Remember when I said nothing is ever on time in Central America? Well, with every 'rule', there are the occasional exceptions. The bus leaving Jiquilillo departs at 1:30PM so I started saying my goodbyes at 1:15 and by 1:20 the staff was frantically screaming "The bus! The bus!" They could hear the bus coming and the road wasn't all that close. Shana, a friend at Rancho Esperanza, ran for the bus as I scrambled to put on my pack and hustled across the field. My friends and I managed to get on the bus with all our luggage. As we drove away, Dominic, Marike and Shana stood at the edge of the road waving goodbye. Their smiles were the perfect farewell after four days filled with joy and laughter. I was sad to leave but as my crazy Dutch friend Michiel pointed out, it is better to be sad upon departure than desperate to get away.
After a change in buses and a short taxi, we made it to León, Nicaragua. I parted ways with my friends to head to a different hostel. The taxi driver informed me I had arrived on a holiday: La Gritería Chiquita. This holiday seemed to me like a religious Halloween without the costumes. Kids go from house to house looking for altars of the Virgin Mary. At the doorway they say "¿Quién causa tanta alegría?" (Who causes so much joy?) & the residents of the house reply "¡La asunción de María!" (The assumption of Mary). The kids then get candy and keep going.
Here is a brief history of the holiday according to Lonely Planet:
"...dates back to 1947 when an erupting Cerro Negro threatened to bury the city in ash only to stop suddenly when a local priest vowed to initiate a preliminary gritería (shouting) , similar to December's Día de la Purísima but changing the response to ¡La asunción de María! "
Once I checked in to my hostel, I went to check out the festivities. People lined the streets in the center square to visit various altars more elaborate than the ones you'd find in people's homes (with a few exceptions of extensive altars in a couple of houses that I passed). There were fireworks and music all over town and the city of León felt so alive. I visited the cathedral where a group was singing to Mary and many were taking photos. Then I wandered the residential streets, popping up at front doors when I saw another group approaching. I'd ask the question and stick out my hand like I was a little Nica kid. Instead of candy, at one house I got packets of instant coffee. It was hard to sleep that night because of the continuous fireworks and bumping music. I felt lucky to have stumbled upon a festival and therefore wasn't bothered by all the 'bulla' (Spanish for noise).
The next day I visited three museums: Rubén Darío, Revolution, and Legends & Myths. I wont bore you with all the details but I will mention some highlights.
At the Revolution Museum I learned about the guerrilla movement against the Somoza dictatorship that took place in the latter part of the XX century. My guide was Juan, a former guerrilla who had the scar to prove it (a piece of shrapnel just above his bum, which he showed me mid-tour). He joined the FSLN (Sandinista National Liberation Front) when he was only 13 year olds. Kids younger than him would assist in the guerrilla movement, not in combat but in the distant mountains. The little kids would scream and bang on pots and pans to make the opposition think they were many. At the end of the tour we started going upstairs. I expected more pictures and plaques but to my surprise Juan had led me to the roof. It was made of tin and seemed iffy but I was assured I shouldn't worry. Just then a siren began to sound and church bells were ringing; It was noon in León. I had a view of the cathedral and could see two men manually ringing the giant bell.
The Legends Museum is in a former prison built in 1921 and used as a torture center for several decades. The museum has depictions of torture methods on the wall and creepy mannequins in each room which have cultural significance and a legend associated with the image. At the end of the tour I got to walk on the upper perimeter of the walls like the guards did each night at the prison. The view wasn't nearly as nice as the Revolution roof but I still got a kick out of being high up (typical short person).
It was unbearably hot that afternoon and my last guide said it was an indication that it would rain that night. Around 6PM the winds began to threaten the city with a storm so I ran to the corner and got some food from a street vendor. As I entered the hotel with my plate of chicken, gallo pinto (rice & beans), and fried plantains, the rain began to pour and the thunder bellow.
