Getting Back Isn't Easy!

Today was most adventurous. In the morning we went out to Kathy’s Waffle House and had an amazing breakfast including plantains, fried cheese, pinto de gallo with tomatoes and peppers and eggs. Afterward we went to find the church we’d heard about.

Last night a man from Las Vegas told us that there was a church you could go up in the tower and see all of Granada. Intrigued we were determined to find it, and rounding a corner we saw an old blackened church with a high tower. This had to be it. Since it was a Sunday we didn’t know when services started so we quietly entered the building to the sounds of a young Spanish teacher teaching children gathered around her in small pews.

Locating where the tower was, we saw that the fence was locked and just kind of stood there wondering what to do. A sign on the board said the tower was open, but it didn’t say when or what time. One of the father’s came over and asked if we wanted to go up the tower. We nodded and he told us to wait a moment.

After a dollar donation, up the narrow spiral stairs we traveled, up, up, up till we reached the bells themselves and the breath-taking landscape of Granada. The hills, blue sky and colored tiles created a colorful blanket beneath us with the wind threatening to rip the hats from our heads. Overjoyed by the view, we snapped away, from each corner trying to get the best shot.

An added bonus to this little tower climb was that they rang the bells while we were up there. A young man came bounding up the stairs, waved and then disappeared behind one of the pillars. Fabienne called out “Anna, they’re going to ring the bells,” so I scrambled back around to watch snapping a picture after the first stroke, nearly making me go deaf. Quickly covering my hears, we listened as the man stroke and banged the bells marking the time 10 till. Just for us he tolled the bells, and every time after, when we heard them ring, we’d smile with the memories of our own Nostradamus in Nicaragua.

Not wanting to push our luck with the buses, we grabbed a quick snack, I had some delicious gelato at Euro Café, and then grabbed our stuff. Pounding the beaten asphalt and cracked cement we retraced our steps to the bus stop to find our ride. Only there wasn’t one. No bus to Rivas on a Sunday, we were told. WHAT! Now what, we asked ourselves in a hushed conference. Take a taxi? No too expensive. Spend another night in Granada? – Not possible we had class on Monday. With a wave of his hand, the bus driver who told us the bad news, communicated that he could get us a bus to Rivas. Without another option we boarded the bus to somewhere and wedged into the child size school bus seats. After paying our 20 cordobas a piece, we waited unsure if we would find ourselves in Managua, or some other out of the way destination.

As we’re riding, we both spot the same bus from Rivas that we caught yesterday passing by with a honk and a wave from the driver and realize something has been mis-communicated. Oh well, too late now to turn back, we’re body blocked on this bus until someone moves. Both the bus driver, money collector and young man in the back know we need to get to Rivas, so I feel confident that we’ll arrive somewhere.

Suddenly the bus stops. Looking at up at us in the rear view mirror, the driver’s eyes reach ours. “Chicas, Rivas!” he calls and we scramble out of our seats, people squeezing out of our way. My foot gets stuck and I struggle to pull it loose, while Fabienne disappears out the back door. The exit door, the ones we as children were never allowed to touch, much less use. Here it is just another convenient exit. Sprinting across the main road we get onto a large blue express bus, held at bay by one of the bus driver’s aides. Like a metallic bull, it grunts and rocks as we board, making sure we are on our way to Rivas, we sink with happy sighs into plush chairs, complete with arm rests. Now we’re headed in the right direction. Taking another look around once I’ve settled in, I note it is a very posh ride. Music plays over the speakers, a music video is running on the TV screen up front, the seats are soft, and the windows are clean. We ride the bus to Rivas ($2 a person) where we get dropped off in town and have no idea where the central bus station is from yesterday.

We ask a taxi driver and he points in a direction. We walk the indicated way, but nothing looks familiar. We turn around and ask a bicycle taxi. He doesn’t know where the station is, so we ask some other locals. They tell us in the spot we are waiting a bus to San Jan passes every 30 minutes. Two pass but don’t even slow down. We cross the street to ask at a business and the guy walks us out and points down the street. We walk a ways and he keeps waving us farther down till we can’t see him anymore and stop. Asking some more locals that are waiting they assure us you can get a bus here at the spot. We wait and a public taxi pulls up and we pile into the back for a $2 ride back to town. Needless to say it was much easier getting to Granada then getting home.

Once back in San Juan, we drop off our stuff at school and then head to the beach for a meal and refresh. While dining I bought a 30 cordoba DVD of Clash of the Titans. It is supposed to be in English with Spanish Subtitles, or so the street vendor assures me. Can’t wait to see it because you never know what you’re going to get. I opened the case and saw it was a blank DVD and smiled. Can’t play it till I get home, but either way it will be another part of the Nica experience.

Went back to the ice cream shop, knowing I needed a reward for the days travel and had the nicest ice cream lady every. She even overflowed the cup with extra ice cream. Apparently the two must balance each other out.