While I was still in withdrawal from such an idyllic time with loved ones over the holiday, my faithful father drove me from Milwaukee to O'Hare airport for my flight(s) to Nicaragua and the start of the next chapter of my travels. On the way, he was checking the weather forecast on his phone and discovered that the high in my hometown on Monday is supposed to be -10 degrees F. Yes, that is a negative symbol in front of the 10. So I was bolstered to get through my cozy family withdrawal and embrace the journey south.
After a surprisingly restful overnight on the floor of the Miami airport (hint: bring a sleeping bag; they keep that place cold!), I woke to repeated announcements reminding passengers that they must be on time for their flights, that the gate will close 10 minutes prior to scheduled departure, and if they are not on board by that time, their tickets will be canceled. I thought reiterating this general announcement so many times was weird overkill and I couldn't grasp the need. But soon I understood. Everywhere around me, people bound for destinations such as Port-au-Prince, Kingston, and Belize were running through the terminal as their names were being read on a last-call list. I've never heard so many last-call name bombs in my life. It suddenly struck me how problematic plane departure times must be for laid-back, south-of-the-border-and-then-some natives whose cultures don't require or even expect punctuality. It made me strangely excited to get there. Into said culture.
And before long (the flight from O'Hare to Miami was longer than the flight from Miami to Nicaragua, actually) there I was. Managua!
This is currently one of my favorite words: Managua. But only when it's said with that delicious, back-of-the-throat laziness that Spanish speakers use. Like they're saying "Mana..." and then swallowing some molasses. It's fantastic.
Huge thanks to American Airlines for not losing my checked bag during my nearly twelve-hour layover, as I was so cynically sure they would. In shockingly fast form, I was through immigration, baggage claim, and customs, and outside sweating like a pig in weather 80 degrees warmer than what I'd left behind in the Midwest. On a total travelers' high (this is how I know this is the life for me: the longer I'm in transit, the more excited and energized I get...) I ignored all the eager (more speedy, easy, and expensive) transportation providers crowded outside customs and darted across the street from the airport to where my guidebook promised I could find a city bus that would take me to the main depot for 20 cents. Actually, my ride was free, since my guidebook--though right about the city bus--was wrong that US dollars are accepted everywhere in Nicaragua; the bus driver looked at me with exasperation when I tried to hand him an American bill and just waved me onboard.
Once at the depot...
...I boarded another local bus, this one to take me an hour south to the ridiculously picturesque colonial town of Granada.
I'll give Managua a better look-see toward the end of my time in Nicaragua. But I wanted a slightly calmer start to the trip, and Granada didn't disappoint me as a perfect choice for my first night in-country. That's a flank of Mombacho Volcano that you can see in the distance, mostly shrouded in cloud cover.
And that's Lake Nicaragua on the horizon in this one.
My afternoon walk around town was the perfect way to finish shaking off plane brain. And my first Nicaraguan meal was just plain perfect. My favorite part was my first taste of
tiste: a ground corn and cocoa bean drink on ice. Maybe it doesn't sound that good. But there was undoubtedly also a fair amount of sugar mixed in there. Trust me: it was good.
So, I've been here for less than 12 hours, but my first impressions are:
1) People are incredibly nice here; the more I'm sure that my EXTREMELY basic Spanish must be painfully assaulting people's ears, the kinder they are to me.
2) This is a beautiful country and I'm so excited for this adventure.
(Yes, those are real parakeets hanging out with the coconuts.)