From León I went to the mountain town of Matagalpa. I stayed only one night but can attribute a great stay to my local guide Guillermo. The night I arrived we went to salsa night at a place called Artesano & I tried his homemade pineapple liquor. The next morning we did a brief city tour and continued on to the Apante Nature Reserve. His tour was perfectly planned, supplemented with Darío's poetry, music, binoculars & a magnifying glass, and natural foods. I saw caterpillars, vultures, lady bugs, crabs, waterfalls and flowers. We rushed through the Reserve because I had a 2PM bus to catch. At the look out point I took a few pictures as Guillermo told a legend (I was admittedly distracted by the view and my undying thirst). We raced down the hill and I didn't fall!
I got to the bus station just in time to push my way on. (Side note: buses in Central America, known as chicken buses, are most often recycled US school buses). While looking for a seat I felt like I was on a school field trip and everyone had saved a seat for their best friend. No one let me sit with them and I got stuck with the seat that has the big bump in the floor. As a kid, I loved that seat because it meant my feet could touch the ground. As an adult, it means I am practically hugging my knees to my chest, which is no bueno after 5 hours of hiking and no time to stretch.
I switched buses in the market town of Masaya. I planned to wait for the next bus so I could have a seat but the attendant coaxed me into standing in the aisle. Once standing in the middle of the bus, the same guy shouted for us to squish together. Only in Latin America can you fit three adults in a seat intended for two school children AND THEN pile 20-30 more people in the aisle. I made it to Granada just fine, only to discover I had stumbled upon another Nicaraguan holiday.
Here is what Lonely Planet has to say about carnaval in Granada:
"Fiesta de Agosto- Granada celebrates the Assumption of Mary, with fireworks, concerts, rodeos and horse parades by the lake front". I took to the streets with three new friends from the Basque Country in Spain to watch the parade. Women scantily dressed and several men in drag danced down the road to the sound of drums and other percussion instruments. It was nothing like a 4th of July parade. Pedestrians walked in the middle of the street against the grain of the parade and the sidewalks overflowed with spectators. On the main road, the music was so loud I could feel it in my gut and all the restaurants were packed. Drunks ambled through the streets punching lamp posts and acting belligerent and I latched tightly on to my purse.
That night in bed I heard a blood-curling scream that lasted 15 seconds without pause. I thought I had imagined it, but upon checking in with reception I found out the truth: a woman and man had been robbed at knife point in front of the hostel at 11PM. The security guard on duty confirmed that the two were alright, just shaken up. My heart raced as the guard said tomorrow would be even worse: more people, more drunks, more crime. I planned to go back to Masaya for the market and try to avoid the madness.
The bus back to Granada didn't make it to the point from which I had originally left. The roads were shut down for another parade. I followed the crowd and eventually oriented myself in front of the cathedral. Unfortunately, I only crossed off half of my shopping list so I ventured out to buy some more gifts in Granada. I got caught in a parade of horses and thought I was going to be trampled. After eating quickly in the park, I practically ran back to my hostel and hid there until the next morning when the festivities had come to a close.
In the morning the city was back to normal and I was able to relax a bit more. There were less people in the streets but now there were many vendors and traffic and a lingering, rank smell. I went on a boat tour of some 365 islets and left town ASAP.
The shuttle bus left 10 minutes early while I was in the bathroom (another exception to Latino time). At the scheduled time of departure I went to reception to confirm my 3PM transport and they called the driver to turn around.
By 4PM, I had made it to Laguna de Apoyo where long ago a volcano turned into a crater/lagoon. The moon rose from 5PM onward and I couldn't be happier to be back in nature. I spent the night chatting with Brits and Germans, while constantly admiring the moon and its reflection on the lake.
Only the Germans at the hostel know it is my birthday, but I have managed to have a beautiful day. I woke up at 7, had a typical Nica breakfast, paddled out to the middle of the lake in a kayak, read a book and wrote out Guatemalan itineraries for fellow travelers who are heading north.
I don't need a party nor a cake (although I will order a Nutella crepe for dessert). This trip has been the greatest gift my parents could give me. Every day in Central America has felt like my birthday. Today is particularly special because there will be a full moon and I am incredibly grateful for nature's gift to me on my birthday. I will have another paddle in the moon light and perhaps a massage tomorrow morning. I am a happy camper and thankful for all the birthday wishes I have received thanks to modern technology.
