In Which I Leave Granada, Ride a Chicken Bus (or Two) & Brag About Being on a Beach

27 June 2012
4:37pm - San Juan del Sur; more specifically, the beach.

There is a man with a live squirrel on his leg walkign down the beach right now.  A live squirrel.  On what appears to be a shoestring leash.  Simultaneously bizarre and enthralling.

Life is good.

The sunset right now is gorgeous, by the way.  Did I mention I'm sitting on a beach?  With a beer?

There's a lot I like about this picture.   Side note: only ONE of those is mine.

Returning momentarily to Granada, we went for dinner after our return to the city from the volcano & ziplining adventure.  After dinner, we did some souvenir shopping in the square in front of the cathedral, then returned to the main streeet to find  somewhere to hang out for a little while.  Having heard a lot about O'Shea's, an Irish bar, from both our guidebook and people we'd met, we decided to give that place a shot. 

Very multicultural.

 I accidentally ordered the three of us three 40s of Tona, the Nicaraguan beer, which I guess is how we knew we were off to an interesting start.  Sarah and Roisin, the British and Irish girls (respectively) who were also in our hostel, ended up joining us, as did two other girls from the hostel who we hadn't met yet.  We befriended Tom, the owner, a seventy-something Irish expat who one day decided to move to Nicaragua and open a bar, who told us to "forget the children" and volunteer at his bar when we returned to Nicaragua.  I haven't yet ruled that out as a possibility.  While we were sitting there, a group of teenage Nica boys set up a stereo in the street and began doing the fiercest breakdancing I've ever seen.  It was incredibly impressive.  Once they'd finished that, they moved into a perfectly choreographed Michael Jackson routine.  I'm fairly certain they were good enough to potentially knock out any competition in one of those reality talent shows.  

The next morning, we were woken around 6am by what could have been sporadic gunshots or fireworks.  I chose to believe the latter and went back to sleep.

Regardless, we were up by seven, packed by eight, and checked out by nine.  We said goodbye to Gerry and made our way to the bus station.  We wandered through a chaotic, smelly, crazy market that reminded me powerfully of Bartela in Agartala.  I desperately wanted to poke around, but we were on our way to the chicken bus.  We navigated successfully through the market, eyeing various breads and tempting street foods on display, but got a little sidetracked when we were supposed to turn for the bus station.  Fortunately, we were guided in the right direction by a wiry little man yelling, "RIVAS! RIVAS!" at us and another backpacker who also appeared confused.  Rivas was the city where we'd be switching busses to get to San Juan del Sur.  How the little man knew where we were going, I'll just never know (sarcasm - San Juan is a pretty popular destination).   Our guide led us to the chicken bus (so named because occasionally people will use the bus to transport livestock, such as chicken), which is a retired American school bus.  

Chicken bus.  Image swiped from Google.

You could still see the signs at the front of the bus that were clearly meant for school children ("Don't Lose Your Riding Privileges").   

Interior of the chicken bus.  The guy on the left was the other backpacker who was lost with us.

The seats were worn down and springy - certainly less than comfortable - but the exterior of the bus was brightly colored and no two busses looked the same.  There were far more backpackers on our bus than we anticipated.  They didn't appear to be American and left us at Rivas, so apparently were not heading on to San Juan either.

The Rivas bus station was a crazily chaotic, bustling, overwhelming experience.  Hopping off the back of the bus (kind of like a fire drill), we were instantly accosted by cab drivers, rickshaw drivers and bus assistants yelling backpacker buzzwords like, "San Juan! Good price! San Juan! San Juan!"  

