After a wonderful night's rest, John and I arose and contacted the front desk for information on reaching the car rental office. An attendant took us out to the TICA bus lobby and found a taxi driver who knew where we needed to go. Well, he said he knew where we could find Hertz but after two or three attempts, it was apparent that he had an unclear understanding and was unable to locate the rental agency. The third attempt was at the Crowne Plaza where there was a sign indicating that Hertz cars were available there. So, after two false starts, we arrived at a place with promise.
We paid our driver and walked into the lobby and were directed to a small office. We walked in and found both Dollar and Hertz sharing a small space therein. We talked first with Hertz and they checked and found that since we failed to report for our reservation the night before, our reservation was completely cancelled. And, they had no cars so we turned to Dollar who offered us an upgrade for just a couple of US dollars more. So, we decided that any port in a storm was good and signed a contract for an almost new Corolla. We waited no more than 15 minutes and we soon drove off in the new vehicle which had nearly no cosmetic imperfections. A word here for those intending to rent vehicles in Central America: be prepared to examine in depth every nook and cranny of the car for imperfections because you will be responsible for any new marks or scratches acquired or not otherwise noted prior to your accepting the vehicle. Also, have a good balance available on your credit card because they will hold anywhere from USD800 to USD2,100 until you return your car in the exact same condition as you took it from the agency. Also, if you are not somewhat proficient in King Carlos' idiom, you might want to take somebody who is able to converse freely along with you.
John and I jumped into the car and with his navigation we drove back to the TICA hotel where Don and Nance were waiting for us. We collected them and all of our belongings and John within one hour had us moved from the capital city to the delightful colonial town of Granada. This town in some ways resembles Antigua in Guatemala but with one very major difference. That would be the altitude above sea level where each of these populated areas is situated. Antigua sits at about one mile above the level of the seas of the world while Granada sits on the shores of the largest lake in Nicaragua at about 188 feet above the mean sea level. The population of Antigua is approximately 45,000 while the population of Granada is nearly double at 90,000. Humid and hot would be two terms I might honestly apply if I were describing Granada and cool and comfortable for Antigua. You get the drift. While we are at it chalk up another difference: horses are used to transport tourists in buggies in Granada and there is an omnipresent stench of equine urine and defecation in the streets and sidewalks of Granada. This is not the case in Antigua as the only animals who might be responsible for fouling the sidewalks and roadways there would be dogs, cats and humans.
But before we arrived at Granada, we passed by the Masaya Volcano National Park. It is the first national park in Nicaragua. We drove into the entrance booth, paid our fees and continued for another five miles to the cauldron of the Masaya Volcano. We were warned to stay in the area of the active volcano for no more than twenty minutes and to park our vehicle in a position where it was backed into the parking space. This was to ensure that should the volcano erupt, we could get out more quickly than if we were to head in front-first. We were also warned that should there be eruption, that we should seek shelter under the chassis of the vehicle. Lots of luck in that three of us are larger in the mid-section than the distance from the roadway to the undercarriage of the car. Nance would be the only one able to squeeze under the car. So, it was a nice idea but for the majority of us, a waste of words. Such is life in the fast and portly lanes. We did manage to see the volcano and breathed into our lungs no more than twenty minute's worth of the sulfuric steam escaping from the bowels of the earth.
So, John led us directly to the street of the hostel where he had booked us. A disgruntled and unemployed Irish gentleman had packed up his bags and moved lock, stock and barrel to Nicaragua. He had found this tourist facility and was now sharing it with sojourners for a bargain price. There were perhaps six or seven different rooms which were situated about a small swimming pool in the central court in the double leveled home. Aside one of the edges of the pool was a kitchen which was available for all who called La Casa del Agua home for the night.
