Diacachima, and other Nicaraguan Stories
Over a year and a half ago I woke up at 3:00 am and grabbed a cold pancake from the kitchen. I brushed my teeth, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door towards the highway outside of my homestay. I walked down the road to the corner of my study abroad school and called a taxi to the bus station. At 5:45 am as the sun rose over the San Jose skyline, my friends and I took a 13 hour bus ride to the oldest city in Nicaragua.
When I first arrived in Granada, Nicaragua, I was immediately surprised at the size of the buildings and the spacious streets, both of which were twice as large as in the city we had just left. Everything is pale pastels and there are horses carrying carts down the historic streets. As we dismount the charter bus and make our way towards our hostal, we cross through the main square of the city, filled with locals in the park, selling street food and homemade crafts, children blowing bubbles and running through the crowds, and taxi drivers waiting on the corners.
As we progress down the main street it becomes a pedestrian only avenue lined by restaurants with their tables in the sidewalks and palmetto trees until it gives way to an ancient church and a stone balcony facing a pier over the waters of Lake Nicaragua. We turn around and watch the sun dye the sky as it sets behind the silhouettes of the town I begin to feel a strange sense of familiarity, as if I had seen this place before.
This charming town is the Charleston of Central America, and for one week it is home.
I wish that I could say that this story was one of charity, love and growth. One where I made all the right decisions and was a positive influence on the world. It turns out this is a story about thinking I knew myself outside of everyone else, and finding out that instead I am actually a person, just like anyone else, that I am responsible for my actions just like everyone else, and that I am in charge of my choices daily.
We explore the ancient city, the stone streets and faded facades. We search through the artisan markets and examine the handcrafted trinkets. We try the street food and capture the graffitied concrete walls and the towering old churches on film. We start to let the flavor of Nicaragua settle down on us.
I remember sitting at a restaurant in Calle Calzada, the main strip in this cute little town. We are eating at one of the local restaurants and I remember I was enjoying an amazing crepe filled with Indian curried vegetable and chicken. It was warm and humid outside like it always in whenever you're in a coastal town.
Nicaragua is one of the poorest countries in Latin America, second only to Haiti. Granada is well known for being the oldest city in the country, and subsequently boasts a high amount of tourism. What kind of effect does this have on the locals?
As my friends and I talk and drink over this meal we are enjoying together, some young children are
making their way through the tables and interrupting conversations. They are asking for whatever anyone will give them. We are burdened with the sight of this each night, but this time, it is staring us straight in the face and hitting us on the arm. "Por Favor," it is asking. It is a small Nicaraguan child who didn't grow up with white privilege, who has never traveled, whose parents told her to go beg the rich white people on the street, who probably faces rejection daily, who might end up sleeping in a dirty bed or on the floor.
We were told not to respond, we were told not to give, we were told that this is part of the culture for a tourist town, we were told that it would never stop, that if you give to one you will be approached by 10 more, we were told all of these things but we were not told that her tiny hands on my arm would stay with me for years to come.
I have had a lot of time to think on that moment since that night. I wish I hadn't shown her what its like to NOT be treated with love and respect and generosity and selflessness, because one day that little girl will grow up to be a woman who will look back on her childhood and I hope that the decisions she makes about herself don't involve being rejected by a white girl in a brown dress one night on Calle Calzada.
This town grows on me each night as we get to know the oldest city in the country and its fairs and follies. Travel really changes you. It is charming to meet a new friend, but the closer you look, the more you see their flaws. And the longer you stay, the more you love them.
We travel to the old volcanic crater La Laguna de Apoyo to take a swim in its alleged 'healing mineral waters.' We get to grab 40s and sit on the volcanic ash-infused sand and swim in the calm fresh water and reflect on the time spent so far. The fresh healing water soaks into my soul as my toes dig into the ashy sand.
We return to our hostel and go out for one more Nicaraguan meal. Most of our group is eager to try an expensive Italian restaurant, but my friend Taylor and I are in the mood for a different type of fare. We wander around the main street a few moments longer until stumbling upon a tiny table with two chairs and a very simple menu of foods in tortillas and no drinks. We order from the man cooking on a silver flat grill in what looks to be like his living room, and head next door for a moment to purchase some waters or sodas.
