O-me-tepe, Oh-me-cannot-walk-thee

It’s been five months. Yes, five whole months! And my socks are still embellished with molecules of volcanic mud spattered around the hills of my knuckles, gathered in clusters so as to remind me of the fluffy clouds which so beautifully engulfed Isla de Ometepe that same morning.
Nicaragua’s candidate for the eighth wonder of the world certainly made me have faith in the wonders of physical and mental endurance. We were destined for an adventure from the very first, longest kilometer ever, to the Magdalena coffee farm tucked in at the base of the Maderas volcano. There awaited was the most welcoming community I could imagine – who would have thought that this is the place to learn about the Hawaiian reconciliation practice Ho’oponopono. Then again, I would not have thought that this is the island where I could be awaken at night by an adopted deer strolling in-between the hostel hammocks, a duck following in the morning.
When an experienced guide tells you that it takes four hours up and three hours down the volcano, be smart and believe him; also trust him that the lagoon snuggled in the crater is worth the climb that goes straight up without a halt, reaching a nearly ninety-degree slope at times and creatively switching among the following ingredients: gravel, mud, large rocks, small rocks, muddy rocks, branches, and various concoctions of the aforementioned. It gets even funnier when you gather an impatient guide and a colorful blend of differently prepared tourists. Magpies, cocoa trees, petroglyphs, testing your will – they were all worth it.
Now, I have been to the circus and heard wild animals trying to be scary. Imagine you are alone in the midst of a rainforest, with huge mud-covered roads trying to trick your jump-happy legs – since at this point, your movement cannot depend on your dear muscles anymore and instead transferred the task of bringing you to the food and hammock to the science of simple joint reflexes – and you hear it. Remember when you were a child, waiting for your parents to go to a restaurant so you can secretly watch the latest horror movie? It was the most ominous groan I had ever heard and belongs to the howler monkeys. Perhaps they wanted to warn us, rightfully so. Still, I will never throw out my socks. They are proof of my amazing accomplishment, after all! With an ankle more properly suited for physiotherapy, shoes perfect for indoor basketball (plain white, I should add – perfect mud canvas), and lack of any physical activity for months, I had never been more proud of myself. Besides, the adrenaline of getting lost and then finding others, equally lost, with your happily detached limbs enjoying their own adventure, it just gives you the best laugh of your life. For years in advance.
After some rest, off we went back to Costa Rica, and I bet the whole Nicaraguan border was wondering what we had been doing the day before…