John and I waddled out to the central park area and he visited a bank where we obtained some Nicaraguan cash with his ATM card. We then sat on the front veranda of one of the hotels overlooking the park and had licuados of pineapple. Then we returned to the hostel to fetch the remaining contingency of family for a walk about together. We visited a few shops and walked part way down to the lake shore. Finally, we returned and found our afternoon eating place on the main avenue running perpendicular to the main plaza in the direction of the lake. It was a gorgeous hotel with restaurant facility and coffee shop. We sat in the restaurant and enjoyed another good meal. I ordered a chef salad and a tuna sandwich (which I consumed the next day for lunch on the bus ride to Costa Rica). We shared a couple of desserts but my favorite one was a rich , moist chocolate cake drenched with a a chocolate sauce. We sat around and had good measures of tea and coffee before we decided to return to the hostel for the evening.
John and I were assigned an upstairs room with two beds. Don and Nance were given a room on ground level just off of the pool. During the early evening I asked the owner if his location was quiet. He responded that there was a club behind the property and that there was also a large mango tree above the roof both of which had tended to disturb the otherwise quiet of the night of Granada. John and I found him to be true to his word. The mangoes never ceased to disappoint us as their reports of converging with our roof overhead disrupted sleep dozens of times as the fruit collided with the tin covering with a canon shot. The revelers at the bar were entertained with a loud thumping throb throughout the darkness of the night until the clock struck two. Then there were shouts and sounds of glee as those who had imbibed found their egresses. The quiet was welcome and now only the occasional bombardment of the ripe mangoes would serenade us.
I suspect the quiet was just too much for me as I lay awake and finally decided I should get up and go down into the kitchen area to update this blog. That I did while enjoying one or two cups of freshly infused tea.
Not long after I was joined by others in the compound. There was a couple from Portugal, two young ladies from Sweden and a family from Maine who were all enjoying the hostel during our stay. All of us enjoyed exchanging our experiences and the portly inn keeper too added spice to the conversation.
As morning broke the rest of our gang also stirred. Our hostel was just one block off of the central plaza where on an adjacent lateral stood a gorgeous yellow and white colonial Catholic church. The central plaza is vibrant with peddlers, horse buggies and tourists as well as locals. The central park is surrounded with good eating establishments and hotels. But, we were desirous of breaking our fast so now that was priority for us. On a previous visit to Granada, John and I had found a great eating place for breakfast. We decided to walk the two or three blocks and see if the eating establishment named after the owner's deceased former wife was open. It was and we had a substantial repast there to start the day. That duty having been ticked off of our to-do list, we headed back for the hostel where we packed and stowed our things into the car and headed back to Managua to turn the car in and head for the TICA bus depot for our next road adventure and our penultimate leg of our journey to Jacó, Costa Rica.
It was Sunday morning and the roadways were neither full of vehicles nor of pedestrians. So, our passage way back was relatively unobstructed by buses starting and stopping, bicycles and walkers. We opted to swing by a mirador or overlook that we had visited previously. We drove off the road about five miles through a small white village that is known for its plant nurseries and flowers and is known by the name Catarina. We ended up in a parking area which gave access to an overlook across a lake which had filled the cone of a spent volcano. Very few fellow visitors were enjoying that spectacle that morning but we stopped and tarried a bit before we decided it was time to move on to Managua.
We made the return trip in good time, turned in the car and convinced the agent's assistant to drop us at the bus depot for our next adventure and noon departure for San Jose, Costa Rica.
But before we arrived at Granada, we passed by the Masaya Volcano National Park. It is the first national park in Nicaragua. We drove into the entrance booth, paid our fees and continued for another five miles to the cauldron of the Masaya Volcano. We were warned to stay in the area of the active volcano for no more than twenty minutes and to park our vehicle in a position where it was backed into the parking space. This was to ensure that should the volcano erupt, we could get out more quickly than if we were to head in front-first. We were also warned that should there be eruption, that we should seek shelter under the chassis of the vehicle. Lots of luck in that three of us are larger in the mid-section than the distance from the roadway to the undercarriage of the car. Nance would be the only one able to squeeze under the car. So, it was a nice idea but for the majority of us, a waste of words. Such is life in the fast and portly lanes. We did manage to see the volcano and breathed into our lungs no more than twenty minute's worth of the sulfuric steam escaping from the bowels of the earth.
