of Etna but we did climb up one of the nearby craters.  It was windy and frigid but we had a beautiful clear view all the way out to Sicily's eastern coast.  The terrain shifted constantly between black ash and rust-colored rock contrasting with a bright blue sky.  The temps were well below 10 degrees Celsius due to the wind chill.   Once you dropped a bit into the crater the temperature actually became quite warm as we were shielded from the wind heated up by steam emanating from under the rocks.

After making our way back down the volcano it was an hour drive to the ancient resort town of Taormina, then another twenty minutes looping back around the labyrinthine roads because of one wrong turn.  Some of you may have heard of Taormina since it is arguably Sicily's most famous resort town and the site of a recent G7 summit.  The town itself sits in a small bowl directly atop the Mediterranean that looks like it was chiseled right out of the cliff side.  I'm not sure how these ancient builders decided on the sites where they were going to found new cities.  Did smooth, flat valleys just become too easy so they decided they needed more of a challenge?  Or maybe they just said screw it, the view is awesome, we'll figure out how to make it work later.  Anyhow whatever they did it seems to have worked because it is a beautiful village that is deservedly a tourist hotspot although it's been transformed into more of an outdoor shopping mall with an asterisk denoting its history.  It was absolutely packed.  Dawn and I ducked out to seek refuge inside the old Greek Amphitheater and I'm pretty sure that was the first time I've ever gone *inside* a tourist attraction to get *away* from tourists.  It was absolutely worthwhile on its own though considering that it's still a functioning venue after over 2000 years of use.  We were treated to a dramatic skyline and unobstructed 270-degree views of the sea over the cliffside from almost everywhere in the theater.  On our way out we saw a foot-long cannolo at a gelato place which will likely end up being my enduring memory of Taormina.

Valley of the Temples

The following day we said goodbye to Ortigia but not before visiting the central cathedral which was actually built on top of an ancient temple of Athena from 500 BCE.  While the rest of the crew headed directly to Palermo, Dawn, Mark and I decided to take a few hours on a long detour to southwest Sicily to visit the Valle dei Templi in Agrigento.  Now I know that you all know how much I love these ancient cities from how I gushed in my last post about the megaliths in Malta but I'm telling you there is nothing like the feeling that you're traveling through history.  Valle dei Templi was much larger than I anticipated (at least a couple of miles across) and it felt like you were walking through the streets of ancient Agrigentum.  There were actually 200K inhabitants in the ancient city compared to only 70K that currently live in Agrigento.  The massive temples are largely well-preserved with the Temple of Concordia being the best of the bunch, although it's difficult to beat the experience of 360-degree views from the Temple of Juno.  Throughout the park you can see depictions of the placement of houses and how the temples loomed over each of the neighborhoods.  The ruins of a necropolis are clearly visible along the main walking route along with other statues and monuments.  The photos will do a better job of explaining than I ever will.  Mark was absolutely glowing in archaeology heaven.  It was difficult to tear ourselves away from that place but a leisurely drive through the Sicilian countryside and along its turquoise coast proved a pleasant respite before the chaos of Palermo.

