On reflection it’s pretty obvious that perhaps you should ask for details of what a tour involves before signing up based purely on the name ´Volcan Sierra Negra´for those of you that know Jo you will also know that one of her obsession is Volcanoes so obviously this tour was a MUST. Have a read of a guidebook and it will tell you of the phenomenal views and incredible landscape of the 2nd largest volcano in the world, if you have managed to make it all the way to the Galapagos let alone Isabella (population 2000) then obviously it is compulsory to witness that things that make it so individual. After all it is the largest island in the archipelago yet has one of the smallest populations.
As soon as you arrive it is obvious why as due to the amount of lava it is a very barren island. Coastally it is a mix of beautiful white idyllic beaches (with random deposits of lava) the route to the volcanoes is damp, lush vegetation and the rest of the island is like the meteor rock in the film Armageddon and feels just as hot.
It started so well, picked up from our hotel in a truck, dropped at a hostel where we made our pack lunch to take with us, just as we were finishing our guide asked us if we had water, I showed him my bottle and he looked worried and said ´need more, much more, at least 1 litre´ perhaps at this point I should have considered why this was.. but instead I let myself be shipped along with the others in our group. Next, onto the giant tuk tuk truck (basically wooden benches bolted onto the bed of a pickup truck) not the most comfortable thing in the world but a cool ride through the banana plantations on the way up to Tomas de Berlanga. On arrival there was a heavy damp mist, about 20 horses and a toilet (which was surprisingly clean and even had toilet paper!) a quick dash to the facilities and we were taken over to meet the scrawny horses that were to endure us for the journey to the rim of Volcano Sierra Negra. Jo was put onto the healthiest looking horse (and much to my relief if you know about her fear of horses...) it was the most docile as promised by the guide. The rest of us were boosted up onto a mixed rabble of nags, for some reason my saddle had a plastic sheet on it, which at the time I thought was a bonus as surely the wet mist had made the other blankets wet and therefore probably sticky and uncomfortable. My 1st lesson was learnt within 20mins of the ride when the inside of my legs were firmly stuck to the plastic and my arse was being chapped as we made our way up the muddy slopes (FYI DO NOT wear shorts on a horse, a combination of legs chafing on various bits of plastic, leather and buckles along with an uncontrollable horse dragging your lower legs through every tree, bush on the trail and just to top it off the horse owner constantly up the arse of the group swinging a rope, whistling and making kiss noises to gee the horses along caused a continuous and rather serious case of horse tail-gating and bottle necks which means far too much of the time is spent with your knee pressing into the backside of the horse in front, groce on its own but when you spot the enormous amount of poo coming out of that same hole at regular intervals it can cause some concern.
After an interesting, amusing but somewhat uncomfortable ride up/walk/trot bursts we jumped off our nags and walked to the edge of the crater (with a slightly John Wayne swagger) quickly afterwards we were called together and started our trek down to Volcan Chico which is still active in the hope of seeing some fumaroles.
Now the only things mentioned prior to this trip is that sandals/flip flops are not appropriate and that we would be on horses and then walk for one hour. No one mentioned at anytime that if you power walked down and back up it would take at least an hour EACH way. In reality it took nearly two hours to get down to Chico as we were stopping to take photos, learn about the formulation of lava tunnels etc. Infact though it was hot there was a nice breeze and because your brain is occupied by info, beautiful views and attempting not to fall over (and gash your leg open on the spikey lava) it was really quite enjoyable. A rather deterring factor for me was that shortly after the horse ride I got a sharp pain in my stomach and stood at the top of the Volcano in the middle of nowhere my womanly parts decided to kick into action (typical of my timing, always the most inopportune moments) this rendering me grumpy, dirty, sweaty and miserable (much to Jo´s delight) stood at the furthest away point to any form of area where I could sort myself out. So, stood on the path with a packet of wet wipes and an emergency always ultra... I will leave the rest to your imagination... however thank goodness Jo was there shoving Feminax Ultra in my direction in the hope that it might get rid of my grimace...
On arrival at Volcan Chico there was a relatively but not unpleasant smell of sulphur and an incredible view of Mariella, Fernandina and Santiago islands - we stopped for lunch on the top of Chico and at this point I think it is relevant to mention our groupies - we were lucky to only have two others, Colin a ginger paramedic from Toronto, Canada and Jenny a skinny, whiny, winging, non-stop talking American from Houston, Texas - now I would say we are not typical Brits who seem to get riled by the American accent but once again this was a rare occasion where if she had fallen down a pit of molten lava I’m pretty sure the only reason we would have noticed is because finally we would have had some peace from the constant ear piercing whine of her pointless and un interesting drivel. Colin was kind enough to entertain her conversation, where we had tried to ignore it where possible and chose to be polite but not start conversation and to walk as far behind or in front of her as possible.
I don´t think we were very subtle?! But on that same note she probably just thought we were weird, boring Brits. That’s if she even picked up on the fact that we were from the UK? As she was mostly too busy enjoying the sound of her own voice...
After a long hike back to the top of Sierra Negra where our heads were resembling inflated, sweaty tomatoes ( you know that feeling of your head pounding like your head is going to pop?) mine resembled this due to a lack of fitness and inability to cope with the heat... I think Jo´s was because she either had to push or pull my pathetic excuse for a body up the second half of the hike along with both our backpacks, whilst I spent the time trying to imagine what would actually happen if I collapsed there and then when there was no roads, horses and certainly no helicopters to rescue me. I can only imagine that some form of SAS/medic training would take over Jo and I would get magically folded up, inserted in her backpack, where by some miracle it would be air conditioned and I would be gently rehydrated, finding that only after minutes I would be stood in a cold shower back at the hotel...YEAH RIGHT...I WISH.
