The dusk was setting quickly over Matagalpa, the little red and yellow coffee berries no longer visible on the branches of coffee trees lining the narrow, unpaved road steeply ascending into the mountain. The light of our headlamps jaggedly bounced up and down, as our tiny, rented Toyota Yaris struggled up the rocky and uneven path higher and higher into the shadows gathering all around us. It was the evening of our seventh day in Nicaragua, and we were no strangers to unpaved, barely passable roads, lack of streetlights, incorrect Google Maps directions, not to mention the usual road hazards like enormous potholes, random dogs sleeping in the middle of the road, or an occasional loose pig. By this point, we had already realized that we made a mistake in renting a small economy car in a country where lots of roads required four-wheel drive. We also knew that by 6 pm our car had to be parked, and we had to be within walkable distance of our overnight accommodations, as driving in the dark here was almost impossible. And yet here we were, scrambling our little car up the mountain, unsure where exactly the coffee farm we were staying at was located and how much further we had to drive. Or, and this is the most important part, if it was possible for us to drive up there at all.
If this doesn’t sound like your idea of fun, I can’t fault you. But years of traveling have taught us that if you keep your cool and don’t panic, every problem will be solved one way or another. As the car bounced down the darkening road, I was going through possible outcomes in my head. We might need to find a safe place to park the car and walk up to the coffee farm if the road becomes even more treacherous. We can try to call or text our hosts to see if they can offer assistance. We can try to flag down another vehicle heading up the mountain (we haven’t seen any yet, so that might not be a possibility). We can turn around, head back to the town of Matagalpa, spend the night there, and rethink our plans in the morning.
Victor grunted next to me. I looked up to see a jagged pile of rocks stretched out across our path. He inched the car slowly towards the obstacle, angling it carefully to avoid the largest of stones. The tires screeched, the car leaped sharply, and a nauseating sound of something sharp scraping the bottom of our car momentarily filled the air. I groaned, involuntarily matching the pitch and loudness of the scraping sound. The back tires bounced off the rocks and we were in the clear. For now.
“That was bad…” Victor mumbled, “That was so bad…”
I was going to volunteer to get out of the car and check if we were losing fluids or got anything knocked off, but we had no time to lose. The mountain was getting dark. If we were capable of driving, we needed to do so and quickly. Victor pressed gas and the car lurched forward. I listened intently for any foreign sounds indicating a damaged tire or worse but couldn’t make anything out. Google Maps on my phone showed that we had already reached our destination, but the road ahead was empty, with no farms in sight. It wasn’t the first time it was wrong in Nicaragua and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
We have already had a long day. We woke up in an Airbnb by Somoto Canyon near the Honduran border and spent the whole day driving down to Matagalpa, with multiple stops along the way through Nicaraguan north to explore San Rafael del Norte and Jinotega towns, visit a strawberry farm, and just enjoy the gorgeous views of many coffee plantations. We were tired and hungry and ready to tuck in for the night.
Suddenly, a small road veered off to the right.
“This has to be it,” I said, and we turned off into an even narrower road. Before Nicaragua, I didn’t know that one unpaved road could somehow be more unpaved than another, but here we were. But at least now we weren’t alone. Five men walking down the road stepped aside to let us through and as we drove past them, I saw that they were musicians, carrying guitars, a bass fiddle, and an accordion. Ahead of us, a small village was preparing for a celebration. People were out of their houses, with men drinking beers, women setting up food on tables outside, while children ran around underfoot. Delicious smells of roasted meat wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble.
People outside the first house stared at our car quizzically. It was clear they were unused to uninvited guests, and this was not a good sign. Considering the fact that our coffee farm had a lot of glowing reviews on Airbnb, it was unlikely that people who lived in front of it would be unfamiliar with tourist traffic.
Victor leaned out and asked in Spanish where “El Soccorro Finca” was and everyone in the crowd immediately started waving us back – back to the “main road”, further down and to the left. We backed up the small road until we met musicians again, they stepped aside once again for us and even helped us turn the car around, helpfully gesturing with their instruments. Part of me wanted to stay right here - listen to some music, join the wedding celebration or quinceanera or birthday party, then sleep on someone’s couch. That certainly sounded more fun than going back on the road.
Before I could say my idea out loud, a truck bounced around us and both the driver and the man standing in the truck bed waved at us and yelled, “Finca! El Soccorro!”
We followed eagerly. Just a minute down the road, they turned left into a narrow rocky path in the field, and we saw some houses in the distance. Victor grunted unhappily, as our car bounced higher than ever before, and tall grass and bushes scraped the undercarriage and sides of the car. Gratefully, this was a short drive and soon enough we were parked in front of what was to become our home for the next three nights. The host welcomed us warmly and told us that we were welcome to come and watch him milk cows, while his wife prepared dinner for us.
We carried our backpacks into our room and threw on our hoodies, as the evening air on the mountain was getting chillier. It was a long, full day and I was tired and relieved to finally be settled in for the evening. Little did I know, but this day was not done with us yet. One of the biggest surprises of Nicaragua was just ahead.
Next Post: A Whole New Life.