Mmm... spleen

Rich struck the jackpot and found us a four-bedroom rental in the center of the old town with a rooftop terrace.  The next morning I embarked with Dawn, Rich and Cari on a Palermo street food tour led by a very passionate local named Giorgio.  In Palermo it's an everyday tradition for locals to dine on cheap street bites costing no more than a couple of Euros.  The different types of street food are intimately associated with the varied history of Palermo; a mixture of Middle Eastern, African and Italian influences.  Many of the different types of street food, especially those featuring offal, grew out of the need for the poor to incorporate fats and proteins into their diets.  After stopping at a small gastronomia featuring various croquettes, focaccine, arancini and pizzette, we headed to one of Palermo's three main markets:  Il Capo.  The first thing Giorgio had us try from a street cart was frittola which is mostly fried veal innards.  There's a couple of different ways you can try it but the most typical is to have the vendor dig them out of the cart by hand and slap them into your hand with a piece of paper.  He then squeezes some lemon and pepper and you're off to the races.  It reminded me a lot of tripe, which I also love.  We then moved over to the fishmonger where we ended up buying three whole fish to cook back at the house for dinner and a fresh seafood salad.  Giorgio then brought us to a wine shop to advise us on a few bottles to have with dinner.  He initially refused to help us select any sort of red wine since we had just bought fish so we had to promise him that we absolutely would not drink the red wine with the fish.  Next on the tour was a personal highlight for me:  Panino con Milza, also known as Spleen Sandwich.  It's actually a combination of boiled spleen and liver that is then deep fried and slapped into a bread roll.  Magical.  The last stop on the tour was Cafe Stagnitta where they roast their own coffee, craft their own gelato and make housemade granita (shaved ice).  The almond granita was spectacular which is why Dawn and I returned three days in a row.  In the evening we took full advantage of the kitchen and rooftop deck by putting together a massive feast which, predictably for this crowd, devolved into a drunken shit show.

Waking up with a crippling hangover was not part of my original genius plan to surprise Dawn on her birthday.  Luckily my surprise plan did not involve anything more than riding along the Sicilian coast for a few hours on a gommone (rubber dinghy).  We drove to the nearby beach town of Mondello where we met our guide Luigi, a chubby, affable local whose services I would recommend to anyone traveling to Palermo (see Boat Service Mondello on TripAdvisor).  He also recommended the best espresso I had in Sicily which is also worth a side trip to Mondello on its own.  Anyhow, the boat tour lasted three hours along crystal clear water on the northeastern Sicilian coast.  Luigi took us inside a cave to go swimming then over to the small resort town then over to Sferracavallo where we ran into a couple of his buddies that were diving for "minchia di mare" which can be translated from Sicilian as "sea dick".  I guess if you want to be pedantic we can refer to them by their actual name of sea cucumbers and they can sell in Asian markets for a boatload of money.  We then zoomed around the strangely named Isola delle Femmine (Women's Island) which was populated only by seagulls before heading back to Mondello for lunch.  We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around Palermo visiting a couple of old churches and, of course, stopping for a granita.  Rich and Cari kindly provided a birthday cake and then we went out for a celebratory dinner to cap off a memorable day (I hope).

 The next day marked the end of our Sicilian adventure and unfortunately when we had to say goodbye to our friends.  What is it about last days that makes them linger so slowly, with moments stretching longer than they should until a sudden rush to leave at the end?  Maybe that's how they get processed in my mind.  I was sorry to leave the gang but solid in the knowledge that I'd see them again in the next year or two.  After all, Rich and I have a streak to maintain.

I would absolutely return to Sicily in a heartbeat.  The countryside is beautiful, the food and wine are good, the water is fantastic and we only scratched the surface on its history.  Vacation time is limited, though, so next stop:  Rome and then a few days in Tuscany with the Brescis.  Without further ado, here are the Sicilian pics (you might have to click the caption under the photo below):

Spleen Sandwich

Take 'er easy,
Dave

5000 years ago...

Hey everybody,

We were already planning our next vacation on our flight back from Nicaragua.  Dawn has had a bug in her ear (bahahaha) about Malta for a while ever since reading about it and finding out it was a location for the first couple of seasons of Game of Thrones.  We could easily jump over from Malta to Sicily and after that there was an implied threat of death or at minimum debilitating pain if we did not spend at least a couple of days in Rome.  Itinerary set:  It's go time.  And... almost exactly one month after we booked our flight the Azure Window collapsed.

