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Published: March 4th 2012
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Vigoron
Not a lot of flavor but a good snack. I set us up for the easiest transportation possible for our first entry into the country. Our hotel in Granada sent a man to come pick us up (for $40). The taxi ride from Managua to Granada was an experience not unlike a cab ride in Washington D.C. but swap the brownstones for small homes with dirt floors and corrugated steels for four walls and a roof oh and add potholes big enough to swallow a Harley Davidson motorcycle.
The poverty lovel is humbling. Trash along the roads is not unlike what you see in Louisiana or Mississippi. We hurtled down the roads in a Geo Prism, gutless yet more nimble than the black smoke bleching pickups loaded with people and "stuff". Passing another vehicle is done without any sense of any defensive driving training and with a lot of honking the horn.
Granada is brightly colored just like I had read. The first thing we noted was the amazing wood carved doors, shutters and ironwork. Is it rude to take pictures of people's homes? I decided it wasn't so bad but kept the camera discrete.
There are several small catherdrals that are made all the more beautiful
by their weathered, time-endured look. We arrived on a Sunday so the churches were full of people and music. The juxistoposition of this beautiful scenary with a man urinating by a doorway, honking cars and skinny dogs is jarring.
Our first order of business was to exchange our american money for nicaraguan cordobas. We had planned on a bank or exchanging money at our hotel like our guidebook suggested. There weren't any banks open on the weekend and the hotel wasn't keen on exchanging our money. The man we checked in with suggested we find a guy down the street to do our exchange with. I know I looked pretty skeptical because he smiled and told us it was perfectly normal and safe.
Upon approaching the intersection previously described we noticed a man standing on the corner with a huge wad of cordobas in his hands. In fact I think there were three different men with large wads of cash. We established a plan of attack, kind-of, well not really... but I think we were operating on high alert. Sean approached the man while I put my head on a swivel, scanning the street for anyone who might be too interested in our operations and tried to look stern. The man Sean was swapping money had a badge/id of some sort hanging from his neck and seemed to be quiet comfortable with the transaction. Later on we learned that these guys are called Coyotes.
We wandered the streets after checking in to our hotel (which I will describe later). We were tired, dehydrated and hungry. First lesson Nicaragua taught us: if you want something to eat between the hours of 2 and 5 pm your options are very limited. We found the central park or plaza loaded with locals, gringos, loud music, children, horse drawn buggies, vendors and hawkers of remote controls (for TVs I think). We tried to recon the plaza by circling like wary sharks. We finally settled for a corner to sit. My spanish is horrible - made all the more worse by my awareness that I suck. Common vocabulary that I know runs away and I am left stammering, "Lo siento". Gosh. I hope I can work past this.
We ate something served in a plantain leaf - a cabbage, coleslawish dish with pork rinds on top of a couple of weird pickled vegetables and served over a potato/tuber-like substance. (Later found out this is called Vigoron). Everyone in the plaza was eating it. Plus we both had a glass of chocolate milk type stuff with ice. Yup - there went rule number 1 when traveling: Don't drink local water or have anything made with ice. We did it within the first hour there. How many more rules of thumb are we going to break? Oh and plus I had dairy (not normally a good thing with my stomach). Ugh - oh well.
We were bombarded by hawkers of sunglasses, jewelry, ceramics and cashews. Little boys would try their best to look sad/pitiful/hungry/unloved and offer flowers or bugs made from palm fronds. Some were close to earning a nomination for an academy award. When people left their tables these little guys would decend like vultures on leftover food and drink until they were shooed away by servers.
We finally wandered away and found a restaurant called the Roadhouse as the sun set down behind the town. We chose some yummy nachos, satisfied our thirst with Tona and watched the people.
RULE #1. We look like gringos no matter how hard we try not to - doesn't matter if we are carrying a map.
RULE #2. Ensure your Coyote has a calculator.
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