Our La Paloma Airport

Our island was very tranquil, an oasis of peace. In 2003, we often walked along the beach from our house, through a winding, dusty horse path where an old airport strip was located. The runway was built by Cuba, but hadn’t seen any action since the war. The old airport strip washed out every rainy season, leaving holes the size of Mac trucks.

In 2009, the path through the old airstrip, led us to Francheco’s new lemon yellow house. Side by side with horses and cattle, we wandered along the path to visit Francheco. Then in late 2009, we noticed a for sale sign on a fencepost at the old airport strip. Uh oh!  Francheco’s house was torn down piece by loving piece…a new airport was in progress. Soon, there was a buzz of activity with surveyors, numbered sticks planted in the old airstrip, and red paint splashed over ancient trees.  Then, the machines came. Big, loud earth moving machines.  It reminded me of The Lorax. For months we awakened to the beep, beep beeping of the earth movers leveling and gouging the old runway. They called this progress in the name of tourism. Graders, backhoes, and dump trucks arrived by ferry. Experienced workers arrived from Managua. Promises were made to hire local workers and they filed to the new airport office to fill out applications. Sadly, no local people were ever hired to work on the new airport strip. Several months later, the runway was ready for asphalt.  In late 2010, asphalt smoothed and caressed the runway. The fence was installed around the perimeter of the runway to keep out the wandering cows and horses.  Last December, 2012, the custom-house was completed.  Soon, the control tower will be finished. We’ve heard so many dates for the opening of the airport that our heads spin…2010…2011…2012. But, this is Nicaragua and we run on Tepe Time on the island…slow..no worries…no rush. The time for the grand opening will be sometime this year.  I’m still not sure what to expect when the airport opens, but as always I’ll post the good, the bad, and the ugly aspects of our new La Paloma airport.

A Voyage Across the Sweet Sea

In 1866, Mark Twain described the volcanoes on Ometepe Island, as “two magnificent pyramids clad in the softest and richest green, all flecked with shadow and sunshine.” Since we had been island bound for several months, the time had come to voyage across the sweet sea for some Christmas shopping on the mainland.

Leaving the port town of Moyogalpa.

We boarded the 9:00 am ferry and chugged past the picturesque port town of Moyogalpa, where layers of green foliage spread softly like cake frosting into the sweet sea of Cocibolca.

The roof of our house on the far right.

Fifteen minutes later, the wind-churned waves carried us past our house (on the far right) and the quaint little community of La Paloma, where houses dotted the black sand beach in vibrant hard-candy shades of lemon yellow, sour apple green, and watermelon pink. The rafts of Puesta del Sol bobbed gently in the waves, signaling that the windy months were upon us.

Now we have a view of both volcanoes..Maderas, the dormant volcano is on the right.

Rounding the point of Jesus Maria, the twin volcanoes came into view. Mark Twain described them as “summits piercing the billowy clouds.”

The new airport is almost done.

During the California gold rush, Cornelius Vanderbilt invested heavily in a land-sea route across Nicaragua, avoiding the grueling wagon trail ride across the United States fraught with bandits, diseases, and accidents. Twain opted for the Nicaraguan route in his 1866 trip back east.
As we glide past the new runway, I wonder how the airport will change Ometepe. The runway and the terminal are complete, with only the construction of the tower remaining. It won’t be long, now. What would Twain think if he could have soared through the billowy clouds to our oasis of peace?

They are constructing the tower, now.

Quite a dramatic entrance to Ometepe. I hope the plane can stop in time before it reaches the volcano.

The Ferry passes by on its way to Moyogalpa from the mainland.

Waving to the ferry passengers returning to la isla from the mainland, I wonder what the first-time tourists think. Will they enjoy their stay? An hour’s trip across the great sweet sea is always a feast for my senses.

Nice view of our active volcano, Concepcion.