Mdina

Travel tip #56:  Do not rent a car in a country that has left-side driving if you're running on 27 hours with no sleep and it's raining.  I do these things for you, dear reader, so that you may learn from my mistakes.  Our desperation was such that we resorted to having Dawn navigate to our BnB.  Yes, I know... it sent chills down my spine too.  We booked a place right outside of Rabat with a lovely pool which doubled as a prolific mosquito breeding ground.  Our first days were a dreary, rainy, jetlag-induced haze mostly wandering around Rabat and Mdina.  The Rabat city center is a labyrinth of narrow streets leading to the church of St. Paul in the center.  The roads curve and intersect at odd angles so when you're driving it's impossible to know if anything is coming at you from around the corner.  We spent quite a bit of time wandering grocery stores and bakeries hunting for snacks and finding things like chicken chips, oreo donuts, some unpronounceable spice crackers and Malta's famous pastizzi: Small puff pastries filled with spinach or ricotta or meat.  You can also upgrade to a qassatat which is a 2 lb pie that's filled with ricotta and leaves you feeling like you ingested a bag of cement.  In a good way.  After that we spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the tiny medieval village of Mdina, whose narrow streets and walled fortifications you can probably thoroughly explore in less than a couple of hours.  I don't know what it is about walled cities that is so damned cool.  Maybe it's that you can immerse yourself in these cobblestone labyrinths until you find a deserted stretch where you can truly imagine what it was like to walk these streets hundreds of years ago.

Ħaġar Qim

Stormy weather, a busted airplane and a six hour delay couldn't keep Rich and Cari out of Malta.  Our first rainy day together we met at the famed 5000 year-old megaliths of Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra.  They didn't arrive in time to enjoy the 4D introductory movie that Dawn and I were lucky to experience.  What makes it 4D you ask?  Well, when they simulate a storm by spraying mist in your face using high-powered fans... that's 4D.  Honestly, though, the movie was surprisingly informative although it paled in comparison to the actual experience of walking through the megaliths.  Both temple structures were built in approximately 3500 BCE and remained in use for 1000 years.  The majority of construction consisted of large stone slabs which they believe were hauled up either on stone bearings or by rope and pulley on earthen mounds.  Some of the stones and pigments used in construction were imported from as far as Sicily and mainland Italy.  Researchers have also uncovered evidence of advanced astronomy and calendaring techniques in the temple ruins.  The most amazing thing about the structures, however, was the ability to walk through and touch history.  Maybe it's a personal quirk but I felt chills when laying my hands on a slab that was carved by human beings 5000 years ago; people with loves, hopes, and beliefs strong enough to build these structures using the most basic of tools.  There's something about actually touching these structures that eliminates the distance that is sometimes present when admiring other art forms or artifacts.  You can make a loose connection with a person that actually carved this stone; finding a common thread to bind you to a population that lived a hundred generations before.  The incredible Ħal-Saflieni Hypogeum is another such place.  Only groups of 20 people max are allowed to visit this underground wonder and we were unfortunately forbidden from taking pictures.  You have to walk through a type of climate-controlled airlock before entering and the sections are only lit when your group approaches and dimmed as you leave.  The entire structure is a mixture of underground dwellings as well as burial chambers that dates back to the same period as Ħaġar Qim.  The rooms were chiseled from stone in similar fashion to the megalithic temples and it is absolutely insane to think that this hypogeum was entirely chiseled out of stone using only stone tools.  The walls of certain chambers are lined with red ochre paintings whose tincture they believe to have been imported from Sicily.  On an unrelated note we may have enjoyed the best espresso of our three week trip in a random coffee shop just outside the Hypogeum entrance.  The rest of the afternoon involved a short trip in our trusty Toyota Yaris to the picturesque fishing village of Marsaxlokk where we walked along the waterfront and semi-enjoyed a mediocre seafood meal.  After that it was on to Vittoriosa, an old, fortified medieval city directly across from Valletta.  Luxury multi-million dollar yachts line its harbor with Fort St. Angelo and fantastic views of Valletta at its head.

