A kilometer walk, boat, cab, plane, cab, bus, cab, ferry, bus, and one more kilometer walk, totaling twelve hours and all I get is a lake, an Island, and a nasty déjà vu.
Flip back a few chapters, about two and a half years worth, and you'll find me again on an island in the middle of a lake, and again sick to my stomach. At least this time I am not alone on top of a mountain with no medications and uncontrollably peeing blood for eight hours. Geri, a fellow divemaster and friend from our Caribbean home of Utila, and Shurik, are with me and sharing the pain. All three of us, weak and nauseous, limply dangle in those hammocks closest to the bathrooms, taking turns sprinting for the toilet and wandering which end of ourselves we'll have to put in it first.
We spent so much time in the lavatories, it was all we saw on the volcanic island of Ometepe, but even there we found our share of exciting wildlife. Having spent some time getting better on a coffee growing farm, we eventually decided not to climb either of the two volcanoes and limited ourselves to a few hours walk through the adjacent properties in search of birds and small animals. It was a bit disappointing, but we decided not to force it. Besides, the view from the hammocks was not too bad either.