Shortly before lunch Jane mentioned she was feeling a little odd. We were back in Chinandega and had just booked tickets for Masaya from where we would connect to Granada. Granada had rave reviews in the Lonely Planet as a beautiful town and Jane had expressed that she would like to hit up one more colonial town before we hit so called "Americanized" Costa Rica.
At 1:30pm we squashed into two very tight seats on one of the now familiar old buses and set off on the three and a half hour trip down to Masaya. It was hot, humid and the seats were arse numbing. We jumped off amongst a throng of activity in the hectic bus yard of Masaya and just managed to throw our bags onto the roof of another bus before our connection pulled away. By now Jane had gone very quiet and was obviously not feeling very well at all. A half hour later we were weaving our way through the colourful streets of Granada trying to guestimate when to jump ship. Finally we were dropped at some remote dead end where we flagged down a taxi to take us to a hostel of some sort.
In response to the rave reviews of Lonely Planet I must admit I expected a little more of Granada. Don't get me wrong, it's still a very pretty city oozing of latino flavour, with houses of every colour of the rainbow, as well as a just as bright a selection of local characters. But apart from the central plaza and some nice old churches it was all pretty familiar territory. Maybe it was just a little simple, which, to many a traveling wannabe locals is a great thing...but for us, we were ready for a little comfort and our hostel afforded only scarcely that.
Unfortunately for Jane, she never got to see much of the town itself. Whatever it was that had taken her ill was now in full force. That night she had a high temperature, was nauseous and was unable to eat. We kept her fluids up with water and the odd smoothy, but that was all that passed her lips for about the next 48 hours.
By the third day she thought that she might be pulling through and we opted to head to the coast and out of Granada. We did it the easy way this time with a door to door taxi costing a little more from our purse but invaluable for Jane as we soon realised that she was still sick as a dog.
We arrived in the picturesque town of San Juan Del Sur early in the afternoon as the sun was beaming down on the colourful streets. I had done minimal research on where to stay other than to realise most hostels in this now increasingly popular town were full. I had one name and an address and as it was we chanced into a great hostel. Owned by a Frenchman called Baba, up on the hill, a couple minutes walk out of town centre, the Buena Onda Backpackers provided spacious breezy timber clad rooms with king size beds and private bathrooms for $10 per person. With the best views in town it was absolutely worth every penny.
I tried to occupy myself as best I could while Jane rested and recovered. On the second day I caught a ride with one of the other backpacker shuttles to the nearby Hermosa beach. The ride, perched on the back of a pick-up truck was stunning as we cut through a bumpy jungle track, crossing dry riverbeds awash with dazzling butterflies and eventually emerged onto a long sandy stretch. The surf was good although not great in comparison to what I have been getting but there is no doubt I have been spoilt. And beautiful all the same.
On the night off the third day, while out running some errands I finally managed to catch up with Marco, a friend we'd met way back in Pichilemu, Chile. Marco had also been traveling at the time and it was he who told us to come to SJDS where he was now making a go of it. Marco had until recently been running a fishing/surfing tour operation with his own boat but before going away for a year had decided to sell up. He had just recently sold his boat which was bad timing for me as I would have loved to use his services to explore some of the off the track surf breaks and fishing spots but it wasn't to be.
Nevertheless as soon as we'd exchanged pleasantries, Marco was already on the phone organizing a fishing trip for us. We'd be leaving at 6:00am the next morning with a local Nicaraguan skipper named Pepin. Quick work - good stuff!
I felt pretty sorry for organizing the trip that evening as I would be leaving poor sick Jane in bed for the best part of the day and if she felt worse or needed anything, there would be no one to turn to. I think she understood though that this was something I'd wanted to do for quite a while, and was happy for me to be going.
That evening while I lay in bed, I felt the first tickle of a cough in my chest.
In the morning I rose at 5:00am and headed down to Marco's place to help him carry his fishing gear and supplies to the boat. I was now starting to feel a little dizzy as well as continuing to cough but I didn't want to let Marco down who had done so well to organise the trip at the drop of a hat. We were joined at the dock by another local friend of Marcos', Andrew, and his visiting friend, Chris, from Anchorage in Alaska. Pepin, the skipper, was there waiting for us at six on the dot and we were soon headed out to sea in a thirty or so foot fiberglass Panga. Pangas are the most commonly used boats through Central America and the workhorse option for just about anything the locals might want to do on the sea. Long, thin and sturdy, they don't need monstrous motors and reach decent speeds easily.
As we headed out to see there was a fair breeze but nothing that would stop us fishing. We rigged up a couple rods with lures, flipped them over the side and brought the speed down to trawling pace.
It didn't take long for the first bite. Only just out of the bay Marcos' rod bent back and he swiftly pulled in a small black tuna. I was next and as soon as it hit we could tell it was something bigger. It fought hard and I had to let it as I wasn't sure what the gear could take. After a couple minutes, a silver reflection appeared under the boat and the captain grabbed the gaff. A big Trevally of some sort finally appeared at the surface before pepin gaffed it and dragged it onto the boat. I was pretty chuffed! He said it weighed somewhere around 15lbs but when it was swimming, boy I can tell you it felt like a lot more than that! It was my only fish that morning. Andrew caught one as well although he missed god knows how many. Whatever lure Marco had rigged that rod with, the fish seemed to going crazy for it. Andrew wasn't much of a fisherman though, and didn't quite get the keeping the line taught part, which made for many more happy fish than happy fishermen - but probably better that way although i'd have preferred to release AFTER catch. Anyway, after Andrew had missed one too many we passed the magic rod over to Chris who then managed to catch himself two Trevally. It all went dead after that and although we trawled for a good while longer, there was very little action. Eventually, as the wind continued to chop up the sea, and after one too many waves splashed over the bow drenching us, we decided to head back in. It was a pretty unenjoyable ride back. We were ploughing right into the offshore wind and sea, getting drenched every couple of waves and it wasn't until we were well within the bay that the waves finally subsided. By the time we got back on land, unloaded the boat, gutted the fish and dropped the gear back at Marcos' I knew I was gonna be getting sick as well. I expressed my thanks to Marco, said my goodbyes then dragged my feet up the hill back to Buena Onda Backpackers. When I got there I was surprised to see Jane swinging happily in the hammock.
"Look babe" she says "I'm outa bed!".
"Great!" I say "but I'm afraid that's exactly where I'm headed!".
That night it was my turn for a high temperature and cold sweats. It took me three days in bed before I was able to drag myself beyond the confines of the backpackers. Each morning I thought I was nearly better, then by lunch I would slow and by evening I would be hit by fatigue and nausea again.
Eventually by day four of my sickness, and our seventh day in San Juan Del Sur I bit the bullet and decided we should try to get to Costa Rica. We had originally planned on having ten days there but now, following our spate of illnesses, we were reduced to five, two of which would be needed for traveling. I still wasn't one hundred percent but as long as there weren't too many bus transfers or hassles, I should be fine...right?
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