Nicaragua: Reflections on Nicaragua and the Cuisine That Isn't

Someone at the next table said, "There are forty restaurants on Omotepe, and they all have the same menu."

Worse, that menu isn't much different from a tipica menu in the rest of Nicaragua, or in Costa Rica, or in Panama. Honduras and Guatemala?

However, in Nicaragua it's more of a problem for me, because there is very little else. In other places you might find an Italian restaurant or two, maybe a Greek place. But in Nicaragua, it's tipica. It's actually bland tipica, with fewer spices, a limited variety of vegetables, and little variation in preparation.

When you consider the discovery of a hot dog place a major event, you are in trouble gastronomically. When you are served gallo pinto (rice and beans) with pancakes, you are doomed.

So one of the things I enjoyed most about Panama City is the variety of food available. OK, there are tipica restaurants, and they have the standard menu. But on my first day, I saw a lunch place offering bratwurst, then an Italian restaurant, followed by a Chinese place, and a Greek taverna.

Variety isn't necessarily extremely expensive, either. There's a Sushi Express at the food court in the mall. The bratwurst was being served at a small coffee shop.

No wonder I hung out there for months.

Note:  I found this post floating around my documents file, along with a couple of others.  I'm not currently in Nicaragua.

Nicaragua: Wandering Around Granada

While wandering around Granada, I managed to take in many of the tourist sights. I went for pancakes one morning, and ended up in the convent museum across the street.







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Rather than being filled with religious artifacts, it contained pre-Columbian sculptures and information about life before the arrival of the Spaniards.















I set off to find an ice cream shop someone had mentioned, overshot my mark, and found a park and several churches.















And of course there were the houses with historical plaques on them. Some of them I passed every day for weeks before noticing that some famous (to Nicaraguans) person had been born there or had lived there.






After weeks there, I would walk down a street and suddenly notice a grill or a decoration I hadn't seen before. Or someone would ask to have a picture taken, and I'd really look at the street for the first time.









One of the benefits of staying in one place for a while is the chance to accept as normal the things you saw as unusual when you arrived, and find another layer of new sights and experiences.

Nicaragua: A Dignified Way to Go

One day I stumbled upon a funeral in Granada. Whoever had died was being escorted to church to the accompaniment of a brass band, to the sound of tubas and trumpets and trombones. The procession, followed by mourners on foot, wound through town, up and down the street for what seemed like hours. I kept encountering the deceased and the entourage.

The coffin rested in the bed of a horse-drawn hearse. High up on his seat, the driver held the reins and maintained the slow, steady pace, dressed in tails and a top hat. It should have seemed odd, comical, but it didn't it seemed appropriate and right, a very dignified way to go.

Nicaragua: Someone Who Wants to Learn

In Nicaragua, families with many children sometimes send one of them to live with another family, not as a guest or foster child, but to work, and work hard. It's not a good beginning.

Nadine has an employee who was one of those children. Grown up now, and back with relatives, in one month of a part time job, he saved enough to rent a room of his own. He used his first full time pay, which was for half a month, to enroll in a Sunday high school program. With his next pay, he talked to Tomas, a Canadian who runs an inexpensive English school, about getting a scholarship. Tomas runs the school using donations to provide scholarships for people who wouldn't be able to afford it otherwise. Tomas told him he could sit in classes that weren't full for a while, until a scholarship became available.

A week later, I ordered a smoothie, numero quatro. "Four!" He doesn't usually wait on tables, but they were busy.

Anyway, I was very impressed. So impressed that I dug into my meager funds for a donation to sponsor him. Granada English College provides four weeks of two-hour classes M-Th for $30, and that is the premium program. Class materials for four months cost $11.

Anyway, I thought someone else might be interested in donating. If you do, and want your donation to go to this man in particular, I'll send you his name. Or you could just specify that it's for the guy from Mavericks. I've stuck a link over on the sidebar, and there are credit card and PayPal donation buttons on the site. I haven't used them yet, as I just gave my money to Nadine.

OK, that's it. I promise I won't do another post like this again. At least not for years.

Nicaragua: The Incongruity of It All

The bullock cart I sighted going down one of Altagracia's main streets seemed a little incongruous, since I was on my way to the internet cafe. In Charco Verde I made use of the free wifi at the Hotel Charco Verde, then walked past women doing laundry in the lake, using stones as scrubbing boards, and, of course, more bullock carts. Pigs and chickens in the streets, donkeys hauling bricks, and people piling their groceries into pony carts are not unusual here. It's all all a bit strange.