My favorite text message

The next day we packed our bags and took off toward the island of Gozo in the midst of a super storm on the main island.  I would like to add another public service announcement about driving in Valletta:  Don't do it.  We had to drive into the city to pick up Rich and Cari and let me just make the point that cities that are older than 150 years were not built to accommodate automotive traffic.  If someone has to make a three-point turn just to make a right turn, maybe your streets are too narrow.  If a street is barely wide enough to accommodate a Toyota Yaris, maybe you should make it one-way.  At one point one of the streets just... ended.  We had to back up in reverse for a hundred yards avoiding pedestrians and hoping we didn't get t-boned by cross traffic.  A lot of f-bombs were thrown and I may have yelled at Dawn at some point (I apologized afterward so calm down).  The two-hour drive to the ferry was boring by comparison and it was a short 20-minute boat ride to the island of Gozo.  The four of us rented an old farmhouse in San Lawrenz toward the west side of the island near the former Azure Window.  I thought the farmhouse would be in the middle of nowhere but we were actually in the center of a small village facing a somewhat busy road and (to Rich and Cari's chagrin) a metalworking shop that opened at 7AM directly facing their room.  The farmhouse itself was humongous with stone walls, tile floors, a giant kitchen and a nice pool.  Dawn thought it was creepy.  I asked our host Kevin how hard it would be to get a cab back to the place if we were out drinking and he replied with possibly my favorite text message ever.  We went to a local grocery, bought too much stuff for three days and spent the rest of the evening enjoying Rich's newfound penchant for making gin and tonic.

I'd like to take a brief interlude to discuss one of my favorite things about Malta:  The names of stuff.  Now I freely admit that I have no idea how to properly pronounce any of these words but how can you say "Dingli" and not laugh?  Seriously, just try and pronounce some of this stuff and tell me you don't enjoy it.  Ggantija.  Marsaxlokk.  Dwejra.  Rabat.  Marsalforn.  It's so fun for your mouth!  It's like eating pop rocks!  Dingli.  Sliema.  Gozo.  Marsalforn.  Maaaarsalfooorn.  That one is my favorite.

We started our first full day in Gozo at 2PM due to the aforementioned gin and tonics and embraced the hair of the dog by visiting the Lord Chambray brewery.  It was surprisingly well-equipped for a tiny microbrewery and they told us they distribute not only in Malta but also internationally.  The beers were just OK, though, and this proved to be an omen for the majority of microbrews we were to sample on the trip.  Our next stop was the Unesco world heritage site of Ggantija, another set of megalithic temples dating back to 5600 years ago.  These structures were much larger than the ones we visited previously but also much less well-maintained.  You'll be able to see from the picture that most of the stone structures have eroded considerably although still inspiring amazement.  We continued to the north coast of the island to visit the salt pans near Marsalforn which are essentially squares and rectangles carved directly into the flat surface of the cliffside.  From there it was a short trip (well... everything is a short trip on Gozo) to the main city of Victoria for a visit to the Cittadella in the center of town.  This old fortress has everything you would want in a medieval fortification:  360-degree views, a church, and most importantly cannons.  The stone structures are a beautiful sandy color that is bright even on an overcast day.  We ate street-side pastizzi and ftira then drove to Dwejra for a sunset on the cliffside.

The next day we took the morning ferry to the small island of Comino which is home to one of the hundreds of locations in the world that call themselves the Blue Lagoon.  This particular Blue Lagoon, while beautiful, had an ambiance reminiscent of Daytona Beach during spring break.  The lagoon was pouring over with swimmers and sunbathers covered every square inch of the surrounding hillsides.  Permanent food stall lined the footpaths near the pier leading to and from the lagoon.  We legged it out of there for a long hike around the island and found an isolated spot called Crystal Lagoon where we could go for a swim in peace.  We found another crappy beach on the north side of the island and then stopped for the worst lunch of our trip at Comino's only hotel.  We made it back to the Blue Lagoon by mid-afternoon for a quick swim before braving the free-for-all on the pier for the afternoon ferry back to Gozo.  Anonymity and anxiety really do bring out the worst in people, especially when there's limited seating.  I wish we could've seen the lagoon with only about 1/4 of the tourists because it really is gorgeous.  I think the highlight of the day for me was the Crystal Lagoon or maybe the Lampuki pie at dinner.  Lampuuuuki.

