Into the Jungle

If you can imagine a jungle encampment as a twelve year old might, it would probably look much like Sabalos Lodge. There would be a cabin made of bamboo with a palm frond roof set among verdant green foliage, built on a platform three metres or so above the ground. Inside it would have a comfortable bed swathed in mosquito netting and a couple of hammocks slung on a balcony overlooking a river.

At Sabalos there are also features that a twelve year old might not consider, like a modern bathroom with open air shower and bar service to the door. After dark, flaming torches line the path to the dining area. Of the six cabins, our was the only one occupied and we received the undivided attention of the excellent staff. We were tempted to spend another day luxuriating there, but we had a ship to catch.

After leaving Sloentiname, we had passed Sabalos during the three hour trip in a panga along the San Juan River from San Carlos to El Castillo. Almost four hundred years ago, the Spanish built a fortress in this remote jungle to avert any repetition of the pirate raids that had sacked the city of Granada three times in five years. It was an effective stratagem and the city was kept safe from foreign marauders making their way upriver from the Caribbean, including a disastrous British expedition in 1780 that could have been a career killer for the young officer who led it, Horatio Nelson.

During another British attack in 1762, legend has it that nineteen year old Rafaela Herrera, daughter of the fortress commander, assumed leadership of the defenses when her father was wounded and, still dressed in her nightgown, fired the cannon shot that sunk the enemy flagship. Hollywood, please take note.

El Castillo, strung along the river bank below the citadel, is a pretty little place with more activity than I expected in such a secluded location. One oddity I noted while walking the streets was the several signs indicating law offices, for which I can offer no explanation. A couple of hours was sufficient to see the town and another panga took us the few kilometres to Sabalos.

The trip back up river next morning was a milk run, stopping for anyone along the shore who waved us down. At every ranch and plantation there was someone heading to San Carlos to do there shopping, going up the river to pay a visit, or returning home. By the time we reached the lake, there just enough time for lunch before boarding the ferry. Departure was delayed for reasons unknown, not untypical for Nicaragua, and it was mid-afternoon when the ship eased away from the dock, navigated the narrow channel out to the lake and turned north.