Travel Planning: What to Do – Page 14 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Keflavik to Laugarvatn, Iceland

We landed in Keflavik a quarter before seven in the morning. The line was long through customs. We had to go through X-ray again without our shoes and liquids since it was the point of entry to the rest of Europe for a lot of the passengers. Our luggage were waiting at baggage claim but we had to queue again to exchange our dollars to the local currency, krona. We picked up our light blue Honda Jazz from National with the pre-paid hostel vouchers I’ve reserved beforehand for the next six nights.

Driving outside of Reykjavik, my first impression was that the country was bleak and a little eerie. There were a lot of construction going on but the view was mostly a dry and flat valley as far as the eye can see. Our first stop was along a road marked Stardalur to take photos of the ice-capped mountains ahead of us. There would be more and better photo opportunities along the way but I was eager to start shooting.

We continued driving until we reached a spot with a tourist sign, the Ã¾ingvellir, home of the Ã¾ingvellir National Park set along the north of Ã¾ingvallavatn, Iceland’s largest lake at 30 square miles. There was really nothing there except squishy bog covered with dry wildflowers and a view of the blue lake, but apparently, it is the only place in Iceland declared by law as sacred because it was also the spot where the country’s first settlers formed a commonwealth in the midst of Europe’s feudal monarchies.

The next stop was our home for the next two nights: Laugarvatn. It’s a small town with a golf course and a small spas but they were all closed because it was still off-peak season. The bonus, of course, was the Laugarvatn lake outside our room which made the water safe to drink from tap. I never thought I would ever say that water tastes so good. But it’s not a myth: Iceland has the best-tasting water. (Showering felt like I was wasting water; showering using what tasted and felt like bottled water!)

After settling in, we heated up some of the food we packed: Korean jjajang tuna and Japanese rice with some pickled perillo leaves. We knew food was going to be expensive and if we wanted to eat well the rest of the week, we had to pack easy-open cans and microwavable packets. For the next few dinners, the Dr. cooked hot meals using ingredients we bought in gas station stores along the way. We drank all four bottles of wine I packed.

Jet lag began to set in so we napped for a couple of hours. We woke up at 5pm local time, four hours ahead of New York, showered and made it to the town grocery store before it closed. We bought pasta and some sauce with the country’s infamous yogurt, or skyr. (I’m not a big fan of yogurt but I found myself eating a tub of it every morning because they taste so much better in Iceland.)

We started driving again on Route 35 and 37 to the Great Geysir which, sadly, hasn’t spouted since several tourists poured gravel into its mouth to lower the water level and force an explosion. The Strokkur was more reliable and we watched it spout boiling water every five minutes or so up to 66 feet. The entire area is still geothermically active and it was hard not to try and test the hot temperatures while the cold numbing wind blew on our faces. In fact, there are reported “accidents” each year from people who forget what scalding water really means.

We kept driving until we saw the sign for Gulfoss. Foss is “waterfall” in Icelandic and Gulfoss means “golden falls.” The road to the falls was barren and serene so it was an amazing sight to see the raging and deafening waters. Out of the calm was a welcomed chaos in a way. The river Hvita falls 105 feet into a mile-deep ravine and clouds of spray created rainbows.

LangjÃ¶kull and HofsjÃ¶kull, two large ice caps, were ahead of us. Alas, the road was closed to cars until the F-road is dry and safe. This is known as the KjÃ¶lur route and could have been done in a day. We drove back to our hostel and thought we’d try the hot springs at the Laugarvatn lake instead but it was closed. The two restaurants next door were empty, too. We went back to our room dejected but we ended up cooking and playing Scrabble until the sun partially set at midnight (!).

Not so bad for our first day in Iceland.

Nicaragua Volcanoes

Here’s the video of the three volcanoes we visited in Nicaragua, courtesy of Trip Films.

The Corn Islands, Nicaragua

We’ve seen the old city. We’ve seen the new city. We’ve hiked several volcanoes. It was time to go to the beach and spend our remaining days in Nicaragua on Little Corn Island. After a quick flight from Managua to Big Corn via Bluefields, we waited for a couple of hours for the boat that took us to Little Corn. At the docks, one of the locals asked us and a Canadian couple to follow him after he heard that we all wanted to stay at Derek’s Place–this small paradise on the island with only a short description in our guide books. (We didn’t know then that you could go to the dive shop at the docks and ask for availability. They can radio almost anyone on the island to save you from trekking through the forest yourself.) With our backpacks on and the humidity like Times Square in July, the trek to Derek’s Place was tiring. When we finally got there, we found out that there was only one hut available. They only have four huts on their property and you basically have to wait and see. We introduced ourselves to the Canadian couple and shared the hut for the first night. The next day, we lucked out when another hut was vacated–we felt more at home the next two nights.

