A las anchas de uno

I have to admit, it took me a while to figure out how the literal meaning of this phrase, "to the width of one," translates to the figurative meaning, "feel at home." But I guess it means that if there is only one width, you are a part of it, and that's what I felt during our trip to Nicaragua. Tim has always told me how comfortable he felt amid Central American cultures, something that hasn't been apparent in Costa Rica. But when we got to Nicaragua, I understood. All the kids smiled and waved. Their parents exchanged hellos with us. Nicas did not have the "chip on their shoulder," as my landlady describes Ticos as having.

The warm welcome began with the arrival at our first hostel in Managua; even though we showed up in the middle of the night after ringing in the new year on a plane, our host graciously got out of bed to give us our room, trusting us to pay in the morning so she could quickly go back to sleep. The next day, we headed to the city's malecón, or promenade, on Lago de Managua. Despite the fact that we were clearly the only foreigners in sight, we were enthusiastically greeted and served the first of many cheap liter cervezas and ceviche cocktails (all emptied with impunity).
Before catching the bus to our next destination, we wandered around the Área de Monumental, one of the few tourist attractions, if you can call it that, in the capital. One church was left in ruins after two earthquakes. A sign on it read "Christmas for solidarity"; in this country, apparently, the holidays are politicized, not commercialized. A photo posted in front of the cathedral showed how Faith Plaza is where people recognize the anniversary of the Sandinista uprising that felled Somoza's dictatorship in the country.
On the eve of New Year's Day in León, the whole town seemed to be shoring up their resolutions with a mass Mass in the central plaza, which was filled with hot dog, fried chicken, T-shirt and other vendors. There was even a trampoline and bouncy house to occupy the youngsters while the adults exercised their piety. The former capital appeared to be suffering from a clash of its colonial customs and its liberal leanings (rumor has it, the entire town fought against Somoza).
The mass ended in a flourish, with a small series of fireworks set off from just beside the church, which sealed the deal on this being a progressive city. As if the Jesus figure adorned in Christmas lights atop the cathedral wasn't enough. But just to make sure we had seen our full share of forward-thinking, before we left the next morning, we visited the home of Rubén Darío, who helped spread the Modernist literary movement from the Americas to the world.
From León, we headed to its cross-country rival, Granada. The city was the first colonial outpost, leading to its establishment as an economic powerhouse. Not to be outdone, León chose to get a foothold in the political arena by endorsing an American to control Granada from abroad. The competition ultimately led to Managua being declared the capital and Granada choosing to be politically opposite of León in the Sandinista revolt, even today considering itself the more conservative city. Indeed, one sign indicated more restrictions: At the "tourist center" malecón on Lago de Nicaragua, people aren't allowed to swim in the water. But apparently, cows and horses may graze on the basketball court nearby.
The real tourist center of Granada is a pedestrian-only street connecting the central plaza to the lake. While walking back toward the square, we stopped to watch a sandlot baseball game, where players sang the praises of former Cleveland Indian Dennis Martínez, the first Nicaraguan to play in the Major Leagues, and tipped us off to game that night at the local stadium. The liberalness of León still lingering on us and not sure whether the game started at 5 or 6 p.m., we stopped for a beer. We made it to the game only an hour late, but it was already in the seventh inning. Apparently, the action moves faster without TV timeouts. And in another distinction from American stadiums, beers were being sold until the last out -- for less than a dollar!
Our next stop, San Juan del Sur, was plenty American, but we had to spend at least one night at a beach, right? Many people had told us it was overwhelmed with tourists, but on a Sunday night, we had no problem finding a room. But those same people were right about the beach being overrated. The sand and surf wasn't spectacular, but the view from our balcony was serene enough.
The tourists in San Juan del Sur must head to the surrounding hills after the sun goes down, because after drinking happy-hour beers right up until the 8 p.m. deadline, the town seemed to shut down. I was a little worried about finding something to eat, but when we wandered into the locals part of town, plenty of people were out and about. An enticing odor lured us to the first of many standard grilled meals: chicken, rice and beans, plantain chips, and cabbage salad. Our thanks goes out to Juanita for keeping us from starving and making our first BBQ platter the best.
With that load of food still filling up my belly, we headed to another coastal location, but this time it was on the freshwater Lago de Nicaragua. As we rode the ferry to Isla de Ometepe, with lots of waves and little breathing room, I was hoping not to be that tourist, the one who gets seasick. I needn't have worried, though, because an old lady native beat me to it; and yet, after seeing her do the deed, I was still able to keep my chuck down.
After another packed ride, this time by bus, to our hotel in Altagracia, we ended up resorting to another BBQ meal in a sleepy town. But it was a good idea to power us through riding bikes the next day around the island, which happens to be quite hilly and have very few paved roads. Our first stop was Ojo de Agua, a natural spring that manages not to get heated by the two volcanoes that make up the island. But the cool water pools -- which reminded me of Blue Spring in Florida, but with more English speakers -- were refreshing after nearly an hour of bumpy biking.
After cooling off, we continued on to Santo Domingo, purportedly one of the nicest beaches on the island. The rough water didn't look enticing to me, but the smooth beers at the beachside huts did. Plus, the view overlooking the lake was a nice reward after another leg on our rocky ride.
Tim did brave the waves while I stayed safely on the shore, worrying that we wouldn't make it back on our bikes before nightfall, especially if he got tired out by the battering whitecaps. But I did at least discover how to use the full digital zoom on my camera, which let me shoot Tim, photographically that is, from at least 400 meters away.
The boat ride back from the island was not only less jarring than the first ferry trip and bike trek combined, but it was also more scenic. The mystic majesty of Volcan Concepción, foreground, and Volcan Maderas wasn't a bad impression to carry in my mind as we took a 9-hour bus ride (okay, three were spent getting through the border) back to Costa Rica.