Just got back from my first meal in Nicaragua which was appropriately Mexican food. I took the bus from San Jose this morning to Granada which was eight hours of watching the dubbed version of ´look whose talking´and acting like a narcoleptic passing out. I met two gringas on the bus headed to the same hostel so we walked into town together. I´m staying at a nice hostel with of all fabulous things, a pool.
The big road block in today has been discovering that it may not work out for me to volunteer in Xela, so I am back at the drawing board trying to figure out what to do with myself. Many plans are in the works, and you will be updated just as soon as I know where the winds will take me.
After scheming on the internet for an hour or so I headed out to dinner with the gringas. Granada´s architecture maybe one of the few reasons to feel okay about colonialism, that and the baguettes in Vietnam . The city is centered on a square that is all domes and façades. Quite lovely in the evening, and a huge step up from San Jose´s cement boxes. We ate dinner at Puerto Tequila, a gringofied establishment that serves mean margaritas. During dinner drummers and two dancers, one dressed up not unlike a bobble head and the other like a twelve foot tall drag queen harassed us for money. When I say harassed I mean that they performed three times right in front of us at volume levels that would have made Mandy´s ears bleed and then asked us for a donation for their performance. I know that right now that this story a. needs a picture to accompany it, and b. makes me sound like a mean person. But drumming loudly and tired gringa just don´t mix well. Then a local Nica man appeared at our table who wanted to talk to us about the United States and quiz us on every state. It was a rough evening for my brain. He would say things like, ¨new hersey, that place is full of crazy son of bitches.¨ It was the kind of interaction you can only have in Nicaragua while eating mexican food on the street.