Beer-infused sweat stings my eyes as I check Google Maps for the fifth time in a minute. The midday heat has set in and I struggle to think straight. The chicken bus dropped us on the outskirts of Granada. We arrive in a daze, and mildly hungover—easy pickings for the local taxistas, who swarm around us like vultures to some dying wildebeests. Summoning the last of our energy we push through the mass of loud aggressive men and resolve to walk the last two kilometres to our accommodation.
Granada is Nicaragua's oldest colonial city that was the beating heart of conservative power, wealth and religious fervour for centuries. A legacy that endures through colonial architecture and well-groomed dogs. It also has fantastic street food.
Our favourite dish was Vigorón, which consists of cabbage salad, chicharones (fried pork belly), boiled yuca and is usually wrapped in a banana leaf. Typically, the dish isn’t eaten with utensils and I noticed the caseras were laughing at the mess I was making. I didn’t care. I was hungry, and it was fucking delicious.
We were staying in Casa Calala, an old colonial house close to the historic centre. The room was hot but had a beautiful interior patio and garden that stayed cool throughout the day. It was the perfect place to sit, drink coffee and escape the repressive heat.
Leisa and I came to Granada for different reasons. Leisa wanted to study Spanish while I needed to rest my body after weeks of surfing and off-road motorbiking. My sciatic nerve was pushing against the spine causing constant pain.
While Leisa was in class, I passed the time being horizontal and feeling sorry for myself. I even visited one of the local churches to pray for some relief from the chronic pain coursing down the left side of my body. After two days, I decided to join Leisa and sign up for Spanish classes. I was bored and irritable, so I figured the intellectual stimulation would be a welcome distraction.
My Spanish profesora and I shared similar interests in modern history and politics. To practise my past tense, we discussed government corruption, failed infrastructure projects and media censorship. In a country known for its brutality against political activism and dissent, I was surprised by how upfront she talked about these sensitive topics.
On our last night, we visited the nearby volcano, Volcán Masaya. It is one of the few places on Earth where you can see an active lava lake. Visitors are only allowed thirty minutes at the rim due to the geological instability and toxic gases.
As darkness took hold, a rich red glow radiated up from the bubbling inferno below. It felt like we were staring into the gates of hell. For the first time in a week, I felt my back pain begin to subside. Next time I’ll be praying to Satan for chronic pain relief.
