Hotel Sabalos, Rio San Juan, Nicaragua

Another day, another world. – Hotel Sabalos-Jan 28^th late afternoon.

The Rio San Juan rolls slowly by the deck in front of my hotel room. The river is now bathed in the glow of bright sunlight as a ceiling of ugly grey clouds moves off to the west.. Five minutes ago the river was a barely visible through a curtain of torrential rain, which seemed to come out of nowhere but lasted a scant 10 minutes before continuing on its journey west.

  Leaving the lodge ( La Esquina) this morning, I landed at the San Carlos dock with a good hour to spare. The lodge staff wanted to make sure that I was able to get a ticket for the fast boat downstream. Leaving at 10:30 it made the trip in just under an hour and a half. A launch roughly 30 feet long, it held about 20 passengers and covered the distance smoothly but much too quickly to obtain any good photos of the scenery. The view from the boat was of mostly rain forest and jungle for the first 15-20 km of the trip. As we progressed east the jungle of the south side was occasionally interrupted by small fishing villages -(small houses at the waters edge built on stilts) and the odd farm. The northern shore, again primarily rainforest/jungle eventually gave way to more arable land with fields of corn and flatlands where cattle grazed.

  My destination today, Boca de Sabalos (literally- the mouth of the Sabalos river) is a town of 1200 people located 40 km down the river from San Carlos and approx. 7km east of my main focal point of the trip- the town of El Castillo. My chosen hotel, the Hotel Sabalos is  built on stilts and overhangs the north bank of the river while the actual dock and main part of town is on the south. After retrieving my packs from the boat I spent a half hour checking out the various tiendas and comidors that seemed to make up the main street. Deciding to eat before heading for my hotel, I selected a hospitaje/ comidor which had been recommended by my guide book. I asked for a menu and was told their wasn’t one. I then asked what they had to eat and was told fish or pork, Ok I said,’’ I will have the fish with some rice, a little salad and some tostones.”(fried unripe plantains) The pork, when it arrived was somewhat overcooked and rather chewy. I knew I should have ordered the fish!!!!!!!!!!!

  I asked the waitress how much it was and she responded fayfteen. I asked her to repeat and she again said fayfteen. So I responded in Spanish Qince (15))Cordoba only to receive a rather snotty Cinqunta (50) not my fault she couldn’t differentiate between 15 and 50!

 After my decent but incorrect meal I wandered back to the dock to find that my hotel shuttle was a rowboat operated by a somewhat disgruntled (I hate my effing job was written all over her face) hotel employee. As I climbed into the boat a local character approached me by the name of Don Julio, who in a former life must have sold fridges to the Eskimos.

 In short order he arranged for me to join him for a tour of the pueblo while detailing the various guide services he had available.

 Hook, line and sinker,,,,,,,!! After checking in at the hotel-and being shown a $15, 20 and $25  room  ( I chose the latter) I enjoyed a beer on the hotel deck while watching the river and the odd boat roll by.

  The tour of town was primarily a pitch for more expensive tours downriver. But his English was more than passable and his knowledge of the community allowed me to gain some real insight into the workings of his small town.

 At the end of the tour we joined up with a young university grad named Marissa who had arrived on the same boat. Together we planned a tour for the following morning, negotiating a price that we could live with.

  With our trip finalized we spent a couple of hours sipping cervesas while we watched the sun sink into the jungle. Marissa had been travelling for a little longer than me and had started her journey in San Salvador, so we swapped travel stories and information about our experiences.

  By the time we were ready to head back to our respective hotels the river was a thick black band with few lights to indicate the opposite shore or the hotel. The ride across in a small dugout reminded me of the mythological ride across the river Styx, so I made sure I didn’t pay the ferryman his 10 Cordoba ( 50 cents ) until I was safely on the other side.

   I spent the balance of my evening enjoying a supper of fried fish while listening to the sound of distant frogs warbling to their mates while rain showers rattled off the roof of the hotel.