Derek’s Place is nice; there’s no other word to describe it. Derek first came to the island when he was young and returned when he decided to leave California. He met his Catalunyan wife, Anna, a bit later and she followed him to the island. They have two young kids and they’ve since made their living by welcoming travelers from all over the world to their huts. I’ve stayed in plenty of huts the last six years, but none were as beautifully built for $25 a night. Colored bottles emit glow when the moonlight hits them at night. The shared bathroom has a giant wok for a sink and the shared shower room reminded me of Caves Branch in Belize from a trip a few years ago. Derek likes to cook so we had very good dinners for three nights. During the day, we would eat the same usual fare: fried chicken and fried fish with plantains bought from the small shacks by the docks. But for dinner, Derek served us everything from conch and shrimp salads, to pasta with shiitake mushrooms, to fish broth to curry to smoked snapper and jack. The Dr. and I also drank the coldest beers on the island because of their windmill and solar power. We even finished a bottle of wine and rum in two days just by sitting around the fire at night. During the day, when we weren’t reading our books or sleeping on the hammocks, we walked to and from the docks to look for food, rented bikes to circle the island, swam and sunbathe on different beaches. Little Corn may be little, but it had so much to offer big city dwellers like us.

You can imagine how difficult it was to leave. On our way back to catch our flight to New York, we decided to stay on Big Corn Island instead of Managua. There was an unmistakable feeling that, once upon a time, Big Corn Island was the center of it all. Walking around the island felt eery. Somehow, I kept thinking of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s words and imagining the ghosts of the island’s past. As we walked around and witnessed empty lobster traps strewed on the side of the road, buildings left in ruins, and a dry swamp with mangroves clinging to dear life, Big Corn Island instantly became a ghost town; a place that was once full of life. We stayed at Anastasia’s on the Sea, a sound recommendation from the dive shop on Little Corn. It was a long way, but a pretty drive especially when the road started to hug the sea. Coconut trees leaned and followed the warm wind, while anchored boats floated in the water. Our room at Anastasia’s came with two beds, satellite TV, and private bathroom for the same price as our hut at Derek’s. Our door opened up to a porch with small steps to the shallow water. Anchovies swayed with the waves like blades of grass. The view was incredible: infinite turquoise waters and a wooden bridge which connected the hotel to their bar and restaurant on stilts. But after closer inspection, Anastasia, with the rest of the island, became antiquated before our eyes and just became eery. (And I was sober.) The cheesy fish and shell decor in the hallway was a much better choice than bustling Managua, but something was amiss. It was time to go home.

Where to stay in Little Corn Island, Nicaragua: Derek’s Place
Where we stayed in Big Corn Island, Nicaragua: Anastasia’s on the Sea

What to do in Mt. Hood, Oregon

Jetblue had a nice sale to the west coast, so we took advantage of the promotion and paid $250 each for round-trip tickets to Oregon. Portland was on my list of places to visit this year and the Dr. really wanted to go snowboarding, so we spent a long weekend with friends even though the state’s been in the news lately, lost hikers and all. Late Thursday night, we arrived in Portland and stayed at Sam and Jenny’s house near the Japanese Garden. Sam was still at work but Jenny had a pot of chigae waiting with Fat Tire beers, so we stayed up a bit and talked. It’s hard to say no to Korean food especially when it’s pouring outside.

We slept very well and woke up the next day to catch up with Sam and meet their new baby, Ella, who babbled and smiled the entire morning. After a bit of catching up, we loaded our boards and drove their Hybrid SUV up to Mt. Hood. We stopped by a small town to get gas where we also picked up some greasy taquitos for lunch. It was raining when we were driving up, but it turned into fluffy, white snow when we reached the forest. It was absolutely Christmas-like. The pine trees were all covered in white and the snow didn’t show any signs of stopping.

It was almost two when we bought our half-day tickets ($49 each!) but we were able to board until it started to get dark. Visibility was low when we were on the lifts, but on top of the mountain, there was no wind. Past the fog, our runs were clear. I was still rusty but it only took one run for my adrenaline to start pumping. I forgot how much fun snowboarding could be. I’ve never experienced snow like that before in the east coast. Even though I fell on my ass a couple of times, the powder made falling down fun. I was more comfortable turning because I knew ice wasn’t going to scrape me and I wasn’t freezing my teeth off with every try. We were sore after the first day but it made for a good night of cocktails, Oregon Pinot Noir and lamb chops at Celilo.

On Saturday, we woke up from a deep slumber with the sun out. The mountain was already crowded by the time we started at 11am. The faster kids were speeding by us in their short-sleeved T-shirts. Meanwhile, I was sweating like a pig and trying to get out of a deep ditch of fresh snow. The easy run that the Dr. wanted us to try felt like a marathon. We lasted about four hours before we finally called it a day and drove back to Portland to meet up with Sam and Jenny, plus Dave and Carmie, who drove in from Seattle to join us.

This is hard to admit, but the west coast is starting to become more appealing.

