Our three days in Granada, a city of over 120,000, offered some distinct differences to life in San Ramon. As a former Colonial capital, its architecture breathes in Spanish. It was founded in the early 1500's by Cordoba whose name is immortalized by the currency (one US is 20 Cordobas). It lies at the tip of Lake Cocibolca (Lake Nicaragua), the world's twentieth largest lake and only fresh water lake to sustain sharks. The city has withstood countless invasions and a rather nasty imperialistic present from William Walker, the American filibuster, who took up residence and attempted to take control of Central America as a ruling monarch. One of Walker's generals, Charles Frederick Henningsen, set the city ablaze before escaping, destroying much of the ancient city and leaving printed the words "Granada Was Here". We understandably emphasized our Canadianense by accompanying every phrase with an emphatic "eh".
Although Granada is relatively wealthy by Nicaraguan standards as it is a major tourist centre, poverty is much more apparent than in Costa Rica. As compulsory education does not exist, an encounter with a begging child is fairly common. Prices are obviously lower than in CR (a full dinner with two beer each at an excellent restaraunt ran about $18 for the both of us).
The Parque Central, which spans about four square blocks, is constantly abuzz with activity and awash with colour: vendors, chess players, strollers, and tourists. I heard more English spoken in three days than in the previous three months in San Ramon. For twenty-five dollars, one could hire a horse drawn buggy for a city tour. We chose to walk, but I confess, during the afternoon heat, those coaches seemed awfully inviting.
On our second day, we hopped on a bus and took the twenty minute journey to Masaya, a town well known for its Avenue de Artisanes and for Sergio Zepedes, the guitar maker. After missing our stop and heading straight for Managua, we disembarked, crossed the highway and headed back to Masaya. All of this for $1.00. In Masaya, we found the bus office where we wanted to purchase our return ticket through happenstance rather than design as the first taxi driver let us off as soon as he thought he could, rather than at the destination. All taxi rides are $2.00, so I assume he had driven as far as he felt like. We wandered about as aimless tourists are prone to do until a kindly man offered us a ride in the back of his pick up to the ticket agency.
Then, a taxi ride to the maestro maker's house, a modest place with a workshop. Dave was pumped; Sergio agreed to repair his guitar for forty dollars, about one fifth the price it would cost in Vancouver. As well, he is going to construct and ship a custom made instrument, made from wonderful woods and fretted with ebony for Dave.
We then made our way to the craft market where I purchased a hammock for the house as Elizabeth loves to lie and read hanging in the sun (perhaps the result of a latent primordial urge). While there, we were entertained by a stately national dance performed on a stationary bus by several women in costume.
For our return journey, we opted for the chicken bus, the most local form of transportation. The roof of the bus (think of a thirty year old orange school bus) was piled high with sacks of food, bicycles and other personal belongings. The passengers were animated and friendly to the point where the fellow seated beside me counted out the exact fare for me (twenty-five cents) and reassured me that he would tell us when to get off (which he did). A great experience!
