Finding Ourselves on Ometepe

We never did throw up. That ferry ride from San Jorge to Ometepe Island had Kylie and I in a terribly trippy state, no matter how fixed our eyes stayed on the horizon. Small, sketch ferry on the way there and then we decided on the big ferry for the trip back, which had telenovelas and took the waves like she knew how. I still felt weird and kinda bummed that I wouldn’t make the best sailor, or even be allowed to try. But we got there, nobody fell off the plank with a baby or a backpack, so we could go find a taxi to drive us where we thought we wanted to go. $25 they all said, and then we were all walking to pick out the coolest ride. $17 won us a ride in a white microbus, and even though my leg kinda got shut in the door it worked and we made it to the beginning of the twenty-minute hike up to where we would sleep for the next two nights. This is all more than an hour and a half after we got off that boat.

I wanna be clear about one thing before I say something else: Ometepe is awesome. The spot where we ended up for our last few nights brought us great peace and settled us down nicely. Casa Istiám, if you ever head that way. Our room had big flowers painted on the walls and then this perfect view to the beach. Brave, Sylvan, and Raines would probably point out that the glass case full of snacks, wine, and sunscreen was the main reason you would wanna stay there. So anyway, we get to the island and get dropped off at the bottom of this haven for people who really like the idea of self-care and all that goes with taking care of your own, well, self, and then yoga and then tiny pathways that go up and up and then wind because getting lost is a necessary part of finding yourself, right? I mean, sans niños and the fucking ridiculous amounts of stuff we brought, I could see myself enjoying 1/2 a day up there just to see the views, walk the paths, and observe reactions when you ask for help with something. But that night when Kevin and I took our last trip up the hill to carry all the stuff we need so much (i.e. Raines Wilder’s piñata that he never wants to destroy) back down to then load it all on a scooter and then on top of Robin on a scooter (he got $10 to help us move), well, that night was a night of good decision making. I hope all my run-on sentences are your favorite…I wouldn’t be able to handle editing this, so I don’t.

So adiós, hippy mountain. Now we get to chill (um, fyi this doesn’t at all mean what it used to for me) on the best beach of the island and watch the boys turn into water tigers in las aguas dulces of Lake Nicaragua. Quick, cool moments include but are in no way limited to: Brave finding the moto helmet of his dreams, which he now gets to take home with him thanks to loving parents; Finding our own (for the morning) rocky cove, where the boys collected rocks and stared at the volcano until vultures started getting closer and closer and closer; Smoking hash with Lorenzo, an Italian guy at El Zopilote who takes care of himself and is maybe happy or maybe just up there enjoying his back tattoo; Meeting Lucas, a kind 30-year-old German who told me that Raines and Sylvan reminded him of him and his brother; ¡MOTOS! Babies strapped to our backs on motos and long rides around the island; El Ojo de Agua: these natural pools were incredibly beautiful and refreshing. I only did the Tarzan swing once and my swimsuit top hung on alright.

We ran into Craig on Ometepe (He was at La Mariposa, too, and was staying at Casa Istiám) and he told us to go to the best restaurant he’d ever been to: Café Campestre. So we went. It was super-mega-ultra delicioso. They make their own pasta, coffee (with a roaster and in the traditional way, in a clay pot over a wood fire), and pretty much everything is sourced from the island. If you wanna cup of their coffee that’s harvested from the volcano and roasted over a fire, come see me in our camper soon.

One morning Kevin hung back on the beach with Brave and Sylvan while Kylie, Raines, and I went horseback riding down the beach. Ron Plata, Tequila, and Flor de Caña–our horses. Ron Plata and Flor de Caña realized that they had two chelas on their backs and did their best to run us into the water, the beach banks, and each other. Meanwhile, Raines is asking the guide to go faster and faster. So we get all the way down the beach, buy chocolate cake, a smoothie, and juice, and then say we’re ready to head back. Ron Plata and Flor de Caña, pointed home, decide to run. So Kylie and I made it back down the beach in the fastest horseback ride of my life. We had reins, of course, but I quickly realized they were just there for a small psychological effect; we couldn’t have stopped those horses, and they were well aware of that. We got back and waited about 15 minutes for Raines to make it back. He did get a chance to run when the boy who was leading him down the beach hopped on the back of the horse and took them for a ride. While I was waiting for my boy to make it back, the owner of the horses explained to me that he has many women, and in fact, that’s how it is there: men have many women and many children. How do the women like this setup, I asked. They like it, yes, they like it, he said with a little smile. Interesting…I’d like to ask them. Before we said goodbye to our horses, Sylvie and Brave got to take a little ride and were very proud.

Now to our last bit on Ometepe. One day Raines had had enough of my mothering and began to communicate his disdain for my bossiness. He packed a bag, put his leaf hat on, and told me through tears that he was going to live somewhere where no one would tell him what to do. You and Papa can visit me there, he said. Yes, yes, we will, I told him, but it sounds like such a hard life and I really would miss him. That’s when Sylvan started packing his green plastic bag and following Raines around his circling path through the room. “Come on, Sylvan, we may never see Mama again.” Tears and tears and his little red undies–oh, my heart. So I hugged him and tried to explain my annoying decisions to him. He still loves me, he said. Mainly, I think they were just missing their Papa way. too. much. And I really had been super bossy lately.

All in all, good stop at Ometepe. It’s really too bad we haven’t figured out how to help Kevin out of his mustache situation yet. One day left, so there may be hope left for Tennessee. One complication is that, even if we get it off his face, he’s gonna have a mustache-shaped tan line there. Oh-la-la.

I’ve mentioned this somewhere, but we really should’ve been drinking moonshine and praying together every day. It would’ve fixed most of the hard things, I believe. Learning, always learning on these trips. My spirit’s been like the sunburned skin in the middle of my back: it’s felt fine, and then stung for days, and is now peeling off in flakes to start the process over. The Lord draws near to the weary. I have let this simmer inside my chest with a glass of rum in my hand more than once this trip.