We awoke feeling better after a good night’s sleep. Declan put on his shades to hide his two black eyes. We sat in the park at Plaza España while an entertaining vagrant who spoke perfect English tried to get money from us.
We then stood in the melee outside the Costa Rican Consulate for an hour before being told to come back at 14:00 hrs. It was 09:30 hrs. so we went in search of the Tourist Information Booth by the huge Nicaraguan Bank tower block. It was closed so we had some orange juice at a kiosk and returned to the hotel to wait.
It was nearly 12:00 noon when we realised that check-out time was 11:00 hrs. we grabbed our packs and nipped out smartly. We stopped for a Coke at our usual wooden kiosk and sat in the Plaza España park before returning to the Costa Rican Consulate at 13:00 hrs.
We queued outside the door with our packs waiting patiently as a queue which became a mob formed about us. We were first in when the door opened at 14:20 hrs. Declan picked up his passport and was in poor humour, having had to pay $20 US dollars, which was demanded in cash.
We walked north towards the lake, passing herds of cattle and a few horses grazing unsupervised in the overgrown vacant lots. We also walked through the drifting smoke from numerous small bonfires. Every day people seem to set fire to a pile of dead leaves and just bugger off.
We stopped at the train station but there were no trains to Granada for three hours. We continued to hike out of town along the lakeside road for about 3 miles. Then, by asking around, I found out that we had made a serious mistake and were miles away from the other Bus Station by the Museo de la Revolución at Mercado Robert Huembes which is the largest market in Central America.
Next to the southbound bus terminal, this sprawling beast of a market offers an authentic slice of Managuan life. There are labyrinthine rows of stalls heaped with fresh produce and curandero (healer) herbal wares, a pungent meat and fish section, slippery with discarded scales and entrails, plus a selection of less-than-amazing Nicaraguan souvenirs such as decent enough coffee, masks, pottery, and cheap cigars. The sight of live iguanas, destined for the stew pot, may upset animal lovers.
We flagged down a Colectivo who quoted us the extortionate price of C$100,000 Córdoba’s to take us to the bus terminal. While waiting for another we were approached by a pick-up driver who took us there for C$40,000 Córdoba’s.
At the busy terminal we waited for a bus to Grenada. We had decided to go to Granada which is a city in western Nicaragua and the capital of the Granada Department. Granada is historically one of Nicaragua's most important cities, economically and politically. It has a rich colonial heritage, seen in its architecture and structure. Granada had a thriving Indigenous population.
In 1524, the city was renamed Granada, by Francisco Hernández de Córdoba, ostensibly the first European city in mainland America. Unlike other cities that claim the same distinction, the city of Granada was not only the settlement of the conquest, but also a city registered in official records of the Crown of Aragon, and the Kingdom of Castile in Spain. Granada is also known as La Gran Sultana, in the reflection of its Moorish and Andalusian appearance, unlike its sister city and historical rival León, which displays Castilian trends.
One bus had just departed full to the brim. Another one came in and the queue went berserk, pushing and shoving and climbing through windows and the back door to get aboard. Within seconds it was so full that you couldn’t slide a fag paper in.
It limped out of the station leaving us to wait for the next one. I noticed a Rivas destination bus coming in and we and we clambered aboard, amazed at getting a seat. I ignored the urchin who claimed to have saved the seat for me and we sat crammed into the familiar tinny Bluebird bus as it got steadily fuller.
The ensuing wait of nearly an hour was infuriating and we eventually left just before 18:00 hrs. I was wedged between a soldier and a jolly, plump woman. We pulled out of Managua with the sun setting and smoke from many small bonfires dirtying the air.
We left the beggars, the pedlars and the buskers with their strident cries in the station. Their wares included everything from water to safety pins. I felt sorry for one urchin sitting in the dust until, as I was watching him, he withdrew a huge wad of banknotes from his shirt and began counting them.
The bus rumbled through the night like a steam engine. Luckily the load lightened as we went along and eventually, I had a whole seat to myself. The bloke in front of me appeared to be dying. The driver flicked the cassette player and the internal lights on and off to create a bizarre moving disco.
We got to Rivas at 20:30 hrs. and booked into the Hotel Nicaragua which cost us C$103,500 Córdoba’s for a nice double room with a shower. We had two much-needed cold fizzy orange drinks to wash down some meat and tortillas from a street stall and then had a shower before going to bed.
The town has a nice-looking central park with a bandstand. Characteristically Spanish.
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