Here’s a list of things to to while visiting Ometepe in Nicaragua.
1. Walk past the cabbies when you get off the ferry.
You can do this pretty much anywhere in the world, and you’ll save a few bucks. That first guy, the friendly one who’s making you a deal? He’s not. I always forget this. Luckily I travel with people like Bethany or Maya who aren’t as easily walked over as I am. So, keep going. The price will go down.
It’s taken me some time to write about this next phase of my trip to Nicaragua — the two days in Ometepe — because it lacks a story. Sure, things happened. We couldn’t stay at the farm we’d read about, so we had a perfectly lovely time at the place next door. Dinner took too long at a restaurant, causing us to walk back to our cabin in the dark. We’d forgotten to stock up on cash before arriving on the island, so we ended up paying for our swanky volcano-side lodging with PayPal. All those things are somewhat interesting, but none were defining moments. And, frankly, as I tried to go into detail about them, I bored myself.
In the two days we spent exploring Ometepe, an island made of two (one live, one not) volcanoes in Lake Nicaragua (Lake Colcibolca), my favorite moment was the one pictured above. Bethany and I eschewed dinner in favor of two large Toñas while watching the sun set behind (live) Concepción volcano on the front porch of our cabin. To explain why I enjoyed this experience over all others would strip it from its simplicity. Let’s just say this: sometimes it takes two plane flights, as well as a bus ride, ferry ride and two cab rides to get to a place that facilitates conversation—without interruption, without distraction, without Words with Friends. Actual words. With friends.
There is exactly one San Francisco Giants game in the 2012 baseball season within driving distance of Columbus, Ohio (Cincinnati or Pittsburgh) that does not happen at the same time as a Columbus Clippers game. These facts are not relevant unless you work for the Clippers and are, strangely enough, a lifelong fan of the California baseball team. That one game happened last Wednesday evening. And a road trip was in order. Ben and I cut out of work early and journeyed south, with hopes of bypassing rush hour traffic to get to Cincinnati in time for a non-ballpark dinner. Ben, who’s much better at following all the foodies on Twitter than I am these days (I’ve been a little addicted to Instagram), suggested our pre-game culinary destination in Cincinnati’s Over-the-Rhine neighborhood: Senate.
My Cincinnati experience, prior to this short visit, had been limited to several reception hall weddings, Mt. Adams and the Great American Ballpark. At first glance, Over-the-Rhine was adorable. I quickly made a mental note to return, without the pressure of catching a view of the opening pitch. (We didn’t, by the way. I never make it to baseball games on time. Never.) We missed the beginning of the game for good reason. Senate’s wares and beverages were grand enough to distract Ben from his beloved Giants for at least one inning.
Soy vegetariana. I am vegetarian.
Bethany and I arrived in Nicaragua armed with a tiny Spanish dictionary and 40 or 50 handmade flash cards with useful phrases, provided by Spanish-speaking friends of ours. My fluency in the language is questionable at best, and all-reliant upon my memories of my C+ average Spanish classes in 1995 and 1996. For the most part, the cuisine of Nicaragua seemed to be free of meat. Despite this, and despite the notecard and the fact that vegetariana is one letter away from the English version of the word, I messed up the phrase without fail, talking around it whenever possible.
Mi amiga no me gusta carne, I’d explain while pointing at Bethany with her fancy eating habits. Directly translated, My friend, I don’t like meat. Not confusing at all.
When considering a week-long trip south of these United States, Nicaragua wasn’t the first country to come to mind. Brazil had that honor, but its $1200 airfare pushed it far out of the eight-day destination category. (My equation isn’t exact, but if the airfare tops $1000, the destination deserves at least ten days, if not two or more weeks.) The lower price tag of Nicaragua (most flights from CMH were closer to $600) and the quick flight (less than three hours from ATL), combined with a friend’s lavish praises piqued my interest. Simply put, it was personal economics that landed me in the poorest — and safest — country in Central America. I’d go back in a second.
Today’s Friday Five is a quick peek of our fleeting visit to three areas in the Southwest region of Nicaragua.
1. Granada’s Market.
With only half a day to experience the famous Spanish colonial city of Granada, we placed a visit to the market on top. Piles of produce (some recognizable, some not), clothing and countless street food temptations sang to us as we wandered the streets of the sixteenth century city.
You may have noticed that IF-OH has been silent of late. That’s because I’ve been preparing for a new trip: Nicaragua and Costa Rica. I’ve developed a method for my travels that truly honors the “itinerant” part of Itinerant Foodies. This method heavily involves the use of Google Docs and wikitravel. Basically, I write a middle school report on the country I’m visiting. My many anxieties are somewhat quelled when I fight them with knowledge. So I research every possible thing there is to know about a place in hopes that a) I don’t miss something good while I’m there, b) I don’t get stuck someplace awful and c) I don’t die. Vacations with Jill are so fun!