Six days til the States. See ya'll soon!
And I will leave you with a quote from John Lloyd Stephen's 1841 book, Imcidents of Travel in Central America, Chiapas and Yucatan:
"A traveller never forgets the kindness shown him in a strange land, and I never felt so sensible of it as in Central America."
After a change in buses and a short taxi, we made it to León, Nicaragua. I parted ways with my friends to head to a different hostel. The taxi driver informed me I had arrived on a holiday: La Gritería Chiquita. This holiday seemed to me like a religious Halloween without the costumes. Kids go from house to house looking for altars of the Virgin Mary. At the doorway they say "¿Quién causa tanta alegría?" (Who causes so much joy?) & the residents of the house reply "¡La asunción de María!" (The assumption of Mary). The kids then get candy and keep going.
Here is a brief history of the holiday according to Lonely Planet:
"...dates back to 1947 when an erupting Cerro Negro threatened to bury the city in ash only to stop suddenly when a local priest vowed to initiate a preliminary gritería (shouting) , similar to December's Día de la Purísima but changing the response to ¡La asunción de María! "
Once I checked in to my hostel, I went to check out the festivities. People lined the streets in the center square to visit various altars more elaborate than the ones you'd find in people's homes (with a few exceptions of extensive altars in a couple of houses that I passed). There were fireworks and music all over town and the city of León felt so alive. I visited the cathedral where a group was singing to Mary and many were taking photos. Then I wandered the residential streets, popping up at front doors when I saw another group approaching. I'd ask the question and stick out my hand like I was a little Nica kid. Instead of candy, at one house I got packets of instant coffee. It was hard to sleep that night because of the continuous fireworks and bumping music. I felt lucky to have stumbled upon a festival and therefore wasn't bothered by all the 'bulla' (Spanish for noise).
The next day I visited three museums: Rubén Darío, Revolution, and Legends & Myths. I wont bore you with all the details but I will mention some highlights.
At the Revolution Museum I learned about the guerrilla movement against the Somoza dictatorship that took place in the latter part of the XX century. My guide was Juan, a former guerrilla who had the scar to prove it (a piece of shrapnel just above his bum, which he showed me mid-tour). He joined the FSLN (Sandinista National Liberation Front) when he was only 13 year olds. Kids younger than him would assist in the guerrilla movement, not in combat but in the distant mountains. The little kids would scream and bang on pots and pans to make the opposition think they were many. At the end of the tour we started going upstairs. I expected more pictures and plaques but to my surprise Juan had led me to the roof. It was made of tin and seemed iffy but I was assured I shouldn't worry. Just then a siren began to sound and church bells were ringing; It was noon in León. I had a view of the cathedral and could see two men manually ringing the giant bell.
The Legends Museum is in a former prison built in 1921 and used as a torture center for several decades. The museum has depictions of torture methods on the wall and creepy mannequins in each room which have cultural significance and a legend associated with the image. At the end of the tour I got to walk on the upper perimeter of the walls like the guards did each night at the prison. The view wasn't nearly as nice as the Revolution roof but I still got a kick out of being high up (typical short person).
It was unbearably hot that afternoon and my last guide said it was an indication that it would rain that night. Around 6PM the winds began to threaten the city with a storm so I ran to the corner and got some food from a street vendor. As I entered the hotel with my plate of chicken, gallo pinto (rice & beans), and fried plantains, the rain began to pour and the thunder bellow.
From León I went to the mountain town of Matagalpa. I stayed only one night but can attribute a great stay to my local guide Guillermo. The night I arrived we went to salsa night at a place called Artesano & I tried his homemade pineapple liquor. The next morning we did a brief city tour and continued on to the Apante Nature Reserve. His tour was perfectly planned, supplemented with Darío's poetry, music, binoculars & a magnifying glass, and natural foods. I saw caterpillars, vultures, lady bugs, crabs, waterfalls and flowers. We rushed through the Reserve because I had a 2PM bus to catch. At the look out point I took a few pictures as Guillermo told a legend (I was admittedly distracted by the view and my undying thirst). We raced down the hill and I didn't fall!