During Twain’s time, the cross-lake steamer bypassed Ometepe on its way to the Rio San Juan. Too bad, for if Twain would have had an opportunity to visit our lovely island, I know he would have written about gorging his senses on the ravenous beauty and mysteries surrounding us. A voyage across the sweet sea is always an adventure…one that never ceases to amaze me.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Foreign Chicken Buses

If you ever ride an eccentric and flamboyant Central American chicken bus, you will begin to understand the term ‘foreign’. These retired American and Canadian school buses are plastered with outlandish stickers, painted in vibrant colors, and anointed with bumper stickers confessing their love for God, Jesus, soccer, and Playboy bunnies. Chicken buses ooze of strange aromas like a mixture of sweat, cow manure stuck on the bottom of flip-flops, rice and beans, and strong perfumes.  There is NO concept of personal space and there is always room for one more…one more person…one more chicken…one more basket of fruit…one more crying baby..one more sack of rice. Everyone and everything can ride on a chicken bus. Discrimination is not a word in a chicken bus’ vocabulary.

 

Loud music blasts from speakers taped in every corner of the bus. Vendors and beggars board at every stop pushing their way through invisible aisles hawking Flintstone vitamins, Chiclets, alien drinks in plastic bags, and preaching sermons or displaying x-rays of their guts ( or somebody’s guts) for a cordoba or two.

 

Chicken buses are a wacky form of entertainment for me. I chuckle at the sayings on the Goodwill t-shirts because most of the people that wear them can’t read English. Recently, a bus driver wore a t-shirt that said on the front, “What do you call a woman with PMS and ESP?” On the back it said, “A bitch who knows everything.” Exiting the bus, I told the bus driver that he had better not show that t-shirt to his wife. He just laughed, of course, with no understanding of what I was talking about.

 

Riding a Central American chicken bus is certainly one of the most exotic and foreign experiences I have ever had. Truthfully, I’m addicted. I’ve held sleeping babies, crowing roosters confined in rice sacks, and birthday cakes dripping icing in the tropical heat. I’ve even balanced my backpack on my head because there was no place to sit…for hours! Life on a chicken bus brings the world smack dab in front of your face…it’s a macro of foreign, the stupendous of strange, and the ultimate alien experience.

Come to the Other Side

 

 

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I’ve been in a bad mood lately. I ranted on Lonely Planet about the buzz word “eco-friendly” after I recommended Finca Mystica as an eco-friendly place to stay. A poster checked out my link to Finca Mystica and commented that Finca Mystica didn’t seem to be eco-friendly because it didn’t have composting toilets and solar power. I responded, “I am sure that you can find many eco-friendly locals who would be glad to let you use their outhouse and they may even throw in a cheap chicken coop for your eco-friendly visit.”

Not very nice of me. I attribute my bad mood to the motorcycle accident we had on the way up the steep, rocky road to Finca Mystica. Our bike stalled halfway up their driveway. Ron always told me not to put my feet down…and I listened like a good rider. The bike tipped over and I landed in a pile of rocks. Fortunately, I landed on the fattest part of my body, so no broken bones. Unfortunately, I have a gigantic bruise on my backside in an array of colors.

Poor me! Ron is rolling his eyes as I write. “Always get back on the horse,” he said. “Maybe someday, but never to the other side of the island again,” I threatened. The road was recently paved to Balgue, but not to Mérida, where Finca Mystica is located. As soon as we took the Y in the road to the right and the pavement ended, I knew I was in trouble. “Just let me walk,” I pleaded as we bumped and swerved to miss the rocks springing up like weapons of mass destruction planted to warn eco-friendly tourists that paradise comes with sacrifice.

Finca Mystica is a beautiful place. Ryan and Angie were awesome hosts, but my visit was tainted with my fear of getting back on the horse to get to the other side of the island the next day. I refused. Norman, their local taxi driver shuttles people back and forth three times a day. “How do you travel this road three times a day, Norman? Don’t you get shaken baby syndrome from the constant rattling and jostling? How long does it take you to make one round trip? How many tires do you have to replace in a week?”

I discovered the answers to my questions when Norman took me home the next day. I left with Norman at 8:30 am and he dropped me off at a friend’s house in Mérida. We spent a few pleasant hours visiting, walked to a restaurant and ate delicious grilled fish, then Norman picked me up at the restaurant to deliver me in comfort…or so I thought… home. Just a few minutes away from the restaurant, my stomach began to gurgle. “Hmmm,” I thought. “I hope I don’t have to find a bathroom quickly.”

Every bump in the road caused me to panic. Not only was I worried about my stomach cramps, I was sitting on my swollen and bruised butt. “Norman, how long will it take us to get to La Paloma?” I asked with trepidation. He said that we should be there in about an hour. First, we had to stop and look at a piece of land for sale in Mérida. A new friend of mine wanted to see the land before Norman dropped her off in Balgue. I sat impatiently in the car for 30 minutes listening to my stomach rumble and groaned with each impending stomach cramp.

