Of A Long Book: A Weekend in the Treetops

I woke up for the 7^th time that night and saw that the two hammocks on either side of me were empty. It was a cool night, but the breeze usually picks up when you’re suspended in a tree house on the side of a hill. Determined to enjoy just one night in a hammock, I didn’t want to move to the mattress on the floor behind me. But my resolve was fading quickly. I heard Sarah shuffle to the mattress earlier in the night, and Beth followed a few hours after. The sky was dark, so I knew I only had a few more hours to endure. Shutting my eyes, I tried to force comfort.

We arrived at Poste Rojo the day before to enjoy the tree house hostel we’d heard so much about. A fellow volunteer in Granada worked there for a few weeks and praised its fun atmosphere and Full Moon parties. After a long week, it seemed like the perfect mini-getaway for a Saturday night. What could be cooler than sleeping in a tree house while exploring the area outside of Granada?

Three other travelers joined us on the free shuttle from a hostel in Granada. After driving about 15 minutes southwest of the city, it dropped us off and we climbed the stone steps up to “reception,” a two-story tree house with a desk and four hammocks on the bottom level and a shared kitchen on the top level. We checked in and found the hammock house, only accessed by a red walk bridge that shakes when you cross it, and then explored the area, which took all of 10 minutes. To one side of the reception house was another small tree house with two hammocks and a nice view of the valley below. The steps up to the platform were rickety and my legs shook as I ascended. There was another house of dorm rooms and a bathroom behind reception for all of us to use. And that’s about it.

The hostel is in between owners right now, so our hosts were four volunteers who had been there about a week. Another Nicaraguan woman checked us in but quickly left after we were settled. The volunteers seemed unsure of things, and at one point asked us what they should charge for drinks at the next Full Moon Party, whenever that would be. We spent the afternoon in the hammocks, reading, playing darts and a game of Irish Snap. The sunset interrupted the card game though, and with good reason. I couldn’t count all the colors in the sky as the sun dipped below the hills across the valley. A few people burned their trash in the valley below, but I could only see smoke trails as they dissipated into the sky. It was the only sign of civilization below, and I didn’t wish for any more. The sky turned from pink to purple to blue. Feeling the breeze cool my face after weeks of sweat and heat, I was grateful for the little escape, however discombobulated it was.

After a somewhat disappointing dinner of very little veggie curry, I ordered a Toña and we spent the evening in the hammocks visiting with the workers and other guests. With little else to do and our tummies still rumbling, Sarah, Beth and I went to bed a little before 10.

Sarah went to the floor mattress first, then Beth. Then, an hour or so before sunrise, I caved. Shuffling over to the mattress, I cared nothing for my hammock.

The next morning, I was pleasantly surprised by the abundance of coffee for guests. Sipping slowly, I lounged in yet another hammock—this one I liked—and read my book. After a breakfast of eggs, ham, and dry toast, we checked out and said our goodbyes.

Though I’m not sure I can recommend Poste Rojo as a fancy getaway, it was a nice break from Granada and nice to detach from everything in the world. No wi-fi is guaranteed to force anyone to enjoy her surroundings. To finish off the weekend, we took a tuc-tuc back to Granada. The only thing I can liken a tuc-tuc to is a golf cart, but more enclosed, three-wheeled and much faster. The driver took a few random turns in Granada before we wheeled down Calle Real Xalteva close to our neighborhood. Walking through Parque Central back to the house, I felt the familiar Granada heat on my shoulders, heard the men selling gafas in the park, and smelled the street vendors’ food. It wasn’t home, but it sure felt a hell of a lot like it.