I got to the bus station just in time to push my way on. (Side note: buses in Central America, known as chicken buses, are most often recycled US school buses). While looking for a seat I felt like I was on a school field trip and everyone had saved a seat for their best friend. No one let me sit with them and I got stuck with the seat that has the big bump in the floor. As a kid, I loved that seat because it meant my feet could touch the ground. As an adult, it means I am practically hugging my knees to my chest, which is no bueno after 5 hours of hiking and no time to stretch.
I switched buses in the market town of Masaya. I planned to wait for the next bus so I could have a seat but the attendant coaxed me into standing in the aisle. Once standing in the middle of the bus, the same guy shouted for us to squish together. Only in Latin America can you fit three adults in a seat intended for two school children AND THEN pile 20-30 more people in the aisle. I made it to Granada just fine, only to discover I had stumbled upon another Nicaraguan holiday.
Here is what Lonely Planet has to say about carnaval in Granada:
"Fiesta de Agosto- Granada celebrates the Assumption of Mary, with fireworks, concerts, rodeos and horse parades by the lake front". I took to the streets with three new friends from the Basque Country in Spain to watch the parade. Women scantily dressed and several men in drag danced down the road to the sound of drums and other percussion instruments. It was nothing like a 4th of July parade. Pedestrians walked in the middle of the street against the grain of the parade and the sidewalks overflowed with spectators. On the main road, the music was so loud I could feel it in my gut and all the restaurants were packed. Drunks ambled through the streets punching lamp posts and acting belligerent and I latched tightly on to my purse.
That night in bed I heard a blood-curling scream that lasted 15 seconds without pause. I thought I had imagined it, but upon checking in with reception I found out the truth: a woman and man had been robbed at knife point in front of the hostel at 11PM. The security guard on duty confirmed that the two were alright, just shaken up. My heart raced as the guard said tomorrow would be even worse: more people, more drunks, more crime. I planned to go back to Masaya for the market and try to avoid the madness.
The bus back to Granada didn't make it to the point from which I had originally left. The roads were shut down for another parade. I followed the crowd and eventually oriented myself in front of the cathedral. Unfortunately, I only crossed off half of my shopping list so I ventured out to buy some more gifts in Granada. I got caught in a parade of horses and thought I was going to be trampled. After eating quickly in the park, I practically ran back to my hostel and hid there until the next morning when the festivities had come to a close.
In the morning the city was back to normal and I was able to relax a bit more. There were less people in the streets but now there were many vendors and traffic and a lingering, rank smell. I went on a boat tour of some 365 islets and left town ASAP.
The shuttle bus left 10 minutes early while I was in the bathroom (another exception to Latino time). At the scheduled time of departure I went to reception to confirm my 3PM transport and they called the driver to turn around.
By 4PM, I had made it to Laguna de Apoyo where long ago a volcano turned into a crater/lagoon. The moon rose from 5PM onward and I couldn't be happier to be back in nature. I spent the night chatting with Brits and Germans, while constantly admiring the moon and its reflection on the lake.
Only the Germans at the hostel know it is my birthday, but I have managed to have a beautiful day. I woke up at 7, had a typical Nica breakfast, paddled out to the middle of the lake in a kayak, read a book and wrote out Guatemalan itineraries for fellow travelers who are heading north.
I don't need a party nor a cake (although I will order a Nutella crepe for dessert). This trip has been the greatest gift my parents could give me. Every day in Central America has felt like my birthday. Today is particularly special because there will be a full moon and I am incredibly grateful for nature's gift to me on my birthday. I will have another paddle in the moon light and perhaps a massage tomorrow morning. I am a happy camper and thankful for all the birthday wishes I have received thanks to modern technology.
Six days til the States. See ya'll soon!
And I will leave you with a quote from John Lloyd Stephen's 1841 book, Imcidents of Travel in Central America, Chiapas and Yucatan:
"A traveller never forgets the kindness shown him in a strange land, and I never felt so sensible of it as in Central America."
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