The Corn Islands

On Saturday morning, with Hurricane Isaac a mere twinkle in the eye of Zeus and Aeolus, we walked down to the dock at Bluefields and boarded the "Rio Escondido" to take us to Big Corn Island.
We were fortunate to have a passage at all, this boat was only running because Monday would see the island's annual celebration of the end of slavery in the Caribbean and had this not been taking place we would either have had to fly or wait until Monday for a boat.

We boarded at 0915 for the 1000 departure but in keeping with this part of the world we would wait 1 hour and 45 minutes before we finally set sail. Our delay was caused by our waiting the arrival of two pangas from El Rama, a mild irony given that we had spent three hours at El Rama waiting for a panga to Bluefields!

We used this time to buy some lunch, prepared by one of the friendliest and most helpful people you could wish to serve you. Unfortunately, what she offered in affability she sadly lacked in the sandwich making department. The listless and inedible fayre we unwrapped mid-voyage was soon fish food and I made do with half a dozen dry biscuits I'd been carrying around for weeks instead.

At 1100 we set off, not noticing a sudden influx of El Ramans, nor even the arrival of two pangas at the dock. Perhaps the delay was simply that nothing can happen to schedule here. I don't know how the railway industry delay attribution team would cope out here - they'd probably have a breakdown.

Our boat had a capacity of 140 and chugged out of the harbour at something of a snails pace. It was pleasant enough to begin with but the hard wooden seat in direct sunlight meant that the novelty of being on-board wore off rather quickly.

The first half an hour saw us passing through a rather turgid channel flanked by little mangrove islands. We saw some wildlife including pelicans, egrets and herons and, with the channel marked by poles on which sat decaying palm leaves, what looked like a succession of Rod Hull's emu.
Having sailed for 30 minutes we were very disappointed to realise that the town we were looking at was...........Bluefields; our route thus far seeing us travel in a big arc to a little island called El Bluff, only a couple of miles offshore. I have no idea why we stopped here, no one boarded or departed, but it was midday before we set sail again.

This time we finally got going properly and within minutes had crossed a definitive line, leaving behind the brown, soupy, coastal waters and becoming enveloped in the crystal clear and deeply azure Caribbean sea.
It was still a plod but there was at last the sensation that we were heading in the right direction.

The sea was incredibly calm and the only things of note that occurred on the voyage were that we briefly saw a pod of dolphins and on two or three occasions we saw some flying fish darting about. Other than that it was a buttock protection exercise, helped by our being handed a life jacket as we boarded which we used as padding. The other benefit of this mode of transport is that you can at least get up and stretch your legs and it's unlikely that you'll find someone sitting on your lap with a 40 gallon vat of soup under their arm.

The Corn Islands consist of the rather unimaginatively named Big Corn Island and Little Corn Island. Big is obviously the main one and is home to about 7000 people, Little is only about an hours walk all the way round it and home to just 1000 people and no cars.
In the 17th century the islands were a waypoint for pirates and was technically English territory until ceded to Nicaragua in the 1890s. English is therefore the primary language spoken although in recent years a lot of people have moved here from the mainland meaning Spanish is more and more prevalent.
As for your average islander, there isn't one. There are black Caribs - sometimes with dreadlocks, whites, half Spanish and Indian (Mestizo) and very dark people with Caucasian features.

We took a taxi to an hotel supposedly on the best beach on the island, asking how much, as always, before we set off. The drivers reply of "15 each" was a bit confusing. $15 each was mighty steep, probably 50% of the cars worth, whereas 15 Cordobas each would only amount to a total fare of 75p. Seeking clarification I was delighted to learn that not only was it 15 Cordobas for this ride but every journey by taxi on the island was too. They will stop and pick anyone up at any time so you must be prepared to share but what a great system. None of that watching the meter tick over at traffic lights or setting a price in your head that you think can't possibly be reached, only for it to end up being annihilated by your drivers perceived prevaricating.

Our room had air-con and a restaurant and that's all we needed, which was just as well because palm trees, tepid sea and golden sands aside there was nothing else at all.
It was one of six rooms on the beach and as soon as we had checked in we were out in that sea with our air beds. Relaxation time was here again.

That evening's meal was a glorious seafood feast of lobster and prawns, eaten beneath the hotel restaurant's amazing thatched roof a few feet from the sea. It was warm (boiling and sweaty actually but I'm trying to create a mood for you), quiet, calm and the stars were shining brightly above the sea. This was a wonderful place and I felt right at home here.
The only downside was the indifference of our hosts towards us this and every other time we ate here. We weren't necessarily looking for high fives or nightly bear hugs as though we were returning long-lost relatives but a nod of acknowledgement and a "hello" might not have gone amiss.

Sunday was spent in exactly the same way as Saturday afternoon. Blistering sun, air bed, sea, relax.
It was Monday before we ventured away from our slice of Eden, taking a taxi to "Crab Soup", the 171st festival celebrating the end of slavery, so called because one of the features of it is to eat that very thing.
It seems there's no escaping crabs on this trip and the behemoth that one chap was brandishing about in his bucket was just the ugliest sucker you've ever seen.

You can imagine our anticipation before the festival. A genuine Caribbean affair; colour, music, dance, the local brew flowing, barbecued meats, oh yes, this was going to be a day to remember.
Unfortunately though, what little bit we saw of it was reminiscent of those God-awful school fetes you're forced to endure as a parent, only more sweaty.