Our last day in Malta found us heading back to the capital Valletta on the main island for its yearly Notte Bianca festival.  Rich and I dropped off our trusty Toyota Yaris at the airport and made it back to the city in time to meet the ladies for a fancy late lunch of Maltese antipasto.  Most of the streets had been restricted to pedestrian traffic as floats and stands were being prepared throughout the town.  We had drinks at a bar whose table service was on a street that sloped 30 degrees and then moved on to an accidental 7-course meal that lasted over two hours.  It was probably our best meal in Malta even though we didn't know it was going to be 7 courses so if you find yourself in Valletta make sure to eat at Legligin.  Legligin.  Legliiiiigin.  Anyhow we spent the rest of the night wandering down crowded streets enjoying open-air art exhibits and all kinds of music from gospel to rock to techno.  The stores and shops were all open and we walked by a few places offering free shows.  Then it started to rain so we went to bed and thus ended our time in Malta.

Here's a short video with a sort of walking tour of some of the places we visited on our trip.  You're probably better off clicking into YouTube and turning up to HD:

 

Malta is definitely worth visiting.  One week was a good amount of time since we saw just about everything we wanted to see except for the Blue Grotto.  That was due to the weather, though, not to a lack of time.  Everybody speaks English with an accent that sounds almost middle eastern and when they speak Maltese about a third of the words sound just like Italian.  The food is good, the sea is beautiful, it's not expensive, and most of all it has an incredible history.  But most of all... Maaaarsalfooorn.

Next up, Sicily.  In the meantime, click below for the pics from Malta:

5000 years ago...

Take 'er easy,
Dave

Aventuras Nicas (Segunda Parte)

Hey everybody,

Yeah I know it's taken me over a month to finish the second part of the trip story.  I'm not going to blame it on Trump like everybody else.  Just lazy.  As a bonus for you though, dear reader, I did manage to put together some videos from the trip.  So if you have ten minutes to kill or if you like to use your tablet while you're pooping... you're welcome.  Just be thankful I didn't upload the 30 minutes of jittery motorbike riding between Playa El Coco and Playa Hermosa.  To view bigger images click the fullscreen or the watch in YouTube links on the bottom right:



Ear update:  We received an unexpected souvenir of our trip when a dead bug fell out of Dawn's ear about two weeks after we got home.  Don't worry she's fine.  Dawn... not the bug.

So where was I?  Oh yeah... Ometepe.  It's an island formed from twin volcano eruptions in Lake Nicaragua.  There are several places to take the ferry to the island and apparently the term "ferry" is used loosely in Nicaragua.  Since it was Sunday the regular ferry was not running so we had to settle for the "lancha".  If I tell you that it was one of those boats where they hand out life jackets to everyone until they run out I think you'll get the picture.  We were herded to the bottom level to a wooden bench near the engine.  For the entirety of the 90 minute boat ride there was a guy manually operating what looked like a butter churn but I think was actually a bilge pump.  At least we had a nice breeze since there were no windows on the boat.

On Ometepe we stayed at Finca del Sol, a small eco-lodge operated by a Canadian/Italian couple Sheri and Cristiano.  We had a nice little bungalow with a two-layer mosquito net (sweet) and a compostable toilet (not as sweet).  Cristiano had an impenetrable Italian accent and spoke in a constant, punctuation-less stream.  Sheri organized an all-day tour for us on our first day with Eddie, a chubby local cab driver with a sweet minivan.  We spent the first morning on a kayak tour through the Istian river on the isthmus between the two volcano islands:  Maderas and Concepcion.  Our guide Willy navigated us through the mangrove swamp that was surprisingly free of mosquitoes.  We saw lots of turtles, herons, wasps and even a few caimans.  The thing that I stood out in my mind, though, was that it smelled nice... like fruit.  After a lunch of whole fish topped with shrimp we spent an hour or so floating through the Agua de Ojo mineral spring.  Eddie then drove us to the Charco Verde reserve where I visited my first butterfly sanctuary.  I have to tell you... it was beautiful.  I could have stayed there for hours watching the colors floating around me.  It has to have some kind of therapeutic value.  From the sanctuary we walked around the reserve to where we had a view of the volcanoes in the distance over a lagoon by sunset.