Where we stayed in Hood River, an hour drive up Mt. Hood: Oak Street Hotel
Where we stayed in Portland, Oregon: Ace Hotel

Cerro Negro in Leon, Nicaragua

We left Morgan’s Rock feeling a little spoiled. The manager gave us a ride to San Juan which helped us save $60. From San Juan, we got on a cab to the Rivas bus station. Along the way, we were stopped by some cops doing routine inspection. All six of us showed our IDs and passports. (The car fit four comfortably, but of course, the driver made six people fit.) When I asked the lady next to me why the inspection was necessary, she mentioned that drugs from Costa Rica are smuggled through San Juan. Her nail polish was peeling and her denim skirt was two sizes too small for her. I wished the cops would check her ID more carefully. In Rivas, we had an hour to kill before the bus to Managua was scheduled to depart. Kids were constantly asking us to buy food and drinks from them. We didn’t need to buy food because the staff at Morgan’s Rock packed us a couple of sandwiches for lunch and even gave me ceviche in a Ziploc. I ended up paying one of the boys 5 cordovas to walk me inside the food market and direct me to the public bathroom, though. He also asked one of the vendors for a plastic fork so that we could eat our ceviche. The ride was, as usual, bumpy and loud, but we made it back to Managua safely.

At Oscar Fonseca’s house, we unpacked before we walked around the neighborhood to look for dinner. If you’re planning a trip to Nicaragua, I recommend to skip this sooty city. There wasn’t really anything exciting about it. To our delight, we saw a Pollo Campero sign near one of the rotundas, a chicken fast food place we learned about while in El Salvador. We cabbed it to the main park but there was nothing there except an old church and a fountain. Before heading back home, we stopped by a fruit stand to buy a whole watermelon. That night, feeling a little disappointed with our experience with Nicaragua’s volcanoes so far, we decided to postpone our flight to the Caribbean coast and stay one more day in Managua to make a day trip to LeÃ³n, home of Cerro Negro, or the Black Hill.

The next morning, we woke up very early to catch the 5:30am shuttle van to LeÃ³n, Nicaragua’s “intellectual” city. It only took an hour to get there because half of the country was still asleep, but it took almost two hours before we could find a restaurant open for business. I was so grouchy when we finally found breakfast at Comedor Lucia that I ordered a chicken leg with my scrambled eggs. After eating, we met up with Hector at the Va Pues Tour office inside the Cocinarte restaurant-cum-artist hangout. It was a last-minute arrangement and we couldn’t risk just asking one of the locals for a much cheaper ride to Cerro Negro, so we ended up shelling out $90 for the two of us to hike the crater.

We got on the pickup truck and our driver negotiated the dry mud along the way while Hector told us about his life. He was young and energetic and seemed really thrilled that Chinese-looking people like us could speak Spanish. It was a long drive and we only saw one sign directing us towards the volcano. We tried to convince ourselves that we made the right decision in paying so much money to get us there.

As soon as we started our hike up Cerro Negro, I knew it was going to be a completely different experience from Mombacho or Apoyo. The small stones crunched as we stepped on them. It was like hiking on powdered snow: step up, crunch, slide down, repeat. From afar, we could see how much damage the lava from its last eruption affected the valley. There was no vegetation, only hardened asphalt. Steam was coming out from some of the rocks. I scooped up some to take home as souveneir and was amazed at how hot they were. One section of the hill was completely covered in yellow sulphur.

It was really windy when we reached the top. But the crater was right below us and it was an amazing sight. (Okay, so the $90 was worth it.) Now, this is a crater, I thought. Weirdly enough, crickets and grasshoppers were hopping all over the place. The heat attracted them, but they would die instantly when they would land on the steaming rocks for too long. After several photographs from the top, we readied ourselves for what was to come next: sliding and surfing down the other side of Cerro Negro. If we paid a little more money, we could have rented mini-boards to suit up and ride down like snowboarders. But we just decided to slide down without any props. It was longer than I expected but it was so much fun. The stones gave easily and I couldn’t help but squeal every time I slid without interruption. I imagined our entire surrounding was how the moon would look like. Everything was black and pure. I’ve never seen anything like Cerro Negro before and I’ve definitely never slid down a volcano in my life.

Back in LeÃ³n, we walked to the market to look for lunch. It was so hot, we were the only ones out on the streets. Inside the market, we saw several ladies serving up homecooked meals to the locals. It was my self-imposed rule in Nicaragua: find the fat lady who looks like she can cook as well as she can eat. We picked the largest woman in the group and sat down on one of the plastic chairs with our order. We were sweating when we came down the volcano and we were still sweating while we ate. We still have to go back to Managua at the end of the day but we definitely knew it was time for some beach time.

Where we stayed in Managua, Nicaragua: Oscar Fonseca’s House
Our tour guide to Cerro Negro: Va Pues Tours