Gringos in Aserradores

“There ain’t shit going on in this town… but I’m glad I got to experience the real Nicaragua.”

- Ross 'The Ramblin' Mannino

Before I set off for my journey I had the naïve illusion of myself being the lone gringo amongst the locals, conversing in Spanish and being invited to take part in their customs and traditions. Upon arrival to Central America, however, it quickly became apparent that this would not be the case; many towns, especially surf towns, were geared toward tourism. It was in the small fishing town of Aserradores that I had come closest to realizing this dream.

Aserradores (A) was in the middle of nowhere, it was tough getting anyone to take us further than Chinandega

Encountered this a few times during the drive into Aserradores

Aserradores was just about as far North as one can get on the Pacific coast of Nicaragua. It was the logical stop after Granada because it had surf breaks, would allow me to see a completely different area of the country and was along the way to Honduras, where several friends of mine were destined. After much difficulty arranging for private transport, we arrived in Aserradores in the afternoon of November 29^th, 2013. The fact that no one was eager to drive us there should have been an indication of how far off the beaten track we were straying.

Aserradores was a tiny village situated by an estuary of the Pacific Ocean. The nets hanging outside nearly every home attested to the vibrant fishing industry in the community. There were no grocery stores, restaurants, or large hotels. Several homes doubled as pulperias from which people could buy sweets, pop and, occasionally, fresh vegetables and meat. We stayed about a forty-five minute walk outside of this small village, not on the beach, but in a cabin alongside the farms on the outskirts of town.

Aserradores

Fishing nets were being mended or hung-out to dry outside nearly every home

The cabin and campsite

Cooking up some grub

The cabin was in the far back corner of a long, narrow property. It was a small, wooden cabin equipped with a propane stove, basic electricity but no fridge, and an outhouse. While Ross and Kate stayed in the cabin, Tom, Jaylynn and I elected to camp outside by the orange and lime trees that were ready for the picking. Every morning I would wake in my tent to the sound of horses, pigs and chickens grazing in the field.

Just a typical morning

Babe

Cool bird

Aserradores is home to one of Nicaragua’s most famous breaks, ‘The Boom’. It is a steep beach break that causes the swell to jack-up at the last minute creating incredibly fast and hollow waves that dump no more than several feet from shore, in only a couple feet of water. Accordingly, many boards break here and it is expected of surfers to bring a quiver of sticks. Unfortunately, there was absolutely no swell that rolled in and no surfing to be had. While I came for the surfing, I got something completely different out of my time there.

I felt as if it was my first authentic cultural experience in Latin America. While one would expect for one of Nicaragua’s top breaks to spur development and attract tourists, this was clearly not the case in Aserradores – at least, it has yet to happen. There were a couple of all-inclusive surf resorts along the coast, but only one hostel in town run by a Portugese-American named Joe. The first piece of evidence that this area was seldom travelled occurred one day on the black-sanded beach of Aposentillo when a family of over half-a-dozen asked us if they could take a picture with us, the gringos.

Playa Aposentillo

Black sand

There was poverty in Aserradores, and its residents clearly led a different life than that which we are used to in the Western world. The houses were made of wood and tin and, in places, openings were patched with cardboard boxes. A common sight was seeing a whole family packed on a single motorcycle, with the infants squeezed between the adults on the seat and the older children on the gas tank and handlebar. Of course, none wore a helmet. From 7:00 to 12:00 the children were in school, all in the same class no matter the age. Here they studied every subject that children do in our schools, except for English. This may have been due to the lack of an English-speaking teacher, as I did not meet a single local who spoke the language.

