How to climb a volcano: a guide for dummies

   Some people will tell you this is a specialist endeavour, requiring training and technical equipment. Others will talk of danger and the importance of preparation.  After two weeks of research in the geothermal ridge of Central America, here is the complete guide for travellers and casual mountaineers.

Step 1: choose your party wisely

   The important thing here is to make sure they are all unfit and lazy. We did not do this on our first attempt at Volcan Conception on Isla de Ometepe in Nicaragua.  That was a mistake.  Above all, do not go with French men and certainly never with more than one.  They are super-competitive and determined to be up the mountain so much quicker than everyone else that they can regain their breath and rub their nonchalant achievements in your sweating and gasping face.

   Having tailed the two racing Frogs for the first two hours to the lookout point 1,100m up, we decided not to continue on to the more difficult final stretch to the crater 500m above.  The weather was awful and I shamefully took some comfort knowing that they were soaked and shivering on the windy peak that remained stubbornly buried in thick cloud. 

Step 2:  have a back-up plan

   Our next stop was Granada on the northern shore of Lago Nicaragua.  We had our sights set on Volcan Masaya, which we were told was one of the most accessible active volcanoes in the world.  They said it was the ideal place to make a sunset ascent for views into the glowing interior of the crater.  We were promised a pleasant and exciting journey.

   All of this may have been true, except we will never know because no-one was willing to take us there on account of "increased geothermal activity", whatever that means.  We went instead to Laguna de Apoyo, a tranquil lake in a low lying (extinct) volcanic crater.  That proved more dangerous for me as I somehow sunburned in the rays bouncing off the water, despite staying in the shade all day.  I wonder how I would have fared with the rays bouncing off a basin of molten lava?  I dread to think.

Step 3:  Safety in numbers

   People don't talk about "conquering" the terrain for no reason.  Volcan Santa Anna, in the north of El Salvador, was billed as a peak with beautiful views, which could be conquered in an easy two hour ascent.  People in our hostel had been up the previous day and had returned practically evangelising about it.

   Unfortunately, on reaching the Parque Nacional los Volcanes we discovered that only one guide turned up for work that morning.  Of the 15 eager hikers, 12 wanted to tackle the shorter, harder, and uglier Volcan Izalco.  And it looked like three of them were French.  The guide took one look at the maths and and in the resulting skirmish the prospect of their 12 tour fees easily defeated our three.  No bus back down to civilisation for five hours so as it turned out we had plenty of time to enjoy a view of the mountain we didn't climb.


Step 4:  know what you're getting into

   Our final hope rested on the guided tour up Volcan Pacaya, near Antigua in Guatemala.  We confirmed that we could climb it and that the tour was definitely going ahead, that there were enough guides and enough people registered.  And that none of them were French.

   We were collected from our hotel in the afternoon and taken to meet our guide at the park entrance.  "No, we can't go up to the crater: too much geothermal activity."  Nooooooooooooo!!!!  "We'll take you for a walk to a nice look out point half way up and then toast marshmallows.  Who want's to rent a horse?"

   It was a lovely walk, not too hard.  We were suitably bribed with marshmallows toasted on volcanic rocks and as Kizzy pointed out that was pretty cool. 

   After four attempts we have not made it up a single volcano and so it seems that above all things you need to remember ...

Step 5: good luck!

Changing gear

   Somewhere, possibly in San Jose, we realised that we were tired.  I think it was the sail boat in the San Blas islands that ruined us and so it was that we reached Granada, the colonial jewel of Nicaragua (indeed all of Central America) apathetic and uninspired.

   We had chosen our hostel on the sole basis that it had a pool and even moving away from that welcome cool refuge took more willpower than either of us wished to deploy.  Nevertheless, feeling guilty at the time and experiences slipping away from us we ventured into the dusty streets of frankly second-string architectural stylings.  After moderate disappointment and complete listlessness in the face of it, we spotted a cafe set back in a nice private courtyard.  We realised that perhaps the beauty of Granada was not to be enjoyed by freeloaders but only truly experienced through the medium of trade.

   Well, this was a revelation to us.  I would love to say that after that Granada opened its doors and dazzled us with its charms.  Sadly, it did not.  It remained a fairly dull and uninspiring city with an inexplicable draw on tourists.  Instead we rediscovered the pleasures of sitting and eating, two things that we had very much neglected up to this point.

