La Isla de Maiz
Corn Island Travel Blog› entry 4 of 6 › view all entries
The flight to Corn Island was exactly what one might expect for a short flight across a central American country to a remote island in the Carribbian - tight, sketchy, but ultimately successful. Our plane was a tiny rust-bucket that was an order of magnitude smaller than the little prop planes that run between Medford and Portland. The captain could have been shot with a spitwad by any of the passengers, though that would have been rude as it would have made a mess of the newspaper he was so intently reading. The seatbelts had shoulder harnesses. Really.
We were greeted at the airport by Ike, the owner and operator of our hotel. Ike is the man - he knows *everyone* on the island, he knows where to go, what to do, and how best to do it.
Our hotel was an easy stone's throw from the ocean up at the northwest side of the island. After getting my shit together, I headed down to the lone dive shop to find out about diving. The small operation had limited openings, so I only ended up getting three dives in during my stay on the island. Granted, it would have been four had it not been for a wicked hangover and bumpy boat rides. The diving was meh... a cold front had lowered the visibility to maybe 8 meters, and there wasn't anything particularly special. On the second dive we were lucky enough to see a huge stringray hiding on the bottom, with only his eyes and tail protruding. His body was probably about five feet across and his tail must have been another 6 or so.
The rest of the week was a blur of sunny beaches and well-chosen vices, with the occasional bout of sketchiness thrown in for good measure. Three cool Canadians were staying at Ike's too, and that number grew to four after a few days. I'm just going to go ahead and put this out there: Canadians can drink their faces off. I was impressed, and I know some mighty fine drinkers back home.
Highlights included entire days drinking on the beach, lobster at our leisure, a ten-foot long sand sculpture of a Tona Beer bottle, learning how to roll J's with banana leaves, more beer and lobster, being the only gringos in a sketchy late-night locals discoteca, losing a beer-chugging contest... to a girl, more drinking, Ike, Roland at the dive shop, beachfront flashings, hammocks, local rum, and dancing like a white guy.
But then the day finally came, and I woke up early (barely) for my 8:30am flight to Managua. From there, on to Masaya and San Juan Del Sur...