The first thing we witnessed was a pretty young girl giving some sort of public address though a combination of her nerves and her island patois meant that we couldn't understand what she was saying.
This preceded four men carrying a cardboard model of a church around, the explanation of which we must have failed to grasp for it was completely unintelligible to us.
Needing a drink to douse the inferno of the day we left the stage area and sought sustenance and enjoyed looking at some of the carnival floats: jalopies covered in palm leaves mainly but fun nonetheless.

Some dancing came next and this took me right back to 1970s Northamptonshire and my enforced participation in country dancing and Morris Men routines at Little Harrowden school Mayday celebrations. (It was certainly m'aidez as far as I was concerned). The poor kids seemed to have no concept of what they were doing or why they were there and troupe followed troupe with contradictory and dispassionate moves.

We adjourned to some shade to eat something from the barbecue but the fact there wasn't anywhere to sit and that I'd chosen to stand on a red ants nest were further reasons to give this up as a bad job and get back to what we do best.

With hindsight, perhaps if we'd have given it more of a chance or tried to get more in the swing of things then it would have been more enjoyable. There were plenty of other gringos there who seemed to be lapping it up so it does seem as though the failing was partly ours. Perhaps we should have gone on the lash to facilitate it.
Hey ho!

The afternoon was blissful until Kerry squealed a girly squeal and shouted "jellyfish". I wasn't unduly worried, one jellyfish is easily avoided, but then I looked and saw not one but about a million. They were minute, transparent and all around us. You had to look very closely to see them even when you knew they were there so they had probably been there all day.
Then, as the day drew to a close, an utter disaster was to befall me. Quite how I would overcome this setback was unclear but being a resolute soul I would try my utmost.
My air bed burst.

We got out straight away and went and showered to get ready for dinner, during which itchy welts appeared on our arms which at least, I suppose, were a change from mosquito bites.

We hired bikes on Tuesday and cycled all the way around the island, stopping every now and then to photograph the latest jaw-dropping vista or to get in the sea for a quick snorkel.
I can honestly say that I've never been anywhere as beautiful as this place, no matter where we looked as we skirted the coast it was a case of "oh my god, look at that".
It was like having been parachuted into Microsoft's screensaver and desktop wallpaper archive and words are an inadequate way of describing what we saw.

Our bikes, whilst undoubtedly the best we've ridden since leaving Blighty, what with having the twin luxuries of gears and brakes, were a little uncomfortable. Although newish they were the sort of bike you'd pay about £80 for in the UK so were heavy as lead. I'm afraid I've become a bit of a bike snob over the past couple of years and unless I'm sitting astride something at least part carbon and a bit whizz-bang, preferably matching my favourite lycra, then I'm not interested.
I suppose it's the equivalent of anyone who owns a nice car back home hiring a 1983 Lada for a jolly jaunt over largely unpaved roads - it's unlikely to enthuse you.

Kerry had hoped to dive here but our visit to the local dive outfit didn't fill her with the confidence she needs to descend into the deep so she gave it a miss. I actually thought the dive master looked like a bit of a dude with his luxuriant pony tail down his back and his bloated midriff suggesting a life of excess and indulgence but her ladyship did not so that was that.

That meant that we were free for our final full day on the island and we decided to take the ferry across to Little Corn to explore over there.
The ferry would leave at 1000 so at 0930 we began walking towards the dock and flagged down the first taxi we encountered. Our driver was Spanish speaking but it was plain that he was more than a bit loco, a fact not helped by his swigging beer whilst he drove.
He told us he had to pick someone else up first so we sat in the car and waited while he fetched them from their hotel. Five minutes later we went to see what he was doing and found him sat at the bar having another beer.
We chivvied him along but he then brought three other people with him, asking for Kerry to sit on my lap so he could fit us all in.
Having previously commended the taxi situation out here this was its flip side. Sat in the back of a rusting heap with a seething Kerry on my lap, wedged up against two strapping fellows and being driven along rough roads by a drunken lunatic was not much fun, though, as with anything that doesn't maim or kill, has at least provided an amusing anecdote.

We pulled up at the dock at 0954 with a distinct lack of boat in view. Perplexed, we asked a guy what the score was to be told that it had left 5 minutes ago, when full.
Had we not happened on our imbecilic and grog-sodden halfwit of a driver we would probably have made it but as it was we had to accept that we were confined to paradise for the day.

It wasn't particularly nice weather, we think we were getting the tail end of Hurricane Isaac, so there wasn't a great deal to do. We felt we'd seen everything the island had to offer and as the beach wasn't really an option today we ended up just sitting in our room twiddling our thumbs.
We had booked a flight to Managua for tomorrow morning a few days ago but how we wished we'd shaved a day off our stay here then.

It brightened up a little in the afternoon so we amused ourselves by having a swim and messing around in the sand before heading out to a swish hotel that we'd happened across on our bike ride for dinner.
The Casa Canada was a beautifully appointed place with its restaurant extending out over the sea on decking. We arrived early and sank a few aperitifs before dining on exquisite fayre as the light faded.
It was a wonderful end to what, overall, was a blissful few days and the perfect antidote to the three days we had spent getting here.