Think of the sci-fi movies and novels that portray intelligent aliens riding up to the spaceport on local domesticated animals. Think Star Wars. That doesn't seem quite as unrealistic as it once did. The other popular science fiction scenario, where everyone on a planet speaks the same language, has the same religious and/or cultural beliefs, and is at a similar state of development, now that seems unrealistic.

I first noticed this in Costa Rica. Monte Verde was settled by American Quakers in 1958. Most of them flew in, while their goods were hauled up on bullock carts that look like those in use on Omotepe today.



In Granada, Nicaragua, horse-drawn coaches line the central park, ready to take tourists for a ride. They are well-groomed and sleek, and have those canvas bags suspended between the horse and the carriage, so the streets won't be fouled with excrement. Not that it helps much, because once you leave the streets around the parque, you encounter the half-starved poorly-cared-for ponies that are used to bring goods in from the country and haul them around town. No diapers there.

In Catarina, the occaisional pig wanders the streets, along with the ubiquitous chickens. And still, there is internet.












An hour from Granada, Masaya still has what amounts to a horse-drawn bus, a cart with benches running on both sides. The carriages here are used for regular, not just tourist transport. Some still are in Granada, too.

And wherever you see them, you usually are only a block or two from an internet cafe where you can read your hometown paper back in Austria, use Skype to call your best friend in Hong Kong, and check on the latest rumblings in the Middle East. Then you can walk outside and hail a horse.

Oh, the incongruity of it all.

Nicaragua: Masaya Market

Masaya has two markets, one for handicrafts and the local market. The local market is at the bus station, so I thought I'd start there. I wandered around, checking out the various sections: eating, vegetables and fruits, meat, fish, household goods, shoe repair, furniture, pottery, and tourist items.











While outside for a short walk, I noticed that here, the horse-drawn carriages are just a common means of transportation, not a tourist attraction. I even found a horse-drawn bus.

Several hours later, with a stomach full of pollo asado, two pairs of sandals, a new wallet, a pocketbook, and a lot of pictures, I boarded a motorized bus to Granada, yet another converted school bus.

That's when I discovered that the dark red bag that I'd purchased was really a bright, bright red. Never buy colored things in covered markets without taking them into the sunlight. I knew that.



The bag is Guatemalan, as are most of the textiles sold in Central America. The majority of the remainder seem to come from India. You really have to look hard for anything local. Then, even if you get a local type weave, you are never sure they are made locally.











Nadine, my friend with the shop in Granada, only sells local goods, yet I was sure that some of her hammocks came from Ecuador. One day I heard her explain to someone that the Ecuadorian style became very popular in Nicaragua, so the weavers learned how to make them.











That reminds me of all the tours of ruins I've taken: We think they had their first contact with such-and-such group then, because that's about when such-and-such style elements were incorporated into their pottery. So in the future, will archaeologists date Nicaragua's first contact with Guatemala as early in the 21st century, based on fabric fragments from a few hammocks?

Nicaragua: San Juan del Oriente, The Crafts Town

San Juan del Oriente is literally a few hundred yards from Catarina. I walked there after strolling around Catarina for over an hour, so you know it's close.












San Juan del Oriente is a crafts town, one of those places where you can see workers in their workshops, and every building seems to be sprouting examples of whatever is made there. In this case it is pottery. The streets (two of them) are lined with shops and restaurants, porches crammed with pottery, windchimes hanging from the rafters, so one thinks that they are some sort of plant being raised there.

When looking at crafts, there is high quality and low quality. I always go for the low quality small item, so it costs little, is not so likely to break, and I won't care much if it does. So, after I spent my two dollars (it was going to be $1.50, but the salesperson didn't have change, so I took it in goods), I got on the bus for home. Well, for Granada. By then it was feeling like home.

Nicaragua: Catarina and Laguna de Apoyo

Caterina is a lovely little town that overlooks Laguna de Apoyo. I reached it on a public bus, the supposed 45 minute ride lasting nearly an hour and a half, as we stopped seemingly every few feet to pick up or drop off passengers. I guess, though, at 45 cents, I had no right to complain. The trip wasn't helped by the stretch of construction that dictated alternate one-way traffic, either.









I took one of those three-wheeled vehicles known in Thailand as a tuk-tuk from the point where the bus let me off to the overlook. It turned out to be a reasonable walking distance, but what I've learned is to ride out, and then walk back. That way I know what I am getting into.







The view was spectacular. I could see down into the entire crater, with Granada over by Lake Nicaragua. I even found the swim platform at Crater's Edge. When I was at the laguna, I could see the rim of the crater all around and had a great sense that I was inside a caldera. From above, it looked so much smaller, and so perfect that it seemed a bit like an artifact, an archaeological temple created by some ancient race and carefully excavated.











