My Sabado

So I am going to try, with all my heart and might, to put into words everything I felt and experienced hayer, Nueve de Mayo.

The day commenced with an alarm from my cell phone notifying me it was 4 30, time to get up. I had to drink a yogurt piña down and run to meet Benny y Marissa so that we could grab a cab to Cotran Norte (North Bus Terminal) together as driving in a cab that early in the morning by yourself as a tourist is very dangerous. Once at the terminal we met up with the three other Canadians and boarded a school bus Miraflor bound. The bus, seemingly comfortable and harmless in the beginning, began packing in more and more people each stop. Megan and I were quickly surrounded by women holding one or two babies struggling for any inch of our bus seat. As I was by the window I noticed the wall of the bus i was sitting beside was covered with cardboard. Folding the cardboard back towards me a gaping hole in the metal wall was revealed and all the screws keeping my side of the bus together had been replaced with patches of ducktape. This bus ride was by far the most incredible bus ride of my life. Pressed up against a cardboard wall, children screaming, only second hand oxygen available, all the while climbing very very slowly up a steeply vertical mountain on a road that was made up of displaced rock, ledge and cliff. The ride that should have taken 40 minutes at most lasted up to two hours and a half.
When we finally unloaded ourselves off the bus we had arrived atop a misty plateau and started hiking up right away, not knowing where the heck we were suppose to be going. Tired and very very hungry we just kept going until we reached a huge field cultivating cabbage, this was the neighbours land of the German couple we were visiting. Their names were Gene and Katharine, spoke perfect spanish but were born in Germany and grew up in America. They came to Miraflor in 83 to escape to their garden of eden. At this time in the hills of Miraflor it was not a safe place at all though, this couple lived through the Catras raping the land and brutally murdering the hiding farming families. They have this beautiful cottage now though and they served us breakfast and spoke about their lives here. Organic coffee from their farm with a little fresh milk from that morning made the most scrumptous drink Ive ever tasted. They proceeded to bring out six horses and asked us who the most skilled rider was of the group. Since nearly no one had ever ridden before in their lives, I was it. They gave me Ray, the young male lusting after the female of the group. He needed someone who knew what they were doing so as to insure he would not mount her with me on top of him. Very daunting stuff to say the least. On horse back we road down what use to be a river, but now was just a mangle of huge unstable rocks. We stopped at an orchid garden and had a lesson on growing orchids, coffee and bananas and how the three make an ideal living situation for the other. Wandering further into the forest we came upon the oldest tree of Nicaragua, that wasnt a tree at all. It is a vine parasite that is many hundreds of years old. I was the second one inside of it and climbed up its interior as far as I was able. Took many pictures.
Got back on our horses for a long treck down to this stream, tied up our horses and were lead to a little waterfall and grotto. Our guide said it was a favourite spot for swimming, so being the craziest one of the bunch, i ripped of my waterproof jacket and hiking shoes and jumped in ( I kid you not.) The others stood around in amazement and decided I was MUCHOS LOCO, which is undeniably true. Soaking wet I untied my horse and Cantored home (Riding a horse that fast on rocks was exhilerating, I cant even try to describe it.) When we got back to the cottage Megan looked at me and said that I was the bravest girl shes ever met which immediately striked me as very odd, Nooo one had ever really called me brave before. I was the homesick kid who never wanted to go to Summer camp, not the daring kid riding horseback and jumping into waterfalls. This trip has changed me already.
Lunch was ready for us, mangos, pineapples, steamed beens, rice, home made bread, and chicken and vegetable soup. I honestly felt so at peace there, it was the first time I think i´ve been to paradise. Katharine came to the group and asked us how we were getting back to the city, we answered ¨By Bus.¨ She asked because one of the visitors there was riding back to the city in her pick up truck and had room for us if we wanted to hitch a ride.
Again, THERE ARE NO WORDS. The six of us loaded into the open back of a rusty pick up truck along with about seven other NIcaraguans and drove down the same route we had driven up by bus. Cramped, bruised, and all holding onto the sides of the truck for our lives I could only take in the ominous view of the mountains, mist and valley and smile. At about 6 30 she pulled into a gas station just outside the city of Esteli and told us in spanish that that is were her ride would end.
We were disgusting. We smelt of horse and sweat and about two milimeters of dirt on ever surface of our being. We then walked home from there, a pretty sizeable distance. I got to my house and collapsed, only able to lift myself up for a shower (La Ducha.)

What a day, What a day.