Ross hard-at-work with the coconuts

Tom snacking on some coconut meat

First harvest provided plenty for snacking and home-made orange juice for screwdrivers

Despite the poverty, the locals were the kindest and friendliest people. I’d have to greet every person I passed on the street and, occasionally, attempt to carry out a conversation with them. The neighbouring children were understandably the most curious with us gringos and spent most of their free time at our cabin. They taught us how to gather oranges from the thorny trees and entertained us with their fire-crackers made of gunpowder wrapped in newspaper. My photos of the snow-covered mountains of Western Canada amazed them, and they were thoroughly entertained by my digital camera, with which they ran around taking countless pictures of anything and everything. They also found it particularly funny to watch me practicing Spanish with some audio tapes.

Neighbourhood kids laughing at my Spanish lesson

A couple of the local kids

In addition to getting a taste of rural Nicaragua, I experienced a phenomenon that I reckon only few have had the opportunity of doing, skinny-dipping in the Pacific Ocean with bioluminescent algae.  As you can imagine with no surfing to be had, we had lots of downtime in our rurally-situated cabin. One evening, several drinks deep, we all decided it’d be a good idea to trek to Playa Aposentillo for a swim. As we swam in the Pacific under the clear, star-spattered skies we noticed countless yellow/green –coloured lights trailing our movements – bioluminescent algae. Supposedly once a year the deep, cold water of the Pacific Ocean ascends to the surface, carrying with it this bioluminescent algae. When looking at the ocean it was completely black, but any of our movements caused the algae to fluoresce. It seems that alcohol doesn’t always lead to bad decisions, for if it wasn’t for our Coke con ron we would’ve surely missed this opportunity.

Our last day in Aserradores did not disappoint either. In fact, it surpassed all of our expectations. One evening at Joe’s place, the only hostel in town, Joe noticed that we were a little down about the waves and suggested we check out Maderas Negras, a river-mouth break that pumps out waves when neither the ‘Point’ or the ‘Boom’  are working. A couple of days later, on our last day, we woke in the early morning, strolled into town and hopped in a boat headed for Maderas Negras. We dropped a couple of fishing lines and trolled along the way. About fifteen minutes in, Tom managed to hook and reel in a large mackerel. Ten minutes later we were anchored behind the break and getting ready to surf.

Ross fishing on the way to Maderas Negras

Kate and Tom with the catch-of-the-day, holy mackerel

Approaching an unfamiliar break from behind was a wild experience. I did not know the size of the waves nor their shape. As I paddled closer I had to keep checking over my shoulder to see if anything was building up behind me. The waves were clean, breaking well both right and left. I had a fantastic session and surfed until I was completely exhausted, which was not such a bright idea. Normally if I were tired I could just surf on into shore and call it a day. I failed to remember that once done, I had to paddle out past the break to get back to the boat. Already dead tired paddling toward the boat, I saw the perfect wave building just in front of me and I couldn’t resist turning around and catching a final ride. I road it into shore and, satisfied with the surf session, started paddling back out toward the boat. It was the worst paddle I’ve ever had to do. I didn’t have an ounce of energy left, my arms felt like noodles and I was hardly covering any distance between the crashing waves. About twenty minutes later I made it back to the boat exhausted, but thrilled about the session and the fresh pescado we would be having for dinner – and, pardon the pun, but holy mackerel was it ever good.

Anxiously waxing our boards for the first surf in nearly two weeks

Approaching the break from the back

All stoked about the surf session and fresh pescado we'd be having for dinner

Filleting Tom's mackerel

Melody frying up some sweet plantains for dessert

While I was a little disappointed at first when I arrived to Aserradores and there was no swell, I can’t express how grateful I am that we found this little cabin. Truly interacting with the locals in rural Nicaragua, skinny-dipping with bioluminescent algae and a boat trip to surf Maderas Negras were not expected from Aserradores, but I’m stoked to have been able to share these experiences with Ross, Tom, Kate and Jaylynn. We split in Chinandega and all head our separate ways, but hopefully we’ll cross paths in the future. Next week I’ll be back in Costa Rica, meeting up with mis amigos Mark and Tarapacky from back home!

Pura Vida

Blogging time

Tom, Jaylinn, Kate and Ross