The terrible truth is whilst losing pints in both sweat and blood I did make it to the top (with much help from Jo I hasten to add) only to realise that I was desperate for a wee and we had to ride the horses all the way back down....
As soon as you arrive it is obvious why as due to the amount of lava it is a very barren island. Coastally it is a mix of beautiful white idyllic beaches (with random deposits of lava) the route to the volcanoes is damp, lush vegetation and the rest of the island is like the meteor rock in the film Armageddon and feels just as hot.
It started so well, picked up from our hotel in a truck, dropped at a hostel where we made our pack lunch to take with us, just as we were finishing our guide asked us if we had water, I showed him my bottle and he looked worried and said ´need more, much more, at least 1 litre´ perhaps at this point I should have considered why this was.. but instead I let myself be shipped along with the others in our group. Next, onto the giant tuk tuk truck (basically wooden benches bolted onto the bed of a pickup truck) not the most comfortable thing in the world but a cool ride through the banana plantations on the way up to Tomas de Berlanga. On arrival there was a heavy damp mist, about 20 horses and a toilet (which was surprisingly clean and even had toilet paper!) a quick dash to the facilities and we were taken over to meet the scrawny horses that were to endure us for the journey to the rim of Volcano Sierra Negra. Jo was put onto the healthiest looking horse (and much to my relief if you know about her fear of horses...) it was the most docile as promised by the guide. The rest of us were boosted up onto a mixed rabble of nags, for some reason my saddle had a plastic sheet on it, which at the time I thought was a bonus as surely the wet mist had made the other blankets wet and therefore probably sticky and uncomfortable. My 1st lesson was learnt within 20mins of the ride when the inside of my legs were firmly stuck to the plastic and my arse was being chapped as we made our way up the muddy slopes (FYI DO NOT wear shorts on a horse, a combination of legs chafing on various bits of plastic, leather and buckles along with an uncontrollable horse dragging your lower legs through every tree, bush on the trail and just to top it off the horse owner constantly up the arse of the group swinging a rope, whistling and making kiss noises to gee the horses along caused a continuous and rather serious case of horse tail-gating and bottle necks which means far too much of the time is spent with your knee pressing into the backside of the horse in front, groce on its own but when you spot the enormous amount of poo coming out of that same hole at regular intervals it can cause some concern.
After an interesting, amusing but somewhat uncomfortable ride up/walk/trot bursts we jumped off our nags and walked to the edge of the crater (with a slightly John Wayne swagger) quickly afterwards we were called together and started our trek down to Volcan Chico which is still active in the hope of seeing some fumaroles.
Now the only things mentioned prior to this trip is that sandals/flip flops are not appropriate and that we would be on horses and then walk for one hour. No one mentioned at anytime that if you power walked down and back up it would take at least an hour EACH way. In reality it took nearly two hours to get down to Chico as we were stopping to take photos, learn about the formulation of lava tunnels etc. Infact though it was hot there was a nice breeze and because your brain is occupied by info, beautiful views and attempting not to fall over (and gash your leg open on the spikey lava) it was really quite enjoyable. A rather deterring factor for me was that shortly after the horse ride I got a sharp pain in my stomach and stood at the top of the Volcano in the middle of nowhere my womanly parts decided to kick into action (typical of my timing, always the most inopportune moments) this rendering me grumpy, dirty, sweaty and miserable (much to Jo´s delight) stood at the furthest away point to any form of area where I could sort myself out. So, stood on the path with a packet of wet wipes and an emergency always ultra... I will leave the rest to your imagination... however thank goodness Jo was there shoving Feminax Ultra in my direction in the hope that it might get rid of my grimace...
On arrival at Volcan Chico there was a relatively but not unpleasant smell of sulphur and an incredible view of Mariella, Fernandina and Santiago islands - we stopped for lunch on the top of Chico and at this point I think it is relevant to mention our groupies - we were lucky to only have two others, Colin a ginger paramedic from Toronto, Canada and Jenny a skinny, whiny, winging, non-stop talking American from Houston, Texas - now I would say we are not typical Brits who seem to get riled by the American accent but once again this was a rare occasion where if she had fallen down a pit of molten lava I’m pretty sure the only reason we would have noticed is because finally we would have had some peace from the constant ear piercing whine of her pointless and un interesting drivel. Colin was kind enough to entertain her conversation, where we had tried to ignore it where possible and chose to be polite but not start conversation and to walk as far behind or in front of her as possible.
I don´t think we were very subtle?! But on that same note she probably just thought we were weird, boring Brits. That’s if she even picked up on the fact that we were from the UK? As she was mostly too busy enjoying the sound of her own voice...
After a long hike back to the top of Sierra Negra where our heads were resembling inflated, sweaty tomatoes ( you know that feeling of your head pounding like your head is going to pop?) mine resembled this due to a lack of fitness and inability to cope with the heat... I think Jo´s was because she either had to push or pull my pathetic excuse for a body up the second half of the hike along with both our backpacks, whilst I spent the time trying to imagine what would actually happen if I collapsed there and then when there was no roads, horses and certainly no helicopters to rescue me. I can only imagine that some form of SAS/medic training would take over Jo and I would get magically folded up, inserted in her backpack, where by some miracle it would be air conditioned and I would be gently rehydrated, finding that only after minutes I would be stood in a cold shower back at the hotel...YEAH RIGHT...I WISH.
The terrible truth is whilst losing pints in both sweat and blood I did make it to the top (with much help from Jo I hasten to add) only to realise that I was desperate for a wee and we had to ride the horses all the way back down....
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