The next day, our last on Ometepe, we went for a morning hike with Arles up Maderas to a lookout spot and on a tour of local petroglyphs (rock art carved by the natives of the island).  We walked through a banana farm and saw a plantation house from the Somoza dynasty days.  We found out Morning Glory seeds can be hallucinogenic.  We saw Arles make a trumpet out of a flower stem.  We found out that the Seiba tree makes great filling for pillows but is also known as the "makeout tree" since couples can hide away in the trunk.  We saw monkeys, goats, pigs and chickens. We found out that Arles' grandfather lost all their family land because he was an alcoholic.  I ate a goat burger that Sheri made from one of their own goats.  It was a busy morning where we tried to pack in as much as possible before leaving Ometepe.  Dawn and I took the afternoon ferry back to San Jorge and were picked up by Pedro (a taxi driver friend of Cristiano's) for the ride to San Juan Del Sur.  Pedro was an incredibly animated character that really stretched my approximately 40% comprehension of the Spanish language.  In the hour-long ride he discussed how Cristiano talks, his work, the Nicaraguan economy, tourism, motorbikes, and Trump.  At least I think it was Trump since he pronounced it "Tronk" and said we were all getting kicked out of the U.S.  Then he laughed.

San Juan Del Sur is a small surf town on the Pacific coast that's packed with expats, mostly from the U.S.  This is not necessarily a bad thing but it did give the town a more touristy vibe than anywhere else we had visited in Nicaragua.  Along the beach there are huge restaurants and bars with brightly (sometimes garishly) lit outdoor seating and waiters dressed in the uniform of whatever theme the restaurant happens to have landed on.  Farther toward the center of the small town things seem a bit more normal with small bodegas and comedors interspersed with fancy surfwear shops.  The beach in San Juan is not really that nice so it's more of a rallying point for people who want to experience the beaches up and down the southern Pacific coast.  Dawn had a pretty relaxing few days lounging around the town.  We got a massage, had a few pints at Nicaragua's first craft brewery (SJDS Cerveceria) and went ziplining along the treetops on the hills surrounding San Juan.  The operation (Da Flying Frog) is run by 8 Nicaraguans from surrounding towns and featured some fantastic views of the ocean.  We also happened to be in San Juan for the night of La Griteria which is the culmination of the 9-day festival I mentioned in my previous post.  All the streets were packed with locals wandering around, standing in lines to go into either stores or people's houses to sing religious songs for food or treats.  A large procession wound its way around town behind a float topped with an alter of the virgin Mary which ended with fireworks at the church in the town center.

On our last day in San Juan we rented a 200cc off-road bike from a couple that ran a nursery and their chubby, crazy-eyed baby.  I subjected Dawn to about 90 minutes of dirt biking up and down the coast across rocky trails, streams, and cow crossings.  We visited Playa El Coco reserve which is meant to be one of the nicest beaches in Nicaragua.  It's about 2 miles long and very secluded due to its being bookended by cliffs.  It wasn't as impressive as the guide books had made it sound and it started raining right away forcing us to abandon any plans for sunbathing.  We rode on to Playa Hermosa which is exclusively accessible from a surfer's ecolodge just south of San Juan.  The beach was much longer than El Coco and almost as nice.  There were hammocks and bungalows along the beach that were filled with backpacker residents talking their usual nonsense so had lunch and a beer and left.  I was fairly disappointed since this was the only day I could've tried surfing the Nicaraguan coast but all the breaks were closing out.