Rivas bus station.  Also swiped from a Google image search

Amidst the chaos, I attempted to locate our bus so we could start moving like we had a plan.  The only bus going to San Juan that I could see was clearly packed to the brim and didn't look like a viable option.  One of the crowd around us, who ended up being a bus assistant, captured my attention by yelling in my face about the San Juan bus.  Nice.  So, I asked him where the bus was and he indicated that we should follow him.  Deciding to back out if this suddenly got sketchy, we followed him across the bus station, through the crowd, and to an empty dock, where he told us to "Espera."  Wait.  The bus was coming and would be there in five minutes.  So, we waited and the bus came.  I thanked the guy who had helped us and we climbed on board to await departure.  As we waited, vendors climbed on and off the bus, hawking everything from food (we couldn't help it, we bought some biscuits.  Unfortunately, they were unimpressive, but we didn't think we were ready for the chicken, tortilla & rice in baggies just yet.) to plastic cups to music to boxers.

Towards the end of the trip from Rivas to San Juan del Sur, someone put in a DVD of music videos into the TV at the front of the bus.  They were easily the most absurd things I have ever seen - and definitely filmed in the 80's.  Every member of the band was wearing fringe, cowboy hats, and brightly colored cowboy suits.  The lead singer continually cast himself as the hero in the plots of the videos and was either continually broken hearted or breaking hearts while dressed as a cowboy - always with a white hat.   I tried very hard to find a picture of this, but Google searches involving keywords like "1980s, latin band, cowboy hat, fringe" don't really turn up anything useful.

The San Juan adventures will begin on Thursday.

Supermanning?

(I split the last one and this in half because it was getting rather long)

There are no pictures from ziplining because there were no survivors.  I kid.  Sara hasn't uploaded them yet.

After an exhausting hike back up the volcano to the biological center, we headed off for ziplining!  Two staff members were assigned to us, one named Rambo and the other with an equally macho name that I can't remember.  They were mostly completely deadpan and therefore frequently funny.  They gave us a roughly 90 second lesson, then said, "alright? Let's go!" Sure, no big deal - you're just going to fling us down a wire, but we got this, we got this.

Ziplining was, in fact, awesome.  It was exhilarating flying out over the trees.  After about four runs of this, we were informed that we were now qualified to do "tricks."  David was particularly excited about this.  Me, well, I had my doubts.  Courtney was the only one brave enough attempt the "Superman" move first.  Let me explain what the "Superman" entails and maybe you'll understand my hesitation.  The move was done with an instructor, who you were strapped to.  You then lean forward and wrap your legs around his waist so you are flying down the line a la Superman.  I will say no more.  Obviously, I eventually tried it (caved to the peer pressure of David, Courtney, & Rambo - you don't say no to Rambo).   It wasn't bad, but once was enough.

The second trick involved going upside down.  I eventually decided to try it and found that it was actually pretty fun - until I realized I had spun around so that I was facing the way I came and therefore had no idea where the end was.  The other immediate problem was that I couldn't get myself upright again - just as I spun around again and saw that the end was in sight.  Too much in sight, really.  I gave up on trying to get upright, covered my face and yelled, "stop me!"  Fortunately, Rambo (and not the tree) was able to stop me.

Ziplining was incredibly worth it.  It ended with the big guy, whose name I can't remember, zipping on ahead of us and bouncing the line from the ground.  Rambo's last words to me as I took off were, "do not brake."  Comforting.  But then I was all over the place, and I was going really fast, and I was wondering, "are we SURE I'm not supposed to be braking?,"  and I was really near the end, and then I slammed into the big guy's hands and stopped.  Sara asked him if it hurt his hands and he, all nonchalantly, said, "no."

On the way back to Granada, Courtney got David talking about his perspective on the political situation in Nicaragua.  He gave a pretty accurate rundown of the current president, Daniel Ortega - at least based on what I'd read prior to coming.  Hearing David's take on Nicaraguan politics allowed me to see him as someone other than a tour guide.  He was slightly pessimistic about the future ("nothing has changed... yet") and concerned about the fact that the current politicians seemed to use young people to make it appear as though they had more support than they did.  He was vehement about the fact that having another civil war would be devastating for the country, as it just seems to be settling down recently.

A totally unrelated picture:

A crevasse to a crater.