After lunch in one of the restaurants overlooking the lake, I walked around town for a while. There are many nurseries in the area, raising plants for the local residents and for export as houseplants abroad. Many of the plants we use to decorate our houses or enhance our gardens, such as impatiens, are native to Central Amercia.










During my walk I passed two young women huddled on steps leading into a gardern, correcting each other's math homework. A mother had set up a table and chairs in her garden and was listening to her son read while he daughter worked on her arithmetic. Corn dried on the sidewalk outside a house and horses grazed in a field at the end of a street. The more I wandered the more I liked it.

Nicaragua: Laguna de Apoyo

One day I broke my routine of eat, read, walk, swim, visit with people, and went on a day trip to Laguna de Apoyo. Volcan de Apoyo's crater is filled with water, clean and warm. Warm because it still has, after all, lava underneath it.

The Oasis orgaizes the trip, with a daily minibus out to the Laguna. Passengers can take the bus only, pay for the facilities for a day at a small lodge called Crater's Edge, or stay overnight. I thought a day would be enough. It's another time that I probably should have gone for the longer trip.









After negotiating my way down some stairs, I found myself in a shelter stocked with rocking chairs, hammocks, and a bar offering ice cold Diet Cokes. I sat around for a while and talked and read, then tried the water. After lunch, I sort of half swam and half floated out to the swim platform. I wasn't really up to making a big effort out of anything.













I clambered up the ladder and spread myself to dry in the sun. The platform tilted enough in the small waves that occaisionally water washed up and wet my feet and legs. Perfect, just enough to cool me off.

Until I noticed what sounded like a large animal breathing right below me. Shades of Stephen King! A monster under the water!

Air was being trapped under the platform, and then escaping between the boards of the deck. Reallly, it sounded just like a monster. Seriously.

Nicaragua: Granada, Friends From the Past

After searching around the wrong street, I finally found Nadine, a Canadian woman I knew from my first visit. I think I had her website or e-mail in my organizer that was stolen, but I'd never really gotten back in touch with here, or her with me. Her shop, Mavericks, is still there, although a lot else has changed in her life.

In addition to the shop, she has started a business helping people who are relocating to Nicaragua. It's called Details Management, and that's pretty much what she does. She'll help you register your children in school, or be your liaison with local contractors if you are building or remodeling. She rents properties, pays bills, and takes care of all those niggling details.












It was good to see that she is doing well, and is happy with her decision to come to Nicaragua. She's been there six years now. I've met a lot of people who last a year or two, then return to their home country. Not just in Nicaragua, but everywhere that expats go. It's one of the reasons I've hesitated about moving to one of the places I thought might be a nice place to settle.

So I drop by every day for a fruit smoothie. Sometimes she's there and we have a chance to catch up, sometimes she's not and I just exchange a book, or drink my smoothie and read, or chat with her kids for a bit.


It's that homecoming feeling again, seeing someone I know.

Nicaragua: Granada Again, After Four Years

A one kilometer walk, a local bus, a ferry, a taxi, two hours on an inter-city local, another walk, and I was back in the Oasis Hostel in Granada again after four years. Not much has changed. The murals are the same, the dorm is the same, and I think I even got the same bed.












Granada seems to have changed some, though. I think there are a lot fewer street children, and the place has a more prosperous feel. Things are also more expensive. I didn't go into a couple of restaurants that I used to frequent regularly, largely because of the prices. Either they've gone up or I was willing to spend a lot more money back then. I think some of it is the latter.

Four years ago, it was May, the hottest month of the year. I had left the US on December 23, and had traveled around the Yucatan for a few weeks, then spent a couple of days in Belize (Placencia may be great, but not in the rain) before going on to Honduras and Nicaragua. I was, I remember, sick to death of Central American food, gallo pinto in particular.












Anyway, some things were the same. The horse drawn carriages, the old buildings, and the market. It's nice sometimes, when you are traveling, to arrive in a place you already know a bit about from personal experience. It's a mini homecoming, of sorts.

Nicaragua: The Bridge on the Green Lagoon

The Charco Verde Hotel, where I was staying, is on the edge of a biological reserve. My favorite walk there was the short one along the path in front of my room to a place called the Green Lagoon, in English. This is the charco verde, which can also be translated as the Green Puddle.

Benches by the water, herons parading by, the island blue jay, screeching above me, it made a perfect place to write in my journal, read a book, or just sit for a while.

A left turn when I reached the lagoon took me past the local compost center, a series of mounds covered in palm branches, with a sign explaining how to compost. At least, that's what I think it was. My Spanish really isn't up to the compost technique level.

Continuing on that path took me the whole way around the lagoon. Eventually I reached a spot that had stopped me cold when I tried the loop in the other direction.