   Our energy levels soared, high quality deserts will do that to you, and we found a new love for travelling in places where eating out is still pretty cheap.  We resolved to sideline worthier pursuits and "doing things" and focus instead on eating things.  So over the following two weeks we sampled brownies and ice cream in Granada; hunted down apple pie and hot chocolate in Leon; immersed ourselves in real cheese (oh how we have missed you) fondue on Lago de Atitlan; and dined on French cuisine and fine wine in Antigua.

   It was marvellous.  More than that it was restorative.  It made rainy afternoons into an opportunity.   It was certainly more bloody successful than trying to climb volcanoes.

A warm welcome in Nicaragua

   We left Costa Rica last Saturday, our bus on the Panamerican Highway skirting the south eastern edge of Lago Nicaragua on our way to Rivas.  As soon as we crossed the border we had an introduction to Nicaraguan economy from the bus conductor: "You´re going to Rivas?  You need to pay an extra 5,000 colones each."

   Huh?  We already paid to go to Rivas.  Admittedly the tickets provide precious little detail but we definitely paid to go to Rivas.  "No," he shook his head, "this ticket is only to the frontier.  You need to pay an extra 10 dollars for the two of you."

   No, we definitely asked for a ticket to Rivas and paid on that basis.  "This ticket is not to Rivas," he informed us, "it only cost you 14,000 colones and a ticket to Rivas is 16,000 colones."

   That´s what we had paid to go to Rivas.  If there has been a mistake then perhaps he would need to have a conversation with the gentleman in the San Jose office.  "Ok, well just this once then."  Sadly we watched the conductor return to the front of the bus.  We had been hoping the conversation would continue another 10 minutes because at that rate of deflation we may have ended up with a refund.

   Our money exchange was equally comical.  "Cambio?  Cambio?  Cambio?!?"  Normally we try to avoid people jumping around insisting on providing us with a service but as we were stuck in the immigration queue anyway, I enquired,

   "What´s your rate for colones?"
   "Buying or selling?"
   "Selling, about 30,000"
   He did a few quick sums on a pocket calculator and showed me the resulting figure.
   "You get four hundred cordobas".
   "Seriously?"  I could only laugh, "no thanks, we´ll pick them up in town."
   He went back to his calculator.
   "1,200 cordobas!" That was more like it.
   Kizzy was confused.  "Did you just triple the price?"



   In Rivas we hailed a cab to San Jorge, the nearby port for the ferry to Isla de Ometepe.  "You go to the ferry?  I take you.  Only 10 dollars each."  Needless to say that journey only cost us two dollars.

   We had not yet been to a place where everyone was so pleased to give you a discount, a big discount, and so quickly too.  The warm welcome continued as we reached the port.  We were engulfed in a storm of thrip.  I have encountered midges in the height of the Scottish summer but this was something else.  Suddenly we were both in the arms of thousands of close personal six limbed acquaintances.  We scrambled to the boat whilst making our frantic goodbyes, whirling around and slapping each other clean.

   The sun dipped into the horizon as we made the crossing and it was almost dark when we disembarked.  A stream of locals charged of the boat and disappeared into waiting vehicles or just melted into the hazy dusk. We squinted into the gloom hoping to see a bus, or somewhere that a bus might conceivably consider passing.  Two Americans and an Israeli chap were a short way off, clearly thinking the same thoughts and not unsurprisingly consulting exactly the same guidebooks. 

   We had managed to come into the wrong port.  A lady came up to us and offered a lift to Moyogalpa, the easiest place to find a lodging.  "Taxi?  15 dollars each."  We laughed, although nervously this time.  "No thanks, we´ll get the bus."  We have got quite used to making out like we would prefer the cultural experience of the local bus, with our backpacks and the cramped seats and the chickens.  "No you can´t, the last bus went by at 5.30."  She paused for effect, then smiled, "15 dollars each?".

   At this point the two Americans, strode past us heading up to the main road.  Our interlocutor sensed a growing market.  "There are four of you?  In that case it is $10 each."  We looked at the Americans.  They looked at us, then at the lady.  "Oh, hi, are you going to Moyogalpa?" the taller one enquired politely.  He did most of the talking, "That´s nice, maybe we´ll see you there."  And they kept walking.

   "You want a taxi?"  The woman was rushing to keep up with them.
   "No, thanks.  We´re going to walk it."
   This stopped her.  "You can´t walk, it´s too far."
   "We´ll be ok."
   "No, you won´t.  It´s really a long way."
   "Thanks, we´ll be fine."  Then he looked at Kizzy and me, "Do you want to walk with us, or are you taking a taxi?"