The next day we were again picked up by Pedro for a two-hour ride to Managua to catch our flight to the Corn Islands.  This time he was a bit less animated until we stopped at a gas station so he could get "Dragon" which is apparently some kind of energy drink.  After that he was a nonstop talking machine.  We found out that he had a lady friend who had killed someone while drunk driving and got sentenced to 10 years in jail, although 30 is the maximum.  They really throw the book at drunk drivers.  Anyhow, he went and visited her a few times in the women's prison and all he could talk about was how all the women there would throw themselves at him and try to get him to sneak off in to some closet.  Then he'd laugh and whoop hysterically.  Then he's say, "No, no really women's prison is rough and horrible.  My friend had a tough time there.  But man... those ladies really come after you.  It's hard to resist!  Woo!  Haha!  No, no... but I'm a married man.  I would never do that. But woo!  One man!  A lot of ladies!  Woo!"  Meanwhile Dawn is cracking up in the back seat.

I wish I could say that our 4 days on Little Corn Island were the highlight of our trip.  That was the intention.  Finishing the trip with a few days on a 1.6 square mile Caribbean island snorkeling and sunbathing sounded pretty fantastic.  We landed on Big Corn Island and rushed over to the dock to take the panga (small boat) for the ride to Little Corn.  They weren't sure that the pangas would be running given the waves and bad weather.  Since a boatful of Costa Ricans died when a panga overturned a year or so ago the Nicaraguan navy doesn't allow he pangas to run if the wind is over 20 knots.  The fact that hey had to consider this was the first bad sign.  So we get on the panga, are handed life jackets (of course), and for the next 45 minutes are flying across the ocean, bobbing up and down like a demented rollercoaster while trying not to heave overboard.  And this was arguably the better of our two panga rides.

We enjoyed approximately 10 minutes of sun in 4 days on Little Corn Island.  No snorkeling.  No sunbathing.  The hilltop bungalow we had booked for ocean views turned into a prison where the echoes of the constant rain banging against the tin roof made it impossible to sleep and the 15 minute walk to the village made it impossible to stay dry.  The incredibly uncomfortable bed and door that wouldn't close all the way did not help matters.  We managed to get in a few short hikes around the island between downpours but mostly were seeking shelter in cafes and bars.  We trekked to the north part of the island to the exclusive Yamaya resort in order to at least say we lounged at a beach bar.  The lonely bartender looked surprised that anyone would even show up since, as you may have guessed, we were the only patrons.  We did enjoy some great seafood and probably the best pina colada of my life.  I fulfilled my quest to swim in the ocean for a good 10 minutes and if you squinted you could sort of kind of visualize how lovely it would look on a sunny day.  That's what everyone there kept saying anyway.  "It's such a shame... it's truly a paradise!"  Dawn and I decided to make the best of it and enjoy the one feature of the island no weather could ruin:  lobster.  A lobster dish cost $8 and was enough for both of us.  We ate lobster 7 times in 3 days.

Don't get me wrong.  Little Corn does look like it would be incredibly idyllic on a normal day.  The problem is that we got stuck on this tiny island with shit weather and no escape for 4 days.  Literally no escape.  The panga boats did not run because the weather was so terrible and waves were over 2 meters.  It rained almost nonstop and it was none of that light drizzle business... we're talking sitting under a shower.  We got stuck loitering either in our shack or at one of two or three cafes and constantly running into the same people.  The island can't fit more than a few hundred people so that shouldn't have been a surprise.  There were a few tourists like us who had nowhere to go but mostly it seemed like either locals or long-term backpackers who had decided to make Little Corn their home for a few months or even years.  It was a strangely cliquey environment among these expats, most of whom were nice enough to the tourists with a nod and a wink mostly kept within their own groups.  There were a lot of inside references thrown around, sometimes more loudly than necessary, and the number of t-shirts that read "I <3 Little Corn" or "Rondon" seemed a bit excessive among this crowd.  I couldn't help but wonder if that's how I looked to people when I was living in Thailand.  I hope not.  Anyhow, of the handful of bars and restaurants in the village only a couple seemed to be owned by locals.  Bridget's is where we had the best lobster and she also made us a plate of Rondon which is a lobster and whole fish stew.  I hesitate to draw broad generalizations based on only a few days but to me it looks like Little Corn is on the verge of jumping the shark.  The backpacker expats have reached detente with the locals but will eventually dominate by erosion.  I'm not saying that's good or bad... I've visited plenty of beautiful places that are tourist-friendly to lesser or greater extents.  After all we would never have come to the island if it wasn't in the Lonely Planet.  I'm just letting you know what to expect.  I will freely admit that our perspective was skewed by the weather and lack of options.  Everyone kept telling us how beautiful and wonderful the island is and how disappointing that we couldn't see it that way.  As we were leaving the Lighthouse bungalows one of the owners was saying something to this effect and I said, "I'm sure we'll be back someday."  We both knew it was a lie but it's one of those things that you just silently acknowledge with a smile, say your goodbyes and move on.