The obstacle was a bridge over the creek that fed from the lagoon into the lake. It was not in good shape, and had been made by resting two rails on rocks at either end, then nailing half-sawed logs to the rails, round side up, with the bark still on. Not only was the first step too high for me to manage, there were no hand rails. The water underneath looked murky and green and of an indeterminate depth. I had turned back.

Now I looked at it from the other side. I managed to get up onto the bridge, but I really didn't like that rounded surface, and got back down. The fisherman who had left his spot and his net to help me looked puzzled. When I looked at the water, I realized why. Today it was crystal clear, and about an inch deep.












With a big grin, I waded across. He laughed and returned to his net. I continued on the looping path. Soon he caught up and passed me, raising his catch so I could admire it. "Por comer!" He had his dinner.

Nicaragua: Charco Verde, Omotepe

Black sand beach, green lagoon, monkeys, and jungle trails. For ten days I stayed in Charrco Verde, getting in some beach time, taking some walks, reading, and playing on the internet.

Charco Verde is a small bay on the island of Omotepe, in the middle of Lake Managua. Hot black sand makes up the beaches. The island was created by two volcanos whose lava flows eventually met, and where they met the gradually eroding lava formed beaches.

When I arrived, I took the first room I found, thinking that the next morning I would look for something cheaper than $10 per night. So my first day included a stroll down the beach path.












The local laundry area was constructed from stone tables set out in the water, where clothes were being soaped, scrubbed, rinsed, and spread to dry. Women washing their hair and their children looked up as I ducked under a low-lying branch and stopped to take a picture of the volcano and the fields.










While my search for a room involved a very nice walk, it didn't net any bargains. In fact, the cheaper, backpacker oriented place wanted more for a room than I was paying. So I stayed where I was, lazing away the days.

Nicaragua: The Laptop and the Bus

The conductor on the old school bus insisted on taking my day pack after he had stowed my big pack in the back. He literally grabbed it out of my arms. I told him, I think, that my computer was in it, and that I wanted it with me. No luck. So instead of enjoying the countryside and volcano views, I worried the whole way to the Charco Verde drop off. A couple of travelers from the Czech Republic who spoke good Spanish explained my concerns to him, shrugged, and told me he said it would be OK.

Since it was out of my sight and my control, my imagination went wild. I had visions of it being used as a seat for some portion of the trip or being casually casually tossed out by a passenger. The Czech couple obviously thought I was overly concerned. “It’s my first time traveling with it, and I’m still a bit protective.”

When I got off by the side of the road, there it was. The pack showed no signs of abuse, so my worries diminished a little. When I finally booted up and signed on to the Charco Verde Lodge’s wi-fi, my muscles relaxed and I realized I had been tensing them the whole time.

I have to get over this, or I’ll be a wreck within a year. No comments from the peanut gallery, please.

Traveling with a laptop has been fine for the most part. I love looking at my photos for as long as I want, looking up information on the internet, making blog posts, and playing the simple games I like, and staying on as long as I want without having to worry about the money. I don’t even mind the weight much. I don’t like the worry, though. Maybe I’ll adjust.

Nicaragua: Omotepe - Altagracia

At midnight Friday, after ten hours on a very boring, and very cold and somewhat blustery ferry ride, I arrived on the island of Omotepe, and got on the last van to town. It pulled up in front of the hotel I had chosen, a man immediately appeared out of the dark, and a few minutes later I was in a room with a private bath. $8 per night, but I deserved it. I was to find I thought I deserved a lot while on Omotepe.

The ferry left at 2pm, and air-con was a nice thing to have. After the sun set, however, the cold air kept coming, and the cabin got colder and colder. This is common in a lot of tropical countries. If you paid for air-conditioning, you will get air-conditioning, no matter how much you hate it.

I spent part of the evening standing on the rear deck, where it was moderately warmer. The ferry company had locked my pack in an on-deck locker, and I couldn't get to it to dig out a sweater. At least I had kept out a long-sleeved T-shirt. A woman in a spaghetti strap top and shorts looked as if she would soon die.

Because they were showing movies, there were no lights in the cabin and I couldn't read. I swear, if I see that movie with The Rock, the one where he goes to Brazil to rescue the rich man's son, one more time I'll scream. It's funny that I can never remember the title. I'm blocking it, I guess. That Andie MacDowell movie with Gerard Depardieu movie, Green Card. I've seen it about 20 times. But I do know its name, at least.












In Altagracia, I once again exercised my talent for just hanging out. There was a small museum, and there were some ancient stone statues in the yard of the church. The town had the standard old houses, in faded bright colors, worn wood, and a small book exchange.