   In desperation, the price was revised down to 15 dollars and the four of us jumped into the back of a pick-up truck as a surprised family of 6 was promptly evicted.  I rather hope someone went back for them, but the kids did not look happy.  The Israeli chap joined us in the back, having watched the bilingual exchange unfold with a confused smile blinking on and off as he tried to follow the two foreign languages.

   As we bumped along the road, we made our introductions with Dan and Dave, two New Yorkers on a long weekend, and Gili who was just starting on four months of wandering.  I complimented Dan on his negotiation style.  "That was brilliant.  You had me convinced that you were set to leave."  He smiled, "I was, I hadn´t realised it was 10 miles."

Breezing through Costa Rica

   We stopped for a night in Puerto Viejo at the Eastern edge of Costa Rica.  We had dinner in a local restaurant that somehow managed to take an hour to produce any of the three items on its menu.  I was troubled by this, and indeed my fears were borne out.  When my fish arrived it had clearly been in the frying pan the whole time.  I felt for the poor bugger; he died in vain.  We were entertained throughout by some dreadful karaoke attempts at Adele and Mariah Carey.  There were also three blackouts while we waited, which I suspect were the work of an outraged connoiseur of ladies balads.

   The next day we took the bus to San Jose ("Do you know the way?"  asked Kizzy.  "Why, yes," I replied.  "There´s a 9 o´clock bus from beside the beach.")  San Jose was utterly forgettable.  For a country so beloved by tourists we were surprised to come away with only one photo in all of Costa Rica, and that one was taken when we realised we had no others.  Then again, we were cheap and it was pricey so we didn´t give it a chance.  Our budget was flattered when we took a mild dislike to the place and resolved to nip over to Nicaragua as soon as possible.

   That could not come too soon.  Kizzy was in danger of picking up a criminal record as we found something to dislike about every one of our dorm room co-habitees.  One bloke was a little creepy and physiscally incapable of passing 5 minutes without a squeaky little fart escaping.  The other spent every minute we were in town on his laptop and under the sheet doing heaven knows what but giving no signs of common humanity.  And the two Norwegian girls on the top bunks made a strong claim for the title of most annoying people we´ve met when they went out leaving the room a tip and returned at 4am to turn the lights on and have a very loud conversation about their camera for 40 minutes.  Kizzy had called me out for making one cutting remark too many the previous day, so I kept schtum, but I could feel the boiling wrath emanating from her bunk above me.

The path between the seas

   Panama felt like a return to the western world at first.  In fact, it felt very familiar as a government employee to experience complete inability of anyone to sort out the air conditioning with buses, bars and bedrooms all kept at temperatures either below 12 degrees or above 35.

   We stayed in a marvellous hostel in Panama City and spent a day wandering around the historic Casco Viejo district; dodging construction vehicles and admiring the photos depicting how amazing the place will look when the restoration work is complete.  We made our way out to the canal where once again Kizzy was thoroughly unimpressed by an amazing feat of engineering.  Try as I might I could not get her excited at the prospect of visiting the Hoover Dam in July.  However, all was not lost: we found a Wendy´s later that day and discovered they serve jacket potatoes with cheese and Kizzy was overcome.  Paradise islands and huge canals withered in her memory when presented with her ultimate British food craving.

   The rest of our time was spent trying to post all of our warm weather gear back home.  This is somewhat more difficult than one might expect.  The Panamanian postal system appears designed with the single intention of fulfilling the state´s obligation to have one, while at the same time discouraging anyone from using it.

   We discovered that they do not do home delivery in Panama, you have to rent a post box.  If you want to send a package, as we did, you have to go to a post office miles from anywhere you want to be.  You are required to securely box and wrap the package in brown paper, but such materials are not readily sold within a mile of the post office.  In any event you will have to unwrap the whole thing when you turn up anyway so the staff can have a stickybeak inside.  You must get your passport photocopied, but they don´t have a photocopier.  And of course there are lots of forms to fill in.

   By the end of the process we were on good terms with the staff and half a dozen locals undertaking the same routine.  We joked that it was a good day for our budget as it had taken up a full three hours and we had missed lunch.  Then we paid the postage and sobered up about it quick smart.

   Our time in Panama came to an end with a journey back to the Caribbean coast and the islands of Bocas del Toro, where we were treated to even more tropical beaches and the warm welcome of the nicest hostel proprietor in the world.