Bethany (of Tanzania and Philippines fame) will be joining me on this new adventure, and I’m hoping that her complete understanding of “island time” will balance out my we-need-to-be-there-four-days-early-to-catch-the-bus mentality. We’ve been working for months on the trip, interviewing friends who have been before, scouring the backpacking message boards and trying to learn some last-minute Spanish. (Thanks to two years of Spanish in 1995 and 1996, the burden of language is on my shoulders for this trip. In the past, I’ve had the luxury of Bethany pre-learning the local dialect prior to my arrival. There will be a lot of grunting and pointing, I fear.)
I just had one single, solitary taste of one of the best things I ate in Atlanta, but the thought of that bite haunts me.
This, friends, is Cap’n Crunch french toast, with peanut-butter sauce AND maple syrup. If you ever find yourself at Radial Café and this is one of the specials, do yourself a favor and order it. Future You will appreciate it.
When I see caprese salad, asparagus with hollandaise or cucumber salad on a winter menu, I mentally categorize the dining establishment as one of those whose walk-in coolers are filled to the brim with plastic containers of pre-made distributor-sourced foodstuffs. Side dishes speak volumes about how a restaurant sources its food and what makes a chef tick. Coleslaw year round? That guy spends his free time watching Dancing with the Stars. He drives an SUV and only gets emotional during professional sporting events. The chef who dabbles in broccoli rabe, kale and the beloved tuber lives a different sort of life. He (or she) probably dabbled in the arts — french horn? pottery? poetry? — before deciding to make a living hovering over his (or her) knives and cutting board, turning brussels sprouts and smoked meats from single notes to entire symphonies.
While there’s a difference between seasonal and local on a menu, my respect goes out to those who attempt one or both.
I’m not the most astute at observing (or writing about) trends, but I’ve noticed that the potato, in hash form, has received much attention on my favorite menus this winter. Has it always been there, and I’m just starting to notice? I can’t say. But it’s the perfect venue for cool weather veggies and my treasured winter meats, and is often the reason I choose a dish. Like snowflakes, each is unique. Let’s take a look.
1. Short Rib Hash at Buttermilk Channel, Brooklyn
With a 2:1 beef-to-potato ratio in its hash, Buttermilk Channel — one of my favorite stops in Brooklyn — definitely knows how to make a potato seem glamorous. Served alongside lightly dressed greens, the dish is well balanced: heavy meets light, green meets beige and brown. The beef is seasoned with cinnamon and topped with a salted egg. And the soft texture of the potatoes is embellished with crispy bits of beef, scraped from the bottom of the pan, reminiscent of childhood dinners of pot roast. And if one can ever be excited about carrots, this is the time.
The Subject: Blushing Monk from Founders Taproom and Deli.
Growing up, I loved spending my summers in Western Michigan, along the shores of Lake Macatawa, just a short walk away from the iconographic red lighthouse marking the channel to the big lake (Michigan, herself). I’ve ventured up to the area several times as an adult in the spring and summer, to visit old friends and relatives, to relive memories. This past weekend, I found myself in Kalamazoo, Grand Rapids and Holland, Michigan as a winter tourist, as a brewery tourist. With breweries — not memories — as our main destinations, I discovered parts of the cities I’d loved as a child that I didn’t know existed.
Most of what I see in travel guides and destination magazines is not for me. I know this. While looking at the photos from The World’s Most Exclusive Spas or Ten Autumn Getaways might give me a spark to get through the next week, the only way I’ll end up at a resort is by accident. (Though my two-night stay at Daluyan in Sabang was well worth the splurge. I’m not saying I don’t like these things; I’m just being realistic.) There is a category of travel writing that captures my attention, the short stay stories. The In Three Days series, published through the New York Times, is one that always catches my eye. Chances are, if I’m somewhere fabulous, I can’t afford to be there long. (I’ve spent a single day in both Seoul and Bangkok, and while the latter left me with limitations due to civil unrest, I wish I’d had a quick go-to to, well, go to.)
This is my own version of that travel guide. London in a day. Several leisurely leave-the-flat-at-eleven days preempted this flurry of activity, spawned by the realization that we were running out of time to see the things that Ben and I both wanted to see. With maps in hand, and joined by Elen we left Shoreditch before breakfast to see how many things we could see in London.
Stop One: Kensington.
We grabbed caffè Americanos to go and headed away from the sunrise, determined to witness Time and Relative Dimension in Space, otherwise known as the TARDIS of Doctor Who fame.
