Off the Beaten Track: The Mouth of Hell

Masaya, Nicaragua

Photography by Caroline Bergeron

"In the case of expulsions of rocks, protect yourself under the car." This was the first sentence to catch my eye on the pamphlet the guard gave us upon entering the Parque Nacional Volcan Masaya. If this weren’t ominous enough, then the sign at the top of the volcano was. "Park your car facing exit, in case of emergency."


Of course, my first question was, if such an emergency were to arise, which action should I perform first? 

Nicaragua has nine active volcanoes running up the centre of the country like a volatile spine. The Volcan Masaya is the most accessible and, by extension, the most popular. It is also a rare form of basalt volcano, which attracts scientists from around the world in addition to the steady flow of tourists. It erupted for the first time in 4550 BC, and to date, it is one of the largest eruptions on historical record.

RELATED: 12 Day Road Trip to Ireland

RELATED: 7 Day Road Trip to Iceland

On the day we arrived in a rattling, aging mini-bus, the volcano was smoking profusely – emitting noxious sulfuric fumes that stung our eyes and nose. Despite the haze, however, we were suitably stunned as we approached the gaping yawn of the Santiago crater. The drop to the crater floor is vertiginous. The stark grey windswept landscape gave us the impression a mischievous god shoveled out the centre of mountain with an ice cream scoop. My stomach convulsed. My feet hurt. The wind whipping in, out, and over the toothless maw didn’t help. I felt as though at any minute I could be plucked from the safety of my perch and tossed insignificantly into the mountain’s belly. It was awesome.

When the Spanish arrived on scene in 1524, the vent was a bubbling lake of molten lava. The crater remained that way until 1979, when the lava retreated. The cross that stands watch over the site to this day, was first erected by those same conquistadors, who gave the mountain its nickname, boca de infierno – the mouth of hell. The cross was meant to stop the devil from surfacing. Its effectiveness, however, is still in question, given the great eruption of 1772. In fact, the stairway to the cross is currently inaccessible due to a minor eruption six years ago. Workmen were toiling away at it in the incandescent sun on the day of our visit.

The indigenous tribes who predated the Spanish were more efficient. They simply tossed appeasing sacrifices over the edge every once in a while. 

We were hoping to catch a glimpse of the famed chocoyos del crater – the florescent green parrots that make their nests in the crags and caves of the cliffsides, mystifying scientists – but, alas, we were not so lucky. The volcano, which is one of the world’s largest natural producers of dioxides, also expels bioxides which when combined with saliva form sulfuric acid. Other than the arcane chocoyos no other life exists for miles around the vent. Needless to say, visitors are encouraged to limit their stays.

Trails, maintained by park staff, circle the bleak and rocky moonscape, offering the intrepid traveller the opportunity to explore the fields of volcanic ash and stone, which look the forlorn and twisted sculptures of a modern art museum. As we discovered, however, these trails can come to abrupt ends as they near the crater’s edge and become unstable. Simple wooden signs appear without warning, forcing the hiker to retire, or to continue at his own risk.

The Sandero de los Coyotes, if you can get past the name, is the longest and most interesting of the trails, taking several hours to complete. But even if you have only a short while, the volcano is worth a detour. You will never see anything else like it on earth.

Originally published on Hackwriters: The International Writers' Magazine

5 Irish Pubs You Won't Want to Miss

Irish Pubs with Character

Photography by Caroline Bergeron

These 5 traditional Irish pubs have each have something special, be it local flavour, hip atmosphere, great craft beer selection, unbeatable trad sessions, or historic significance and location. Heck, some of them have it all.  In any case, if you are planning a trip to Ireland soon, be sure to stop in and check them out. You won’t be disappointed.

RELATED: 12 Day Road Trip in Ireland

Kilkenny House O'Gorman’s

Bar · 41 John Street, Kilkenny, Ireland

Paddy pours a great Guinness and offers up a selection of fine whiskies in this cozy local pub. Shoot a game of billiards, or just sit by the fireplace with a finger of 12-year-old Red Breast. Trad music sessions are the real deal here, and the locals come out in droves to listen on Thursdays after 9:30pm. It's standing room only after that!

Devitts Pub

Bar · 78 Camden Street Lower, Dublin, Ireland

Great eats, great beer, loads of character, and fine Trad sessions upstairs several nights a week. Stretch your horizons beyond the Temple Bar the next time you're in Dublin. This neighbourhood haunt is busy on weekends and spills out onto the street over whisky barrel tables in fine weather.

The Salt House

Brewpub · Raven Terrace, Galway, Ireland

This hole-in-the-wall separates the Claddagh District from the Latin Quarter in Galway, and offers up 120 unrivalled craft beers, and 21 tapped kegs. Try the delicious Foam & the Fury IPA. You might picture dockside sailors gathered here in another time. And the barman/owner is a character unto his own.