On the high seas

   Equipped with bathers, sunscreen and 100 sea sickness pills, Kizzy and Selina and I met Captain YouYou and Lorena (our wonderful chef) at the marina at 6pm on a Tuesday evening to embark on our six-day voyage across the Caribbean Sea to Portobelo in Panama by way of the San Blas islands.

My first shock was to find that I was to share the voyage with 6 beautiful young ladies.  Oh, the hardship.  No men, no smelly feet, no loud voices, no one to challenge me in cricket supremacy.  Actually, that last one didn´t quite work out for me.  As soon as I taught Kizzy the magic formula of "step, bounce, hit" she had me chasing the ball all over the island.  She wasn´t so enthusiastic when it was her turn to bowl.  It was like playing with my brother all over again, but I couldn´t go complaining to mum this time (for all the good it ever did me!)

   We both picked up some new skills.  I learned how to snorkel without getting hideously burned.  The trick is to get out and hide in the shade after 20 minutes.  And Kizzy learned to sail all by herself.  She was wary at first but when she got going she was the most sensible person on the water.

   The San Blas islands were everything we could have hoped for.  Tropical paradise, as unspoilt as it gets these days.  We even had the option of sleeping in hammocks on an uninhabited patch of sand and coconut palms.  The two Dutch girls travelling with us had a long conversation with YouYou about it.

Anna:       Is it going to rain?
YouYou:  It might, it's all part of the excitement!
Lieke:      But if it does, you will come and get us?
YouYou:  No, I will be asleep on the boat.
Anna:       Will Lorena come and get us?
YouYou:  No, she will be asleep too.
Lieke:      So who will come to get us?
YouYou:  No one will come to get you.
Anna:       But then we will get wet!
YouYou:  Yes.  Do you still want to go?

This went on for at least 20 minutes before they decided that yes, they did want to go, whereas the rest of us saw the lightning on the horizon as a good reason to stay below deck.  At 5:30am, after hours of tropical-strength rain, Lorena cracked and fetched them off the island, finding the girls shivering in their hammocks and cowering from the coconuts threatening to fall on their heads.






We arrived in Portobello on the sixth day of our voyage, thoroughly relaxed and enamoured with the Caribbean way of life.  Except Kizzy, who had spent the night looking green and throwing up having grown complacent with her seasickness medication regime.  Unfortunately that seems to have put paid to her enthusiasm for yachting back to the UK in 2013, but I figure I´ve got 8 months to work on her.



Portobello was beautiful in the sunshine, and sadly Kizzy and I didn´t take any photos there.  Hopefully we will get some from Selina soon.  Selina was a revelation when we hit port.  I have never met anyone who gets hit on as much as she does.  She is very pretty but even so, every man we met (and I mean every man - barring YouYou and myself, who were of course complete gentlemen) made a beeline for her and set about explaining their romanitc intentions towards her.  I don´t know if there was just something in the water in Panama (or the beer) but this happened in the San Blas, in Portobelo, on the bus, at the canal, and it was still going on when we left her in Panama City.  I felt a little sorry for the other 5 girls who were travelling about with us.

Have bathers, will travel

   We arrived in Cartagena at some silly time in the morning, very thankful to be ushered into our hostel room for more sleep.  We sweltered for three hours in temperatures that would be considered cruel and inhumane for livestock before heading out to find a passage to Panama.  We met Selina, a fellow Londoner (well, Essex girl, actually), and spent the next few days wandering around Cartagena and upsetting the port authorities by playing hide and seek among the sailing boats while scouting out a berth to Panama.  Evidently you can´t just turn up and look around, which made no sense to any of us so we did all we could to misunderstand the very clear instructions from the security guard.

   We looked at a couple of unsuitable boats (and unsuitable captains).  One of the skippers assured us that his boat was a naked boat.  We laughed this off but he kept on insisting and so we left and warned the girl running the Blue Sailing charter office that he might be a bit of a sleaze.  She took note and later we ran into her at the marina and found out Mr Naked was her boyfriend, which was a little awkward for all of us.

   Luckily we also found a beautiful 50 foot vagabond ketch, built for an ´80s TV show complete with pirate flag and dreadlocked Polish captain, YouYou.  Very excited at the prospect of 5 days in luxury and paradise we rewarded ourselves with a the best curry in South America before returning to our sauna of a hostel room for an evening of regretting our meal choice.

Kizzy was somewhat surprised to find herself a millionaire all of a sudden as we put together a truly unsuitable sum of money to pay a pirate for our passage.