Coffee, Volcano, & Where Almonds Come From

26 June 2012
Idk, roughly 10pm - Casa del Agua, Granada


Today I wore the SPF shirt Mom got me for the trip.  I present the following ultra-dweeby picture of me as evidence (not dweeby because of the shirt, just to be clear.  The shirt actually ended up being pretty sweet):

Shorts and sneakers are a good look for no one.

Our plan for the day was to tour a volcano.  We had two options, but weren't quite sure which one yet: Mombacho had been quiet since 1570, but hadn't yet been declared dormant.  It also had a coffee plantation halfway up and the zipline option on the way down.  Volcan Masaya, on the other hand, had just had a minor expulsion at the end of the April and therefore was still quite active.

However, nothing could be finalized until Tierra Tours opened at 8am, so we went to breakfast at the nearby Garden Cafe.  This cafe had been started by a Californian and a Nicaraguan in 2007 and had a pretty little garden courtyard (as one might guess) where we sat for breakfast.  I ordered an apple, strawberry, and banana smoothie that tasted predominantly of bananas.  I casually remarked that I'd had more fruit in the past two days that I usually do in a week (a mild exaggeration) and was promptly made fun of.

The garden at the... Garden Cafe

Wanderings & Broken Bottles

25 June 2012
9:00pm - Casa del Agua Hostel, Granada, Nicaragua

We arrived safely and fairly uneventfully at our hostel in the early afternoon and were signed in by Gerry, the manager of the hostel who turned out to be an Irish ex-pat, of all things.  I got the sense he really misses Ireland, but he's been doing this for a few years now.  When he heard we were from Boston, he told Courtney (who is not from Boston) that he didn't even need to look at the name on her passport to know she was Boston Irish.  Then he looked at my passport and exclaimed, "Kathleen O'Neill... give me a break!"

Casa del Agua, Granada.  $10/night, you're jealous. And that set of doors with the balcony?  Just our room, nbd.

We dropped our stuff in our room and set off to change money, explore, and find food.  I struggled with the map a little bit at first and finding the money changer became a bit of a process, but many cat calls later (apparently a thing here that was explained to us as being "compulsory"), we were eventually successful.   We walked down the more touristy street next to the cathedral in search of a place for lunch.  I'm bummed we won't be here long enough for our stomachs to accumulate enough to handle street food...  Regardless, we ended up at a place with insanely refreshing mojitos, good atmosphere, and decently cultural food, which was a success.

tiempo para almuerzo (also, if you see that blue spot after the second column, that's a volcano)

 We wandered further down the touristy street to the Iglesia Guadalupe, which may be one of the oldest churches in Central America.  Since there was a service going on (with some beautiful music), we did not get to see the interior, but we were able to peek in the doors.

Iglesia Guadalupe

                                                           

We then walked down to Lake Nicaragua, where you would not want to go swimming, before wandering back up the main strip to investigate the cathedral and, on the other side of town, Iglesia La Mercede, which boasted the best view in all of Granada.  It wasn't wrong.

at Lake Nicaragua & desperately needing showers

                                           

Back at the hostel for some much needed R&R, Courtney's bladder (of the Camelbak variety) broke, which created some havoc.  I emailed the family to let them know of my continued survival.  Sara & Courtney went swimming in the pool (in the kitchen!) and I hung out on the hammock.  It was a bizarre sort of hammock and very difficult to get comfortable on if you weren't holding yourself in by the straps.  

Our lovely little room           

After our showers (which may have flooded the bathroom a little bit), we went out again for dinner.  At this time in the day, there was an increased presence of beggars, specifically children.   No matter how many times I am told not to give money to the kids who beg on the street because it perpetuates the cycle of their parents pullling them from school and making them beg, it never gets easier and I always feel like a jerk.  The first page of menu at the restaurant where we went the next night actually explained in detail to all tourists why giving the kids money created more harm than good.  It's a temporary situation and reinforces the behavior - the parents see that the kids earn more money in a night than they ever could and therefore pull the kid from school to continue begging.  

