Discovering Nicaragua

Matagalpa
Feb. 15, 2009

We're in the northern part of Nicaragua, where it is mountainous and a little cooler than the rest of the country. Temperature seems to be about the same for Nicaragua the year round; one Nica joked to me that they're too poor to afford more that two seasons: rainy and dry. It's the dry season right now, and the coffee harvest, an important resource for Nicaraguans, is just ending. They pick the beans by hand, and then laboriously spread them in the sun, raking and turning them for days until they reach the desired stage of "roasted".


We took a chicken bus up to the Selva Negra coffee finca today. We had hoped to tour the plantation with a guide; nothing like that was one offer, and while they used to have a coffee museum, it had been relegated to a haphazard heap of what had clearly been displays at one time. Still there was no one around to ask, so we just carefully poked through the old equipment and pictures. Coupled with the coffee plants and workers we saw on the ride up the mountain to the finca, it was very interesting.

Selva Negra is a remarkable place. It was founded by a German couple over a hundred years ago... we met a man as we were walking up the 2 km 'driveway' who greeted us expansively and was more jovial and welcoming than anyone we had met in Nicaragua. Judging by pictures I saw at the lodge, he is one of the descendants of the original settlers. They were foreign originally, but they are clearly here for the long-haul and not to simply exploit; the finca has it's own living quarters for workers, a school, and a medical clinic. Very impressive.

The grounds themselves are very lovely; fairly manicured around the main buildings, but then comprising many acres of natural dry forest and cloud forest which has been declared a nature reserve. And the coffee plants in the plantation area are mixed with large trees from the original forest, rather than being planted in rows on ground that has been ruthlessly deforested.


We hiked up and through the nature reserve for a couple of hours. This is dry forest, not rain forest, which was a little disappointing for Caelan and I, who are really looking forward to seeing some lush tropical growth. Really hiking through here felt quite similar to walking through the river valley at home, with the only major differences (besides the trees being unfamiliar) being the steepness of the terrain, and the animals. We had been keeping excited eyes on sharp look-out for monkeys, though never did actually see any... but just as we were where the dry forest began to give way to the greener cloud forest, we heard the strangest sound; a sort of grunting, growling hoot that echoed eerily through the trees. These were undoubtedly the sounds of howler monkeys, and while we look forward to actually seeing some, somewhere, even just hearing them was exciting.

Leaving meant taking the long trek back out to the highway, and waiting for the bus to come back down the mountain. This was an area of heavy fighting when the Revolution reared its head in the '70's, and an old tank sits at the bottom of the lane on the edge of the highway. As we perched there, we had an odd encounter with a drunk man who saw Mitch's camera and clearly very much wanted it; in fact, he ended up shaking his arm and showing the boys how he kept a HUGE knife up his sleeve that he could flick down into his hand in a split second. I was starting to get really uncomfortable when the trusty bus rattled up, and we thankfully clambered aboard.



Granada
Feb. 20, 2008


The word for the day is 'Hot". Actually, it's more appropriate as a word for the night, as that's when the temperature is a problem. We're in a nice, secure hotel which is clean and has space for the five of us in a room (with one kid on the floor, as always)... but it is really airless at night, and even with two fans going it's hard to rest. Having said that, security means a lot; there was a huge dog commotion in the middle of the night a couple days ago, and it turns out that a nearby place was being broken into. That much fact is agreed upon; the guys who work here report that the intruder was actually shot, while the owner says that he merely electrocuted himself on the roof (!!!) and was chased off with a stick. Either way, I guess I'm glad for the thick walls that block the breeze but keep the thieves out.

In general, Nicaraguans are polite, and very well-presented and dressed -- even if they're shabby there is real effort to keep their clothes neat, and despite the heat, I haven't been repulsed by terrible body odours (which were pervasive in many parts of Europe!). What makes me smile is the shine on everyone's shoes, no matter how well-worn the rest of the outfit; there is a boot-black stall at every bus station, and they get used! Sadly, our hiking boots are all suede or micro-fibre, so we can't partake, and I do notice people look critically at our feet!

Buses are an adventure. The actual vehicles themselves are old American/Canadian "Bluebird" school buses, exactly like the ones I rode back and forth to school on in Saskatchewan for many years. We discovered the story of how they have come to be down here: enterprising entrepreneurs come up into North America, buy the old bus from a school district for a couple of thousand dollars, then immediately remove all the seats and strap them on top. Into the empty space they drive two small second-hand cars (!), and then they begin the long drive down through the States, Mexico, and the rest of Central America. Once they're here, they sell the buses for about $10,000, as well as the cars, and have a very tidy profit for their (not inconsiderable!) efforts.


The school buses get reassembled with luggage racks on top, and become the infamous Central American "chicken buses". These buses are everywhere, and 90% of the ones I have seen (and been on) have been literally filled to the rafters with people, and often heaped with baskets, sacks of rice and beans, and assorted other parcels on the roof rack. Why "chicken bus" you ask? In a these countries refrigeration is a scarcity, so when Abuela (Granny) goes to the market to get some chicken for supper, it comes home squawking... it won't be butchered until right before the meal. When we took the bus from Matagalpa down to Granada, waiting in line with us was a buzzard with his legs firmly trussed together (surely he wasn't on the menu; he'd be so tough and foul tasting!), and a chicken, primly wrapped up in a small plastic carrier bag, with just it's head kept out so it could breathe. They were very well-behaved on the trip, I have to say; we couldn't hear them at all over the blaring Spanish radio.

I have not looked into the safety statistics for these buses, and I don't really care to, but we have taken our own small security measures. Much to the bemusement of the locals, we have five luggage straps that we use to cinch ourselves in -- just in case. Even hitting potholes has sent the kids and I flying a foot off our seats, so in a real emergency, these pseudo-seat-belts would hopefully keep us a little safer... !



Feb. 21

Granada is meant to be the shining star of Nicaragua. This has left me feeling really dismayed, because I am so overwhelmed by the stench and sight of garbage that I can't seem to see past it. I think it doesn't help that our hotel -- which is nice and clean and safe, if very hot -- is located right on the edge of a huge market that winds on forever... it is dark, dingy and dodgy, and we have to pass through it every time we step outdoors.


But we have been lucky to land in Granada during a Poet's Festival... there are poetry readings every evening, and Mitch and the kids caught the tail end of an amazing parade yesterday. There is also an artisan market set up in the town square, so we have been checking out the handicrafts and the boys have been trying their luck haggling with a one-legged man who sells fantastic sling-shots -- they're pretty skilled at the game already, especially Caelan. One of Life's little lessons, learned young... (I'm hopeless at haggling!).

Granada was built by the Spaniards, and many of it's buildings date back to those colonial times. Our first night here we stayed in a hostel which is located in a 400-year-old colonial building. It was beautiful, with cool, airy, high-celinged rooms studded with dark beams -- so very different from the tiny, dark, windowless buildings of the barrios where the majority of locals live. The city streets are cobbled, and the pastel coloured town centre and church are quite pretty... (I feel like we are chewed up and spit out of the market by the time we stumble through it and out into the town square!)

Certainly Granada was considered important enough to be sacked repeatedly by pirates and buccaneers of various nationalities over the years, which could happen because it sits on the shores of the enormous Lago de Nicaragua, which connects to the Caribbean Sea via the Rio San Juan. In modern times, Granada is now plundered by "rich" gringos who have swooped in and bought most of the beautiful old buildings, causing real estate prices to soar and leaving most of the city properties out of reach of the Nicas. No wonder they don't feel like a very welcoming people.