Luckily there was a break in the weather on the day of our flight back to Managua.  The downside was that the panga for Big Corn Island left at 6AM and there was no shortage of stir-crazy tourists wanting to get off the island.  We arrived at 5:30 and the line was already 20+ deep.  By the time we started to board there was a mob of people on the pier including a not-too-happy few who weren't allowed on due to the 40 person limit.  Dawn squeezed into the very back row while I was stuffed one row in front of her on the very edge of the boat.  On the way to the island our boat was only half full so the front half stuck out of the water but now we were fully packed so we rode flat.  What this means apparently is that the sea spray generated from the front of the boat does not go to the side of the boat... it goes over the top of the boat.  About 5 minutes in when we picked up full speed this realization hit the 40 people aboard the panga.  A salty shower of seawater rained down on all the passengers and there was a mad scramble to unroll a plastic tarp from the front of the panga.  I grabbed on to my end, yanked back and realized that the tarp was only long enough to reach over my row.  Uh oh.  I pulled some more but there were 30 other people holding the tarp in place in the other directly.  I looked behind me and saw the look of resignation on Dawn's face as she slowly pulled the jacket completely over her head.  As we rode along for the next 40 minutes I would occasionally peek over my shoulder at Dawn's jacketed head being rained upon by salt water and wonder what was going on under there.  At the end of the ride she removed the jacket, shook her head and just said, "Let's find someplace to sleep."  We found a taxi to take us to a nice hotel and I managed to talk them into letting us have a room for a few hours until our flight back to Managua.  It was the best sleep we'd had in days.  The sun came out for about an hour.  We ate ceviche for lunch, roamed along the beachfront and decided that if we ever come back we're staying on Big Corn Island.  We flew back to Managua and stayed at a cheap hotel near the airport because of our early morning flight home the next day.  If you're ever looking for a sign that your vacation is over it's if you're at your hotel eating a "hamburger" made of unidentifiable meat on white bread and a cat walks by your leg crunching a mouse in its mouth.  Time to go home.

A few random observations we made during our trip:

• It seems like old school buses from the U.S. end up in Nicaragua, are painted a multitude of bright colors and then used for public transportation.
• Nicaragua is way more Catholic than I expected, although the Caribbean side is Evangelical.
• People drink a lot of soda.  We saw a ton of kids drinking one bottle after another.  Sheri from Finca del Sol told us that diabetes is a real problem in Nicaragua.
• It was surprisingly hard to find good coffee.  All the top stuff is exported and most Nicaraguans drink "presto" (instant coffee).
• The canal project is very controversial.  The Chinese want to build a canal from the Pacific to the Caribbean that would flow through Lake Nicaragua in order to bypass the U.S. monopoly of the Panama canal.  Everyone I asked about this, especially folks in the tourist industry near Lake Nicaragua, think this is a bad idea. They think mega tankers floating through the lake would destroy the environment and that the money for the project would only go to the rich and the government.

So that's it until next year's trip.  Thanks for reading.  Click the link below for the pictures.  Woo!  Haha!

https://goo.gl/photos/wahxG46LEHajTRVm9

Take 'er easy,

Dave