An hour later, after getting lost, picking up several passengers and dropping them off in Santo Domingo, we were finally on our way to the other side of the island…home, sweet, home.  I sighed in relief, until a fellow walking along the side of the road whistled at us to stop. A flat tire! I jumped out of the car and rushed to the closest bathroom, which happened to be a little cement cubicle at the tire repair guy’s house. It wasn’t an eco-friendly outhouse. Thank God for a flush toilet! But, there was no water in the tank.

Ten minutes later, I sheepishly exited the cement block enclosure, thanked the family gathered around the cubicle, and prayed that they would put water in the tank to flush it without looking at the contents. I heard them laughing as we pulled away with the newly inflated tire. Near the La Paloma airport, my cramps intensified. “I can hold on,” I told myself. “We’re almost home.” And then came the ominous hissing. Another flat tire.

“Norman, I can walk home from here,” I said. “No,” he replied like a Sandinista soldier firing an order, ” I will fix the tire and take you to your house!” With no bathroom in sight, I hastily made my way to a sparsely clad bush vacated by twin calves….a very eco-friendly move.  Another 30 minutes passed, along with much grunting and groaning and we were finally home. Ron was waiting for me at the door. Rushing to our flush toilet, I gave thanks for running water and a plump cushion of fat that protected me from a disastrous trip to the other side of our eco-friendly island. Come to the other side? It will be a long time or at least until the road is paved before I make that trip again!

 

Moooove Over

                                  Cows on Ometepe airport runway~ Cindi Pearlman

Growing up in Pennsylvania, we were always on the lookout for deer leaping across the highway. Last summer, Ron and I counted twenty-three dead deer when we passed the Welcome to Pennsylvania sign. Splayed along both sides of the interstate, they reminded me of a massacre of enormous puffed wheat balls.

One of Bobby’s most infamous stories was the time the Paxeo shuttle took him to the Managua airport to catch an early morning flight.  A pregnant cow wandered into the path of the shuttle. Life in the fast lane for the pregnant cow came to an abrupt end that morning. The airbag erupted and the cow’s head flew through the windshield. Covered with blood and burns from the airbag, Bobby caught another taxi to the airport where the attendants looked at him in horror. They put him in first class and attended to his wounds, even offering him a change of clothes and free drinks.  Paxeos didn’t charge him for the trip, then offered him future discounted fares to the airport.

Road kill is prevalent on every highway and road in the world, but what are the statistics on runway kill?  With the Ometepe airport near completion, I wonder about the cows that cross the runway. How many animals have been hit by planes? According to the International Civil Aviation Organization, “Runway incursions are today one of the major factors affecting flight safety. Animals on the runway are a particularly pervasive problem at many airports.”

In March 2012, an airliner hit two cows while landing in Venezuela, killing both bovines and damaging the landing gear and the flaps on the plane’s left-wing. Below are a few other accidents with cows on the runway:

• In 2005, a herd of cows was hit by an Air France Airbus A330 carrying nearly 200 passengers while landing in Port Harcourt, Nigeria. Following that incident, local authorities began arresting stray cows and holding them until their owners paid a fine.
• In 2011, an Aviastar Twin Otter carrying 30 people hit three cows while landing at Komodo Airport in Indonesia. The front of that plane suffered damage and the cows were killed.
• And in 2008, the wing of a British biplane clipped a cow while making an emergency landing, an incident which was caught on video. The cow was not injured. Unbelievable!

Watch out Ometepe bovines! Mooove over when those big ole’ planes sweep down to our island. Keep a moooovin on or you may be my next meal of runway kill.

I Spy…

“Travelers are always discoverers, especially those who travel by air.” ~Anne Morrow Lindbergh

 

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I’ll be in the states for two weeks celebrating my mother’s birthday, shopping in air-conditioned grocery stores, and showering with hot water. Enjoy the slideshow of my eyes without borders. Only one question remains…what the heck is in the Saudi Arabian cargo plane?

 

 

People Pass by the Pink Wall

Yesterday, Ron and I were on the mainland in Rivas early in the morning. While waiting for the dentist’s office to open, we enjoyed watching the morning activities of this bustling cowboy town.

