Normally, taking a trip to the sweltering jungle seems like something that makes sense in the depths of the bleak midwinter, but if there was any year to do it in August, I'd say this was the one.
Some snaps:
See that little building in those trees? That's the casita we called home for the bulk of the week. Here's a closer look: 
This was the view from our little porch.
We had a great time, but it's also wonderful to be back. I feel in love with far too many island dogs and cats, freaked out over crabs scuttling by moonlight, ate wonderful (and wonderfully cheap) seafood and coconut bread, and met some of the nicest people ever. If you're ok with a rustic (and rusty--damn! salty air does a number on metal) paradise, I would highly recommend a trip to the Corn Islands.
And to tie it in with anything around here: Look!
Casa Iguana's lodge has the same chairs we do (you can see one of them in the crappy illustration I made in the midst of my kitchen freakout).
A few fascinating things that I never expect to experience again:
- Taking a taxi on Big Corn Island (it seems that every motorist on the island is a taxi driver and they navigate the island's one road, which goes in a loop around the entire island. rides are $1 per person, and the driver will pick up as many as three of his friends to ride along). During one such ride, we stopped by the house of one of the passengers. He ran in while we waited outside, only to return with two black and white puppies he wanted to sell to someone. He got back in and we continued on our closed-circuit track.
- The runway at Big Corn is hard-packed dirt surronded by tall grass. While waiting for the prop plane to take us back to Managua, we looked up to see three horses galloping on the runway and through the grasses as a man on a motorcycle tried in vain to corral them.
- Every beer you order (Tona or Victoria Frost) comes uncapped with a paper napkin wadded up in its mouth. It's for wiping away the rust that comes with the cap's decomposition.
- On Little Corn, it was not uncommon to be seated for dinner and have the power go out all over the island. If the restaurant had a generator, all systems go. If not (which was the case for most places), you had to wait for power to resume to receive your food--or see it for that matter.
- The little island was so sparsely populated that a flashlight was absolutely necessary for walking around after sunset (anytime past 6:30, basically).
- Islanders love--and I mean LOVE--country western music. From my airport experience, mainland Nicaraguans love American lite rock. I heard "Afternoon Delight" while waiting for our plane out.
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