So my fair and dedicated readers. I am now in San Lo(renzo), Honduras which is in the southern part of the country sandwiched between El Salvador and Nicaragua. How did I get here? The long and short of it is the tica bus, but the long of it is where the story lies my friends.
My last full day in Granada I spent mostly going to, walking around, and getting home from the markets in Masaya. I headed off on my own, and doing as I do got there with no real sense of where exactly the markets are in the town. Masaya is home to two markets, the local Munincipal market, and the Market Viejo, which means that they sell tourist toot. I found the Munincipal market first, which was overwhelming, muddy, loud, filled with bananas and people. It was so chaotic and busy that I could barely stand it. I´m sure some neo-zen buddhist in some stoned stupor might come up with Masaya Market Meditation, where one focuses on finding their center in the middle of the munincipal market. It is a lesson in semi-organized chaos. Beautiful in its own right, but not the type of place one feels comfortable pulling out a camera and taking photos. Carts were stacked with melons, pithaya, oranges, limes, people were selling underwear from baskets, carts were filled with pirated dvds. The low-ceilinged and leaky back side is occupied by the artesians, shoe makers, hammock sellers, and Nicas selling guatemalan textiles.
After purchasing a pair of leather chancletas (sandals, see Carlos´spanish lessons are coming in handy) for 75 cordoba I headed down the road to the toot market. The Market Viejo is located in something that looks not unlike a decaying fortress of some kind. It is chock full of same-same but different crafts, cheap t-shirts, corona bottles with their necks stretched out (i´m not sure how you would ever get one of those home), all the usual tourist necessities.
That evening after a dinner of Mexican, I settled into bed only to be awoken at four in the morning to Aliens taking over my g.i. system. After an early morning of emptying my body of any last vestiges of food or liquid I managed to pack and drag my sorry self to Nicaragua´s capital, Managua. My plan, which has miraculously worked, was to take the Tica bus from there to San Lorenzo the next morning. I spent the afternoon in Managua hiding from the heat and rolling blackouts in the Interplaza, which is a huge american mall. I watched a movie in an empty theater with two teenage nicas, and then rolled home to a night of sleep set to thunderstorms.
Tuesday morning, only 24 hours after my alien encounter I boarded the Tica bus to Honduras. The ride was gorgeous, jewel green hills and valleys swathed in gray fog; huge clouds stacked up over volcanoes; cows and donkeys munching on grass in wide fields. The ride was easy and I got dropped off right outside of town. Now I am crashing with a friend of Mandy´s and getting to experience a bit of Hoduras that is not on traveler path, my favorite.
Off to watch my new friend Kyle make pizza dough.