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Come Fly With Me

                         The new airport runway

Early in the morning, every morning, I hear the graders and the bulldozers working on the new airport. I’m keeping a photo essay of the progress. Once a week, I walk our beach path to the airport to take photos. This photo is about a month old. It looks like another walk is in order.

Tourists will be able to fly from Managua, San José, and maybe other places directly to Ometepe Island in 2012.  It has its pros and cons. It’s too soon to tell. Honestly, the only advantages for us are that if the volcano blows, maybe we can make a quick getaway, and if we have a medical emergency, we can fly directly to Vivian Pellas Hospital in Managua. I’ll keep you all updated on the progress.

 

My Life in Luggage

Leaving Ometepe in 2005

UGH! I’m tired of lugging my life around in suitcases! When we first lived on Ometepe Island in 2004-05, we hauled our big, fat lives around in five check-ins and two carry-ons. I even brought my sewing machine. At that time, I had creative plans to make and sell Ometepe cool wraps. I packed a ten pound bag of polymer crystals, which looked very similar to a package of cocaine.(So I’ve been told.) Fortunately, the label was intact when the custom’s agent questioned my very suspicious looking contents. Unfortunately, most of the polymer crystals expanded to enormous proportions after a heavy rain, which was inside our beach shack, found a hole in the bag.

Our luggage waiting for the ferry

Last year, we retired and moved permanently to Ometepe Island and I packed our big, fat lives…AGAIN. Ron reminded me constantly, “Is that a necessity or a want?” He questioned everything I put into the bags.” Do you really need the hummingbird feeder? Why are you taking that ugly wooden flapping bird? A kite? What are we going to do with two giant fish pillows?”

I constantly reassured him, “I am an excellent packer. I have this down to an art. Don’t you worry about a thing. I have this under control.” That was my packing mantra. Six months later, our bags were expertly packed and we were on our way to Ometepe with seven check-ins, two carry-ons. and our backpacks. Each check-in weighed exactly 49.5 pounds, a 30 pound reduction compared to the 2004 weight limit regulations.

Ron and I have been happily married for over 35 years. We both know that our greatest stress occurs in airports. We almost divorced right in the middle of an escalator in the Frankfort, Germany International Airport. I accidentally dropped a case of German beer down the rolling escalator. Only one bottle survived, and it was wedged in a step of the disabled escalator. Suds spewed over a dozen people. It smelled like Oktoberfest in July. Ron eventually forgave me, but I didn’t want to take any chances or have any grounds (or suds) for divorce in starting our new rewired and retired lives in Nicaragua.

Everything was going smoothly until we approached Managua International Airport. Over the loudspeaker, the pilot stated, “Folks, the Managua airport was just struck by lightning. We can’t land, so we’re going to Panama City, Panama.” We both looked at each other horrified. What about our big, fat, lives expertly packed and stored in cargo? Do we have to lug them through customs? How do we contact our shuttle waiting to pick us up in Managua?

Panama City, Panama

The pilot parked the plane under a little tree on the side of the runway at the Panama City International Airport. He reassured us that the cargo section would be locked up tight. We gathered our carry-ons and boarded a chartered bus, that deposited us in downtown Panama City at the five-star Continental Hotel and Casino! A casino!!!!!

Continental Hotel and Casino

We visited Panama City, Panama the previous year on a scouting trip, but our hotels were on the cheap end of our budget. What luxury! Por gratis! (For free)  They treated us to a buffet dinner and breakfast the next morning before we boarded the bus back to the airport. We emailed our shuttle in Managua of our delay.

Our big, fat lives on Ometepe

Our big, fat lives arrived on la isla the next day. It usually takes us two days to travel from Managua to Ometepe because of the ferry schedule. My fish pillows and the hummingbird feeder are a big hit! With construction done, we can relax in our hammocks strung across our big front porch and watch the hummingbirds race each other to the feeder.

I would like to say that this is the end of my life in luggage; however, we returned to the states this summer so Ron could coach a summer league swim team. I’ve shopped at Lowes, Wal-Mart, and Amazon online. This time, we flew the discounted Spirit Airlines and their weight limit for a check-in bag is 40 pounds max. Instead of packing my check-ins with all my new goodies, I’ve had to resort to drastic measures. Our big, fat lives have taken on a new dimension…body packing. But, I’ll save that story for another day.