Meeting the Tribe

Breakfast Managua-Style

It was a lazy morning, a sitting around morning, a watching the birds morning. My airport transfer was at 11 AM, and I had no flight to catch. My only mission for the day was riding the short distance to the Augusto Sandino Airport to meet the incoming folks. Fifteen Bozos and Bozoettes reuniting for another tour of Nicaragua's cigar industry. Given that a dozen of us had done this prior, you'd think we would have learned our lesson.

And so it was a lazy morning, and verily I did sit around, eating, drinking coffee, smoking, and watching the birds. At the appointed hour, I loaded my crap in the little SUV and was schlepped over to the airport. We did not, however, go directly to the airport. There was an unscheduled stop when the GPS security sensor shut down the SUV 100 meters from the hotel. My driver had forgotten to flip the secret switch. Such are the small details of life in Managua.

We slipped from the quiet of the barrio to the chaos and cacophony of the Pan-American Highway. Dodging the death-dealing trucks and buses, we arrived safely. Now came the gauntlet of porters, taxi drivers, and tour shills. 

"No, gracias, no necesito asistir." Again and again. The simple act of a porter laying a hand on a bag costs a buck. If another porter manages to lay a hand on your bag, that's another buck. If they have the opportunity, the happy porters will hoist your bag on their shoulders and parade it around, "Hail the Conquering  Hero!" All the while your tab is running up. Falling into the clutches of the taxi-porter cabal can only be avoided with ninja-like skills. Fortunately, I have spent many years learning and perfecting this avoidance technique. I led them a merry chase, up and down, from arrivals to departures and back again. 

I found the first of our party and we retreated to the far side of the airport road for a reunion and a cigar. The arrivals, from Seattle, Portland, Ecuador, and Nicaragua, were spread out over two hours. Eventually the cadre was complete, the bus arrived along with our Cigar Guru. We boarded the bus, Bozos One and All. The driver headed south, bound for the colonial town of Granada. The game was afoot.

Granada Street Scene

Granada is a colonial city nestled onto the shores of Lake Nicaragua. Historically aristocratic and conservative, Granada is the rival of Leon to the north. While they once battled for control of Nicaragua, the two cites now battle for the tourist dollars.

Colorful cobbles streets, colonial plazas, Granada has what the tourists want to see. We arrived in the town, stowed out gear, and fell into a reunion of cigars smoking and tall tale telling. The opportunity for a walkabout was looming large. Two of us slipped out of the hotel and set about the streets. 

The center of Granada is the cathedral and the central plaza. From there, a walking street leads down to the lake, threading past a throng of waiters waving menus. The cathedral and promenade serve to suck most of the touristas into a concentrated mass, thus rendering them very easy to avoid. Two blocks off of the main streets, we wandered through the early evening.

The Essential colors of Granada.

Tiles, cobbles, vibrant color, sun-blasted brick, that is the mosaic of a Central American colonial town. Mind your step while walking, lest you adorn your shoes with dog droppings or, worse, step into one of the many sneaky sidewalk holes. A late night stroll after a night of drinking can be a treacherous affair. Agility and awareness are requirements to survive a drunken stroll.

The Other Plaza

It was the gloaming when we found the other church, the working church. We watched the day slip away. On a hill above the tourist center, locals congregated, kids wobbled around on skates, hawkers sold ice cream and snacks. It was wonderful. We found a narrow passage down the hill into the old market, from where we eventually made it to tourist ground zero. Time to rejoin the Bozo Flock.

The Heart of Granada

We stepped out of the narrow market streets and into the buzz of the plaza. Nicaraguan Grackles were gathered in the trees, sending up a ruckus of chirps, squeals, and whistles. Tourists ran the gauntlet of craft stalls, some sporting fake Cuban cigars. Dodging the waving menus, we found our appointed cafe and settled in for a long, slow dinner. The street was a carnival of vendors, hawkers, and street perfomers, each trying to pry loose a bit of the tourist dollar. It was lovely. 

Worn out from the flights, most of the Bozo crew retired early. A few hardy souls managed a good session of tall-tales and nightcaps. So it goes and so it went. The first night of another Bozo Tour came to an end.