Nica Adventures Part II: Leon and the Beach

Escaping the sweaty chaos of Managua (escaping is the best term), we headed to the charming and historic colonial city of Leon. Leon is a mere hour journey from Managua, but what a difference an hour can make. Crammed in a crowed minivan, we were happy to arrive at the dusty bus terminal. Taxi drivers in Leon are friendly, and the rates are set,no haggling required.
We spent our first evening in a charming colonial home, converted into a small hotel. It had a wonderful garden, and a comfy bed, but the family run ambiance was a little too strong, so we relocated to an equally comfortable and slightly cheaper new hotel a few blocks away.
Leon is not the most beautiful of Nicaragua's colonial cities, but it has a certain charm. The central plaza is clean, but spartan, with some very interesting murals and some viciously anti-American graffiti. The cathedral, one of Leon's many large churches, is decidedly dirty, coated with the ashes of many volcanic eruptions.
We skipped the plethora of museums, and instead, engaged ourselves in a number of day trips using Leon as a base.
We traveled to the small hamlet of San Jacinto, to see fumurolic pools. These little pits of boiling mud appear in this valley, a by product of the smoking Volcan Santa Clara that looms in the distance. Smiling children, with a well practiced patter, run to meet any visiting Gringo that happens by. The children are a necessary, as portions of the ground around the pits are very unstable and subject to collapse. The children (and visitors) also provide an important economic contribution to the impoverished town. Admission is reasonable, and there is a line of women selling volcanic rocks and pre-Columbian stone artifacts (I picked up a nice biface for 50 cents). The bubbling pits are interesting, and come in two colours of boiling mud: red or black.
Our next trip was to the beach towns of Poneloya and Las Penitas. This was a reconnaissance mission, but we made an enjoyable day of it, and found a nice Hotel for later. The beach was uncrowded and mostly clean, although the sand was too hot for our virgin feet to handle. Swimming was not recommended due to strong rip tides that kill annually.
The next day was given over to Nicaragua's most important historical site, the ruins of Leon Vijeo (Old Leon). This was the original location the Spanish chose for the City, but was abandoned after only a short period of time due to a catastrophic volcanic eruption that buried the city in 1610. The actual site itself is not really that engaging, although the setting is quite pretty, with a nice view of Volcan Momotombo (the towns nemesis). This is the final resting place of Francisco Hernandez de Cordobra (who was beheaded by the Govenor whom he appointed in a truly epic struggle for power). It was in Leon Viejo that we first learned the Nicaraguan practice of compulsory guides. The tour felt a little rushed, but the walk back in the village of Puerto Momotombo was pleasant and sunny.
Leon had a good selection of street food, including the infamous fritangas. These are food stands, or in some cases buffet style restaurants that serve up the traditional deep fried fare that comprises Nicaraguan cuisine. Leon is a difficult place to find breakfast, and in most cases, its simply easier to wait for lunch.
It was our last day in Leon that I learned how truly hellish the ordeal of cashing travelers cheques in Nicaraguan banks can be. First off, it is important to locate the correct bank, there is only one that can perform this magical transaction. Then you must wait in line to have your cheques scrutinized (this takes about 45 minutes). Unfortunately, at this juncture, you must return to the much longer general line, and stand around for at least another hour before converting your cheques to Cordobras (minus of course, the 5% commission). Remember to ask for small bills, or you will end up with 500 Cordobra notes, that absolutely no one can make change for. It is interesting to note, that although banks are heavily guarded by armed security personal, and despite the fact that all bank patrons must pass through metal detectors when entering, that you are not allowed to wear hats with the brim facing forward(backwards is okay). Fortunately, banks are well air conditioned.
From Leon, we head for a few days R&R at the beach. Las Penitas is quiet and uncrowded, with some good eating and drinking options. Unfortunately, Kira fell ill with a vicious "fritanga related" disease, and spent most of her time in bed or on the toilet. I watched the sun set and drank many cold bottles of Victoria Lager.