The Crane Bar

Pub · 2 Sea Rd., Galway, Ireland

If it weren't for the green and white mural on the outside wall, you might walk right by this quietly unassuming pub. But there's nothing quiet about the famous Trad music sessions upstairs. Come early if you want a seat. This place is packed to the rafters on the weekend. 

Harkin's The Old Harbour

Bar · 6 Echlin St., Dublin, Ireland

Brendan Behan, the renowned Irish writer, is rumoured to have sipped his last pint here. But historic significance isn't all The Old Harbour has going for it. This family run establishment is full of local flavour and home-cooked meals, where you can sit quietly and tip back a pint while you gab with the neighborhood regulars or watch the horse-racing and GAA on the tele. It also has the distinction of being the closet pub to the The Guinness Storehouse. Can't get fresher than that!

Rats

A Short Story

Last night I dreamed of rats. They were in the basement of a house that was mine, but wasn’t mine at the same time. They were large and grey and fluffy, except for their tails. Their tails were rat tails, all slick and menacing. Otherwise, they were the texture of my cat. I know, because one scurried up my leg to bite my face and I had to fight it off.

            The house was really an apartment building, see, and someone had left their garbage in the basement, rather than taking it out. The bags were torn open and festering with maggots.

            The exterminator came and told me we should stomp on them. That didn’t seem right, even in the dream. When I tried, I could never generate enough force in my leg. It was like I was stomping in slow motion. The puffy little things just slipped away and kept at the garbage. The exterminator guy had much better luck. When he was finished with them, their bodies were little more than sticky garnet starbursts on the cement.

            It didn’t matter, though. The rats just kept coming.

            Eventually, he told me that we had to burn them out. I nodded. He was the professional, after all. I couldn’t even stomp them properly.

            Anyway, that’s how we lost the house.

            My wife turned to me from the bed in our hotel and asked if I had managed to salvage the shower curtain.

            “We lost our house, and the first thing you think to ask about is the shower curtain?” I said.

            “Well,” she said, “did you?”

            “Of course.” I rattled the bedsheets to show her that we were, in fact, sleeping under the shower curtain at that very moment.

            That immediately put her mind at rest. For my part, I couldn’t erase the glow of the flames as they licked at the basement window. I felt terrible for having trusted the exterminator. In retrospect, he didn’t even wear a uniform. What kind of exterminator doesn’t wear a uniform? He looked like the Marlboro Man, minus the Stetson. Ruggedly handsome, chiseled good looks. He would not have been out of place on the cover of a romance novel.

            When I told my wife about the dream, she just said, “Huh.” But I’m not sure that she was paying attention. She was on her phone. Facebook, maybe. Her face was pale blue phosphorescence in the half-light of the morning.  We both go to work early. I sipped my coffee.

Anyway, I’ve done a lot of poking around on the Internet since I woke up. I have a desk job and I’m into self-diagnosis. Cut out the middle man, I say.

What I found is that dreams about rats are rather complex. It makes a difference, for example, if you are chasing the rat, or if the rat tries to bite you. Your emotional state in the dream is also important. An analyst would want to know if you felt afraid of the rat. Then they might want to know how you feel about rats in the real world.

Chewing and gnawing appear to be significant, as well.

Some of the stuff I read just seemed obvious, like the bits about sickness and disease. Who hasn’t heard about the Bubonic Plague, right? Or the stuff about dirt and filth. A few of the articles weren’t even trying.

But there was a website that talked about betrayal and people eating away at you. That one got me thinking. It also mentioned that killing a rat meant that you were victorious over your enemies. But, of course, I couldn’t kill the rats in my dream. And I really tried. I lined them up time and again, but the tricky bastards just slipped away.

You might be surprised, but there was nothing about shower curtains anywhere. Fire, sure. But not shower curtains. I don’t know what to make of that.

Anyway, I can’t even look at my cat this evening. And like I say, that one article has really got me thinking about betrayal. I tried to raise the topic with my wife again, but she was watching something YouTube. She’s really into social media.

It’s just that I feel like I should know the exterminator from somewhere. It’s on the tip of my tongue. And what’s worse, is that I can hear them now. I mean right now. The rats. They’re in the walls as we speak.  I can hear them chewing and slinking. Slinking and chewing.

I keep looking at my wife, but if she hears them, she does not let on.

That one in the dream came really close to biting my face, you know. I think it goes without mentioning that I am feeling more than a little anxious right now. I mean what if I can’t stomp them? Like in the dream.

What choice will I have? I should really prepare the shower curtain.