Beyond Wealth by Alexander Green

Author:Alexander Green
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
Published: 2011-03-28T16:00:00+00:00

A Revelation at 4,500 Feet

I’ve just returned from an investment conference at the Four Seasons Resort in Costa Rica, followed by a real estate expedition to Agora’s beautiful Rancho Santana development on the Pacific coast of Nicaragua.

Our trip took an adventurous turn, however, when a small group of us traveled on to the Totoco Eco-Lodge on Ometepe, an island formed by two volcanoes rising from Lake Nicaragua, the biggest lake in Central America and home to rare freshwater sharks that—I am not making this up—get there by leaping salmon-like up the rapids of the San Juan River.

What is an eco-lodge, exactly? It’s not the Waldorf, I can tell you that. The first night I slept under mosquito netting in a bunk bed in an open room (without doors or windows) with a dozen or so other intrepid travelers, many of whom were terrific snorers.

We were smack in the middle of a nature preserve—and Ometepe is home to hundreds of howler monkeys, small primates with an outsized roar that sounds like a cross between an elephant seal and someone getting violently ill.

Howlers get particularly noisy around daybreak, which in Nicaragua arrives at an unspeakable hour. Lying in bed listening to them—you have no other choice—you’d swear the forest is full of lions and tigers. It’s not, of course, but the howlers certainly lend a touch of authenticity to the experience.

Our first day there, we noticed that men and women returning from a hike up the nearby Maderas volcano were absolutely encased in mud. “How careless can you get?” we laughed.

We had no idea what we were talking about.

Early Sunday morning, five of us—and a local Nicaraguan guide—embarked on the vigorous nine-hour round-trip hike up the volcano, which soars 4,500 feet above sea level. Maderas is dormant. It hasn’t been active since the 13th century. But Concepción, smoldering ominously next door, erupted violently last year.

Our hike was idyllic at first. Crisscrossing the rainforest, we passed coffee, plantain, and cacao trees. The bushes were filled with exotic flowers, butterflies, fork-tailed hummingbirds, and bright-green parrots. We passed under troops of white-faced and howler monkeys and marveled at ancient petroglyphs—rock engravings left by indigenous Indians dating to 300 bc.

A couple miles up, we entered a cloud forest and the dirt path turned into a soggy climb through mud and clay. Often, the only way to advance was by grabbing rocks or tree branches and pulling yourself up the trail. We landed on our rear ends more than once, but before long the shrieks and groans turned into peals of laughter. Our clothes and shoes were ruined, but we pressed on.

Hikers on their way down rhapsodized about the view from the peak and told us about a beautiful lagoon in the center of the caldera. “Unfortunately, the water is too cold to swim,” they said.

When we got there, of course, we swam anyway.

My friend and colleague Dave Fessler was the first to step in and immediately sank to his knees in muck. He took another step forward and he sank to the top of his thigh—and kept going.

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