Nica Adventures Part 1: Fear and Loathing in Managua

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Part One of My Nicaraguan Adventures (or Arrival in Hell)

Arrival into Managua's Augusto Sandino Airport was a much anticipated affair, as our plane circled the city no less than three times in a stomach turning power arc. Customs was easily cleared with a $5 US fee for a ninety day tourist Visa. There were the usual assortment of clambering and shouting cab drivers as we exited the airport. Most wanted $20 US for the trip into central Managua (or what we presumed to be the centre) but I was able to talk the fare down to $12. Spanish numbers came back with ease, but I wasn't really catching anything beyond hello. Fortunately, the cab driver knew of our hotel, because I don't think I was fully capable of providing directions. Managua, despite its extensive sprawl, has no system of street names or addresses, with the location of buildings and residences being given by their relationship to other buildings or reference points. Example: my house is two blocks down (west towards the setting sun in this instance) and one block towards the lake (north) of the statue of the Guerrilla with No Name (a famous statue). These reference points are fixed in the minds of Managua's citizenry and are used, regardless of whether said landmark still exists.























The cab ride provided a good perspective on the poverty of the city, while the humidity and smell of burning plastic took me back to past travels in Latin America. As the taxi weaved its way through the menage of barrios that comprises central Managua, I was struck by the absolute lack of infrastructure and order. I also became aware of the absolute impossibility of traversing Managua in anything other than a taxi.
As we neared our hotel (Hostel Los Felipes in Barrio Martha Quezada), the night air was punctuated by the harsh staccato of whistle blasts. Private security guards keeping an ever tooting vigil throughout the night. The Hostel Felipes was a welcoming place, and sold beer in the lobby. I had only the fortitude to quaff one cold bottle of Victoria Lager before collapsing into a sweaty sleep (in front of CSI on the TV no less), but the cold beer did relive some of the stress of my journey, and also provided some relief from the 30 plus degree night air.
Morning was also hot. We ignored the lady at the front desks advice to take taxis everywhere, and headed of to find a ATM to procure some local currency. Then we found a nice little breakfast place around the corner from our hotel. By noon, we were fully immersed into exploration of Managua on foot, and felt pretty relaxed. We checked out the ruins of the cathedral (destroyed in the earthquake of 1972), went to the national museum, and strolled along the waterfront promenade. We even jumped in a cab and went to an obscure museum dedicated to the preservation of 6000 year old footprints preserved in volcanic mud.

As most of Managua's sights can be visited in about 4 hours, we decided to hike (from our hotel) up a hill to a park with a volcanic crater lake. a brief rain shower aside, it was a pleasant day.
However, things turned a little ugly on the return trip, when a young thug tried to steal my backpack on a deserted street. He failed, primarily because he wasn't quite scary or big enough, but also because Kira's loud yelling of profanities in English is quite intimidating. The scuffle was almost at a resolution when a taxi pulled up to assist us. Neighborhood women also poured into the street to give moral support and to clarify that the locals don't care for these young thugs either. We quickly retreated to our hotel (somewhat shaken from the event) and had just decided to retreat to the poolside bar when the taxi driver who intervened earlier pulled up outside with the ruffian and two police officers (the Nicaraguan National Police force goes mostly on foot). They inquired if the now foaming ruffian in the red soccer jersey was indeed the assailant (which he was). He began screaming what must of been some very unfriendly and unsavory epithets in my direction, and received a pretty good slap in the face from the female police officer who was seated beside him. Bleeding from the lip and crying, he looked very pathetic and not at all scary.
The police insisted that we come to the local station, and scribbled some directions on a piece of paper to give to a cab driver, but Kira and I simply lacked the desire to pursue the matter further. Besides, a cab ride there and back would have meant a net loss from the attempted robbery, so we figured that we would be ahead of the game if we simply stuck to the hotel compound. We retired for poolside beers, and only ventured forth to eat at the Pollo Estrella across the street. Not exactly fine dinning (a kind of Nicaraguan KFC), but given the security situation, and the lack of desire to experience any more of Managua's charms that day, it seemed the best solution.























The next day we got up early, and had breakfast at the same small restaurant around the corner (Gallo pinto, eggs, tortillas)and packed our things and headed off to hail a cab. We made it about a half block when a youth came running after us and told us to come back to the hotel. We did this, and were quite rudely accused of stealing the towels from the room. This got rather heated, particularly when they threated to charge us 10$ per towel. Kira became a little unhinged, and quite savagely told the lady were to stuff that idea. I think I finely got my point put across (more diplomatically than Kira might have, that it was clearly a house keeping mix up). We were aloud to leave, although we didn't exactly get an apology.
We headed out for the bus station, firmly resolving to avoid Managua as much as is possible for the duration of our trip.