Nicaragua has fewer volcanoes than Guatemala but more of them are active and one of those went pop yesterday. I found this from the guide on the bus, which took us through far more interesting sights than yesterday’s bus. The tour guide kept interrupting himself to look at it through the window, tell us, “That is so cool.”
He took more photographs than we did.
A town, small single storey buildings, bars but no glass in the windows and doors, people sat on the porch at 9.30am. Some of them had children playing, one tiny tot in a pink dress behind bars, sharing a playpen three foot wide with two others. After yesterday’s colour the people seem dressed in more muted tones. It all looks very poor in the town but evidence of wealth in the countryside, the razorwire topped fences giving way to large pastures with cattle or horses.
Another town, the edges lined with walled estates, then walled communities. Closer in a shanty town, tiny corrugated iron huts each in its own square of parched dirt. Beyond that a baseball match, bright colours on the players. The road was lined with litter, plastic discarded everywhere, the occasional wild dog, a donkey cart. That was an anomaly, there’s plenty of motor transport, four wheels more than two.
That continual shift in wealth and living conditions continues, the poor houses with no walls or fences, richer ones hidden away.
It’s hard to see the volcano to the left of the bus, the sky filled with ash, occasionally cleared enough by the wind to see it still spewing from the summit.
Colonial Leon is a big cathedral, a tour of which the guide seemed to think we all wanted and needed. He asked who didn’t want the 76 step climb to its roof, seemed surprised when I declined the opportunity. Off the bus he gathered everybody in the square, sellers of tat crowding around us, idiots with wooden bird shaped whistles making bird noises on them. I considered violence but just walked away, abandoned the tour. I’ve seen plenty of cathedrals, this one is only a couple of centuries old and I could easily wander the outside anyway.
The outside proved excellent. It’s a medium sized town and I’d found the town centre, shops selling anything and everything, locals milling around, cars cramming the streets and small children being mainly carried. As with Guatemala there were guards everywhere but not armed and the police presence was both far lower and also far more concerned about traffic. The police are armed, and in sharp contrast to Guatemala many of them are women, same uniform as the men, baseball caps and no stab vest.
You could transport the whole town to the southern edge of Spain and the clothing, the language, the behaviours, the weather would all fit right in. Only the prices are lower, except for the coffee.
The main square has an unexplained giant woman, dwarfing the man next to her.
I find a cafe, and (as I’d been told was the case in Guatemala) they only do instant coffee. I’d just bought three pound of coffee beans from a supermarket, maybe I should have offered to open them. I ordered a beer instead, mainly just needing a seat out of the sun. He brought me something local with a hat on.
At noon a loud siren. We’d been warned that this would happen, some religious nonsense. I’d found a smaller church than the Cathedral a few streets away, prettier and with paintings of the passion of christ on the front. In one of them he’s wearing a skirt. There’s street art in Leon too, some of it hinting at deep political divides. I have photographs.
Even the police station has its official crest painted on the wall by hand, an informal proclamation of very formal powers.
I finish my beer, head back to the bus early. The bar has no wifi and I’d spotted an open hotspot where the bus parked 😉
It lets me check the news, upload yesterday’s update, then dies. Oh well.
Leaving town, the suburbs, decrepit buildings, schoolboys in matching t-shirts, tiny huts that are market stalls. A full wall mural dating back to the assassination of one of the 20th century dictators, a community reply to his son’s response.
As the bus turned, bringing the volcano into view through my window, it created a new crater, a vast cloud of dust flying sideways from just below the summit. More dust and ash followed, more sedately this time, heading upwards until the wind carried it away, a continual rain of dirt downwind from the volcano.
The aircon on the bus died, the sun through the window turning the inside into a glasshouse. Everybody got warm except the guide who got hot and started to panic, incapable of handling the warmth. He’s Nicaraguan, seems strange that this is new to him. We stopped the bus just half an hour from the ship, everybody invited to disembark and board a replacement.
I was kind, allowed everybody else off first, the heat not an issue to me. My reward was the last remaining seat on the slightly smaller new bus, by the bus toilet, a strong scent of stale urine for the remainder of the journey.
The ship is only in port for nine and a half hours today. I had to meet for the bus an hour after we arrived, too little time to see the port itself. We returned just 45 minutes before departure, so again, no chance to do anything. Out of 9 1/2 hours I’d had under two hours on land that wasn’t sat on a bus, rather disappointing and very much not worth the $60 I’d prepaid for the transfer to Colonial Leon.
Back on board a call from Guest Services. They’d chased head office on my behalf, but still no response to my complaint. I found coffee, sat on the aft balcony, watched three volcanoes spew ash and steam into the air as we left Nicaragua.
Dinner was bad. So bad that when I returned to my room I used the online feedback form to send an apology to the maitre’d. He’d been unable to seat me, offering a pager and telling me when asked that the wait would be around 45 minutes. I politely turned it down and said, “I’ll go to the Lido, at least I can get food there.”
As I walked away I heard him calling after me with hurt tones. I have sympathy, he can’t help the ship having too few tables, too few waiters and an incompetent kitchen.
The incompetence of the kitchen was demonstrated as my naive assumption that I could eat in the Lido was shattered on arrival. They had a menu so I asked for the filet mignon. They didn’t have any.
The Lido has two stations, one either side of the ship so I walked around and asked there. They had none either.
I returned to the first, waited patiently. Ten minutes later more meat arrived, so I asked for some, then inquired about the seared snow peas. They had none, hadn’t the whole time I’d been there. I gave up on those, asked for the loaded mashed potato.
“Mashed potato?” asked the lady serving.
“No, loaded mashed potato.”
“No,” she said, “it’s loaded baked potato or mashed potato.”
“No, the loaded mashed potato,” I asked, being patient.
“No, we only have mashed potato,” she told me. I turned the menu around, showed her the loaded baked potato, under that the loaded mashed potato, beneath that a line offering the ‘available every evening’ option of mashed potato/fries.
“Ok,” she said, “So loaded baked potato or mashed potato?”
Given it was already 20 minutes after I’d first reached the dining room I’m feeling good that I just stood there, paused, calmly suggested, “The loaded mashed potato. There, in between the other two.”
At that point she enlisted the help of a colleague. He looked at the menu, shook his head, told me that they didn’t have that. My filet mignon, loaded mashed potatoes and seared snow peas would’ve been lovely.
This is the third cruise ship I’ve been on, all the same cruise line. Only this one makes you queue for the main dining room, tells you there’s a 45 minute wait for a table, takes 105 minutes to serve two courses, puts things on the menu in the Lido that aren’t available, has queues in the Lido. I do hope they’re not expecting a good review.
Some time reading, then my cabin phone rings. It’s the restaurant manager, expressing sympathy and asking if she can meet me at dinner tomorrow night. I hang up and pace around my cabin stressed about what she’ll say and do tomorrow. It’s chastening to have reaffirmed your mental inability to let nice things happen to you.
Only 5km walked today but another cold has arrived. I go to bed early, try and fall asleep while travelling across the 18th deepest stretch of water on the planet.