Waking up to our first leisurely morning in a long while, Stephanie and I enjoyed a wonderful breakfast of yogurt, granola, orange juice and much more that is would be unimaginable in Bluefields. We hadn't received a call from our acquaintance of the night before about the ride he had offered, so we enjoyed our morning and got into a bit of planning. Pulling out maps and consulting our local friends, we decided that our mini vacation would consist of a trip to Masaya to check out the markets followed by a night in Granada and rounded off with an afternoon at La Laguna del Apoyo, a volcanic crater lake with what is posited to be the cleanest water in the country. Beyond being aware that there were buses linking each of these locations and that they were all reasonably close (anywhere from 20min to 2hrs depending on who you asked), we opted to leave the rest up to spontaneity and good luck.
Packing light enough to avoid renting a room should we so desire, the two of us headed down the road with the clothes on our backs and a vague notion of where we were headed. Accompanied by the usual chorus of car horns, whistles and catcalls that accompanies any mildly attractive woman (especially those of lighter skin tones) in this country, we cut across the the busy streets and headed towards the bus station. Along the way, we passed street vendors hawking everything from beautifully crafted jewelry made of seeds, shells and obsidian to gallo pinto, pineapples, gum and cigarettes. We also meandered past the Universidad Centro Americana whose walls were covered in magnificent graffiti art and a myriad of political messages.
Arriving at the bus station, we were immediately accosted by conductors wanting to know where we were headed and attempting to entice us onto their bus. Informing one of them that were were on our way to Masaya, he ushered us towards a bus labeled with Granada and assured us that we could get off at Masaya on the way. Discovering the price of passage to be less than $1 we figured we couldn't go too far astray and climbed aboard.
On the way out of town, we slowly cruised the streets as the conductor leaned out the front door and shouted "Granada, Granada, Granada!" Passengers walked alongside the bus to get the pace of it's movement before stepping up with the wheels still rolling. In no time at all, all the seats were taken and the aisles filled. Satisfied that he had gotten all the fairs he could hold for the moment, the driver steered us out of town and onto the highway connecting Managua to Granada.
As the conductor squeezed his way down the aisle collecting fares, we informed him that we wished to disembark at Masaya, preferably somewhere near the marketplace. He nodded and confirmed that he'd let us know when to get off. We should have known something was up by the skeptical expression of the older man next to him, but it wasn't till we'd passed our turnoff that the older man spoke up and told us we should get off. This was a little perplexing since we had not through any town of any description, but had been on the 'highway' the whole ride. Nonetheless, the conductor agreed that we had gone past our stop, asked the driver to halt and told us to get off. We stepped out on a non-descript stretch of road with nothing more than a few thatched homes in either direction and a fat horse happily grazing along the embankment. With a vague gesture back in the direction we had come from, the conductor stepped back aboard and took the bus away with him.
Luckily, both Steph and I were in the mood for an adventure, and neither of us had any pressing engagements to attend, so we calmly began strolling back towards the only intersection we'd seen, a couple kilometers back down the road. Being the only people walking and two gingas to boot, we attracted a fair bit of attention as we wandered down the road. Taking advantage of such to request slightly better directions, we were informed that the marketplace we were searching for was located to the left a 'short' distance past the intersection. I should probably take this moment to explain a bit about directions here... There are no addresses, even in Managua, which makes getting anywhere a bit of an adventure. The closest you might get is something along the lines of so-and-so's house, half a block south of such-and-such commercial center. There are rarely any street names and when there are, no one knows them. In some cases, directions don't even relate to existing things, but rather places that used to belong to so-and-so or buildings that used to have such-and-such store. In any case, this results in very vague directions and very relative concepts of distance. You can ask 5 people how far one place is from another and you'll get 5 very different answers generally ranging anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours apart. Hence, we didn't really put much stock in the description of the town being 'close' but simply commenced walking in the general direction indicated.
It didn't take long before the ominous skies that had been brewing most of the morning decided to let loose a short burst of rain as we made our way along the side of the road towards Masaya. Luckily, that interlude didn't last too long and we managed to continue without getting too soaked. Strolling along, we were passed on all sides by every conceivable variety of bicycles, motorbikes, horse-drawn carts, taxis, buses and trucks. Happy to enjoy the scene, we managed to wander past the turn that no one we asked had bothered to mention actually led to Masaya. We discovered this minor mishap only after flagging down a bus we thought was headed to Masaya only to be informed we actually wanted on headed in the opposite direction. Whoops. Relatively unperturbed, we spun on our heels and headed back the way we had come. This time, a nice young man on a bicycle slowed down to chat and we managed to get slightly more informative direction out of him. Double checking his suggestions with people hanging out on each corner, we found ourselves walking down a wide, cobbled road, this time with slightly more people on foot. Unfortunately, the rain had held off as long as it could and the light drizzle we'd been ignoring was quickly becoming for forceful. Luckily, we happened to be passing by a small food/beer shop and managed to duck inside just as the skies let loose.
Passing the time with a beer and some excellent chicken, tortillas and gallo pinto, we managed to shake any bad feelings from having ended up slightly lost. As soon as the rain let up, we were on our way again. This time, we could already see the beginning of the market in the distance, so we knew we were headed in the right direction. We walked down a rutted dirt road past shanty wooden structures with rusted metal roofs lining both sides. It being a saturday afternoon, we had to dodge a few soccer balls from the riotous games being perpetrated down every side street, but we made it through unscathed.
Arriving at the market, we wound our way through rows of small wooden stands, stepping gently to avoid the large puddles of mud, but still emerging significantly more mud splattered than when we began. As we passed through the food market where the tables were piled high with bananas, mangoes, cabbages, casava and much more, we soon found ourselves entering the clothing section. Pushing on through the maze of passages that ran seemingly without reason through the miniature city that the market turned out to be, we finally arrived at the area we were searching for, the one with vendors hawking crafts of all varies. There were tables piled to the ceiling with wooden table sets, hand carved sculptures, dozens of varieties of jewelry made from obsidian, shells and seeds. Hanging from the rafters were colorful bags of every conceivable variety, woven hammocks, tapestries and more. In some sections, stuffed chickens were displayed alongside dried, bloated frogs positioned in rather compromising manners. It was like walking into a forest of industrious elves keen to show off their skills. Picking through the trinkets, we each made a few small purchases and headed our way.
As luck would have it, we managed to arrive at the bus terminal just as the last bus to Granada was getting ready to embark. Taking the last available seats, we sat back, relaxed and headed off to what we had heard was a breathtaking city.
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1 comment:
Did you just say "we each made a few small purchases" ??? What about the big wooden bowls ?
Hope you're gonna tell the whole world about that ;-)
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