So, John led us directly to the street of the hostel where he had booked us. A disgruntled and unemployed Irish gentleman had packed up his bags and moved lock, stock and barrel to Nicaragua. He had found this tourist facility and was now sharing it with sojourners for a bargain price. There were perhaps six or seven different rooms which were situated about a small swimming pool in the central court in the double leveled home. Aside one of the edges of the pool was a kitchen which was available for all who called La Casa del Agua home for the night.
John and I waddled out to the central park area and he visited a bank where we obtained some Nicaraguan cash with his ATM card. We then sat on the front veranda of one of the hotels overlooking the park and had licuados of pineapple. Then we returned to the hostel to fetch the remaining contingency of family for a walk about together. We visited a few shops and walked part way down to the lake shore. Finally, we returned and found our afternoon eating place on the main avenue running perpendicular to the main plaza in the direction of the lake. It was a gorgeous hotel with restaurant facility and coffee shop. We sat in the restaurant and enjoyed another good meal. I ordered a chef salad and a tuna sandwich (which I consumed the next day for lunch on the bus ride to Costa Rica). We shared a couple of desserts but my favorite one was a rich , moist chocolate cake drenched with a a chocolate sauce. We sat around and had good measures of tea and coffee before we decided to return to the hostel for the evening.
John and I were assigned an upstairs room with two beds. Don and Nance were given a room on ground level just off of the pool. During the early evening I asked the owner if his location was quiet. He responded that there was a club behind the property and that there was also a large mango tree above the roof both of which had tended to disturb the otherwise quiet of the night of Granada. John and I found him to be true to his word. The mangoes never ceased to disappoint us as their reports of converging with our roof overhead disrupted sleep dozens of times as the fruit collided with the tin covering with a canon shot. The revelers at the bar were entertained with a loud thumping throb throughout the darkness of the night until the clock struck two. Then there were shouts and sounds of glee as those who had imbibed found their egresses. The quiet was welcome and now only the occasional bombardment of the ripe mangoes would serenade us.
I suspect the quiet was just too much for me as I lay awake and finally decided I should get up and go down into the kitchen area to update this blog. That I did while enjoying one or two cups of freshly infused tea.
Not long after I was joined by others in the compound. There was a couple from Portugal, two young ladies from Sweden and a family from Maine who were all enjoying the hostel during our stay. All of us enjoyed exchanging our experiences and the portly inn keeper too added spice to the conversation.
As morning broke the rest of our gang also stirred. Our hostel was just one block off of the central plaza where on an adjacent lateral stood a gorgeous yellow and white colonial Catholic church. The central plaza is vibrant with peddlers, horse buggies and tourists as well as locals. The central park is surrounded with good eating establishments and hotels. But, we were desirous of breaking our fast so now that was priority for us. On a previous visit to Granada, John and I had found a great eating place for breakfast. We decided to walk the two or three blocks and see if the eating establishment named after the owner's deceased former wife was open. It was and we had a substantial repast there to start the day. That duty having been ticked off of our to-do list, we headed back for the hostel where we packed and stowed our things into the car and headed back to Managua to turn the car in and head for the TICA bus depot for our next road adventure and our penultimate leg of our journey to Jacó, Costa Rica.
It was Sunday morning and the roadways were neither full of vehicles nor of pedestrians. So, our passage way back was relatively unobstructed by buses starting and stopping, bicycles and walkers. We opted to swing by a mirador or overlook that we had visited previously. We drove off the road about five miles through a small white village that is known for its plant nurseries and flowers and is known by the name Catarina. We ended up in a parking area which gave access to an overlook across a lake which had filled the cone of a spent volcano. Very few fellow visitors were enjoying that spectacle that morning but we stopped and tarried a bit before we decided it was time to move on to Managua.
We made the return trip in good time, turned in the car and convinced the agent's assistant to drop us at the bus depot for our next adventure and noon departure for San Jose, Costa Rica.
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