Like many other facets of life, getting to know the oldest city of Nicaragua was a hard and beautiful journey. I learned some lessons the hard way and made difficult decisions which were oftentimes not the best judgement. I got to know a beautiful city and a resilient people.
And this fall, I will get to return and write a brand new story. Follow my new adventures here:
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| At Customs on the Nicaraguan side of the Border |
When I first arrived in Granada, Nicaragua, I was immediately surprised at the size of the buildings and the spacious streets, both of which were twice as large as in the city we had just left. Everything is pale pastels and there are horses carrying carts down the historic streets. As we dismount the charter bus and make our way towards our hostal, we cross through the main square of the city, filled with locals in the park, selling street food and homemade crafts, children blowing bubbles and running through the crowds, and taxi drivers waiting on the corners.
As we progress down the main street it becomes a pedestrian only avenue lined by restaurants with their tables in the sidewalks and palmetto trees until it gives way to an ancient church and a stone balcony facing a pier over the waters of Lake Nicaragua. We turn around and watch the sun dye the sky as it sets behind the silhouettes of the town I begin to feel a strange sense of familiarity, as if I had seen this place before.
This charming town is the Charleston of Central America, and for one week it is home.
I wish that I could say that this story was one of charity, love and growth. One where I made all the right decisions and was a positive influence on the world. It turns out this is a story about thinking I knew myself outside of everyone else, and finding out that instead I am actually a person, just like anyone else, that I am responsible for my actions just like everyone else, and that I am in charge of my choices daily.
We explore the ancient city, the stone streets and faded facades. We search through the artisan markets and examine the handcrafted trinkets. We try the street food and capture the graffitied concrete walls and the towering old churches on film. We start to let the flavor of Nicaragua settle down on us.
I remember sitting at a restaurant in Calle Calzada, the main strip in this cute little town. We are eating at one of the local restaurants and I remember I was enjoying an amazing crepe filled with Indian curried vegetable and chicken. It was warm and humid outside like it always in whenever you're in a coastal town.
Nicaragua is one of the poorest countries in Latin America, second only to Haiti. Granada is well known for being the oldest city in the country, and subsequently boasts a high amount of tourism. What kind of effect does this have on the locals?
As my friends and I talk and drink over this meal we are enjoying together, some young children are
making their way through the tables and interrupting conversations. They are asking for whatever anyone will give them. We are burdened with the sight of this each night, but this time, it is staring us straight in the face and hitting us on the arm. "Por Favor," it is asking. It is a small Nicaraguan child who didn't grow up with white privilege, who has never traveled, whose parents told her to go beg the rich white people on the street, who probably faces rejection daily, who might end up sleeping in a dirty bed or on the floor.
We were told not to respond, we were told not to give, we were told that this is part of the culture for a tourist town, we were told that it would never stop, that if you give to one you will be approached by 10 more, we were told all of these things but we were not told that her tiny hands on my arm would stay with me for years to come.
I have had a lot of time to think on that moment since that night. I wish I hadn't shown her what its like to NOT be treated with love and respect and generosity and selflessness, because one day that little girl will grow up to be a woman who will look back on her childhood and I hope that the decisions she makes about herself don't involve being rejected by a white girl in a brown dress one night on Calle Calzada.
 |
| Horse and Buggy is not outdated in Granada, Nicaragua |
We travel to the old volcanic crater La Laguna de Apoyo to take a swim in its alleged 'healing mineral waters.' We get to grab 40s and sit on the volcanic ash-infused sand and swim in the calm fresh water and reflect on the time spent so far. The fresh healing water soaks into my soul as my toes dig into the ashy sand.
We return to our hostel and go out for one more Nicaraguan meal. Most of our group is eager to try an expensive Italian restaurant, but my friend Taylor and I are in the mood for a different type of fare. We wander around the main street a few moments longer until stumbling upon a tiny table with two chairs and a very simple menu of foods in tortillas and no drinks. We order from the man cooking on a silver flat grill in what looks to be like his living room, and head next door for a moment to purchase some waters or sodas.
 |
| $3 Well Spent |
Like many other facets of life, getting to know the oldest city of Nicaragua was a hard and beautiful journey. I learned some lessons the hard way and made difficult decisions which were oftentimes not the best judgement. I got to know a beautiful city and a resilient people.
And this fall, I will get to return and write a brand new story. Follow my new adventures here:
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