Sunday, July 24: From the grotesque to the sublime.

Poor Jeremy got home from Mombacho and threw up all over the floor of our room. We were all taken aback. Another couple of episodes in the middle of the night, and then the worst was over—but he had a fever most of the day Sunday and a little on Monday morning. So Zoe and I got to go horseback riding and James stayed back with Jeremy—after Jeremy had a little time to get used to the idea of sitting on a horse.

The ride was quite the experience: mostly trotting and cantering, walking only through the steepest, rockiest part of the trail. You come up through this incredibly narrow trail mostly cut by the rain through what’s effectively a cliff, and suddenly find yourself on a ridge overlooking an immense valley and the grand Masaya volcano. The wind really whips you around: it’s incredibly exhilarating. Note the spume of gas from the volcano.

Then, after an appropriate period of awe-struck admiration, the horses race you all the way home. The guides let us go first, but they come behind, making that popping “bo bo bo bo” noise, and occasionally backing it up with a swat with a stick, so the horses just hightail it for home. It’s a little like I imagine riding a racehorse must feel: the horses nudging each other out of the way as we canter rapidly around a tight corner. I was on poor Cappucino: fourteen years old and having to canter the best part of four hours straight.

Aubrey the epidemiologist regaled us over supper with stories of effectively founding the field of tropical influenza in her first year of graduate school. What a great storyteller!