The Real Rain

Jenny and I got to Nica at the very end of July, which is right about mid-way through the rainy season. I figured that we were right in the meat of it and any rain we have seen in the last 2 months is a good sample of the rainy season. Wrong! I have recently learned that just before rainy season turns into don’t-rain-for-6-months-season, it gives one last good shot. Apparently October and the beginning of November are the last hurrah of rainy season and it really kicks up a notch. Before this shift rainy season was really no big deal. We would get rain nearly every evening with out fail and every once in a while there would be a down pour, but usually nothing special. The paths all through Sabana Grande are dirt and mud and of course after a good rain the “roads” would get much muddier and we have a few large pool areas that are hard to pass through, but all in all its reasonable.

Now let me tell you about the real rain. Our first indication that the season was changing was about a week ago. Jenny and I left on a Friday afternoon for Ocotal around 1pm, we did our usual thing, then returned on the 5:45 bus. Another thing that I am noticing this season is that the night is coming sooner and on this day it was pretty much pitch dark by 6:00 instead of 6:30. I realized that it had started raining while we were at the internet café but didn’t think much of it. By the time we left the café it was a drizzle and when we arrived at our stop the rain was over. We started our hike back and dealt with the normal sloshy muddiness that is typical right after the rain. A few minutes into our trek we just stopped and stared. I wish I had my camera. An area that was bone dry with a track of grass in the middle that was about 6” high was completely under rushing water. We couldn’t see the grass; it had turned into a river sometime between when we left at one and when we came back. Usually there is a rock, a dry patch, or a shoulder on the road that you can use to pass the really wet muddy parts or the large pools of water that gather. This time there was nothing, just a rushing river. You could see the water pouring in both sides from the neighboring fields joining the river running down the middle of the path. Not a single rock or patch or grass sticking up to at least indicate where it was shallower. So we stared. We were just amazed that this path that was completely bone dry when we left had turned into a river in just a few hours. The river was kind of cutting through the path way and we could see land again about 15 feet ahead, muddy land, but better than a river. It was too far to jump with a full back pack so I decided to take a couple huge steps and try to get out of it with only one wet foot. Jenny did the same and we continued through the mud.

A few minutes ahead we came across the same thing, only this time it was in an area that was usually a little muddy. Now, I like to tell a good story, but this is purely factual. If the last one was a river, then this was nearly worthy of rafting. Well, at least I wish I had a raft. We couldn’t see land on the other side. It was bigger, deeper, and flowing faster. There was no way around and I was actually pretty nervous about just walking through this one because it looked so menacing. We stood there and stared again, discussing back and forth about what we should do. While we were standing there baffled, a small old Nicaraguan man passed by, paused, and then started walking right through the river like it was something he expected. I figured if he can do it so can we. The river lasted for about 40 yards of pure rushing water; it was as deep as half way up my shin, I estimate between a foot-foot and a half. We crept through carefully, occasionally stepping into a really deep spot where a normal puddle would have been, until we finally reached higher ground. When we arrived at home our host family thought it was hysterical how wet we got and then mentioned that they meant to warn us about this time of year. Marcio said that we shouldn’t come home in the late afternoon or evening because that’s when it’s flooded the worst. He said next time skip the bus and pay the 70 cordobas for a cab to get home. I have no idea how a cab would drive through that, but Marcio insists that they will do it and I am happy to pay less than US$4 for it. It took my shoes 4 days in the sun to finally dry out. In the end it was actually kind of fun; Jenny won’t admit that she liked it but she was laughing the whole time.