While we were relaxing at our outside table after dinner, I was watching an old man at the restaurant next door to us.  He also appeared to be an ex-pat (though I don't know from where) and also possibly a bit senile, based on apparent mood swings and irrational behavior.  For example, he was at one point bopping around to the music playing from the speakers of the restaurant, while sipping his beer and looking happy as a clam.  Over a span of maybe five minutes, I watched his affect change from content to furious - about around the time he got the check, I think.  He threw his money on the ground, prompting the waiter to come over, pick it up, and put it back on the table.  This appeared to make the old man angrier and he said something to the waiter, gestured wildly, then threw the money on the ground again.  The waiter walked away and some of the begging children ran over and gathered up the money.  After sitting for a moment or two with a face like a thundercloud, the man began yelling, then picked up his beer bottle (40oz size) and hurled it away from him.  It appeared to bounce of the back of a gentleman sitting nearby, hit the ground, and smashed.  Obviously the gentleman was offended, but handled the situation fairly well, considering.  I was briefly concerned that the situation would escalate, but, after making a comment about "gringos," the man sat back down and resumed his dinner with his family.  The waiter swept up the broken bottle from under the man's chair and nothing else happened.  The old man wasn't even asked to leave!  I was surprised, but not completely.  I wonder if it had anything to do with the fact that the old man was white, or possibly because he was a regular (he seemed to know the waitstaff).  Or potentially both.

View of a volcano from our room as the sun set

                                        

Tomorrow: volcano & zip lining!

In Which the Author Makes a Disclaimer...

25 June 2012
8:20pm - Casa del Agua Hostel, Granada, Nicaragua

View of Granada from the top of La Mercede Iglesia.  The large yellow building is the Catedral de Granada & the blue behind that is Lake Nicaragua.

I am absolutely glorifying in the fact that I'm in a foreign country, in a completely different culture right now.  It's like all the stress and madness of this year was actually worth it.  How can I ever be content in one place again?

I wasn't expecting this place to remind me so much of India, but it does, powerfully so.  On the 40 minute drive from the airport in Managua to Granada in the taxi sent for us by the hostel, I was struck by how many similarities there were between Managua, Masaya, and Granada and what I experienced in India.  Most strongly, the smell in the air:  sometimes unpleasant, (like urine, animal feces, diesel/exhaust, or garbage), but sometimes not (like burning leaves, meals being prepared, or flowers).  The arrangement of the streets, as well of the overall trend in billboard advertisement styles.  The discord between lush green trees and the garbage strewn along the side of the road and in creeks.  The insouciance with which pedestrians crossed the street, often right in the path of a speeding bus.  The fearless driving styles, the occasional honk of the horn or high-beaming to let another car know you were going to pass them.  The kids in uniforms walking home from school and waiting to catch a bus.  The truck of mattresses we were stuck behind at one point - one mattress in particular reminded me of my mattress from Agartala.  The tin-roofed shops by the side of the row, brightly colored with their display of wares.  Movistar (a cellphone service).  The sickly green colored sheets provided to us at the hostel (they bore a strong similarity to sheets used at the Holy Cross Centers we'd visited).  I'm fairly certain I could continue with this litany, but I'll try to restrain myself.  

I would now like to state, as a disclaimer, that I am no expert on Nicaraguan culture.  I will only be here a week (we're still struggling with why we thought such a short period of time was a good idea).  Therefore, take very little of what I say as fact.  Know that these thoughts are merely the observations of a girl trying to connect with a very large world.  There is little doubt in my mind that I will say stupid, inaccurate things.  I have a nasty tendency to do this.  This is by no means a factual representation of the Nica people, their culture, or heritage.  This is only my perspective, my experience, and we all know how much those can differ based on individuals.  It is also important to consider that I will be perceiving everything through the lens of someone raised in a fairly privileged situation in a fairly privileged culture.  This taints everything and denying it is pointless.

That being said, here goes nothing...