An Evening in Managua

The first thing I notice when we leave our hotel for the street are the stands of vendors selling t-shirts, flags, ball caps and other merchandise with the faces of Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, Hugo Chavez and Daniel Ortega. At first I think it might be just one stall, but then I notice there are many and on both sides of the busy street.

Several t-shirts commemorate the 1979 revolution and nearly all of them have the letters "FSLN" across the front. I see several images of a cowboy with the last name of Sandino.

I quickly realize that we have thrust ourselves in the center of government propaganda. Perhaps I should have guessed. The booths sit across the street from a large roundabout with the name Rotunda Hugo Chavez. At the edge of the roundabout is a large depiction of the late dictator's image.

Propaganda t-shirts. 

Rotunda Hugo Chavez.

There's a lot to take in. This is the chaotic capital of Nicaragua, a city surrounded by volcanoes, and largely dismissed by tourists. We just risked our lives trying to cross the road, being passed by all sizes of cars, mopeds, tuk-tuks and even a horse-drawn carriage. But now we are safe on the large sidewalk and I am perusing the t-shirts, wondering if I dare buy one.

From a speaker on the other side of the street blasts out a symphony that sounds to me like a Soviet march. I wonder if these are citizens trying to make a living, or hired by the government to sell its propaganda. Next door are more outdoor stalls, but selling a variety of foods. A sign reads: Bienvenidos – Tiangue Hugo Chavez. (Tiangue is a word primarily used in Central America and the Philippines meaning an open-air street market.)

The cowboy guy, whose picture I've see on several t-shirts, is Augusto César Sandino, a national hero and revolutionary of Nicaragua. He was executed in 1934 as the Somoza family seized power of the country. In 1961 the FSLN (Frente Sandinista de Liberación Nacional) was organized and named after Sandino.

Banner commemorating Augusto Sandino.

In 1979 the Sandinistas overthrew the Somoza family and retook control of the country. Leading up to the revolution they drew influence from Che Guevara and Fidel Castro. Since then the government found an ally and monetary support in Hugo Chavez. All these men are included in Nicaragua's pantheon of national heroes.

The other thing we notice on the streets of Managua are the colorful 50-foot tall metal tree statues that seem to be everywhere. We saw them as we were driving in and now they line Avenida Bolivar.

These statues are either beautiful or tacky, depending on who you ask. Called "Trees of Life," they were introduced a decade ago by the first lady, Rosario Murillo. (It is interesting to note that she is the great-grandniece of Augusto Sandino.) They were inspired by a painting from the Austrian artist, Gustav Klimt.

Each tree cost close to $25,000 (USD) to build, and extra to illuminate and maintain. There are over 140 in Managua. This has drawn ire from many citizens, especially since Nicaragua is the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere after Haiti. In 2018 protesters toppled and set ablaze many of the artificial trees.

Front-riding tuk-tuk in Managua. 

On our right we pass the National Arboretum, a dense forest in the middle of the city. After another block of walking we watch through a fence at a game of wheelchair basketball on a very colorful court. Unfortunately the game is nearly over and within a minute the athletes are packing up.

Across the street from here is the Olympic Pool. The full-sized swimming pool is complete with a large grandstand. It makes me wonder if Managua ever held any major competitions, or if this too, is propaganda.

Kitty corner to where we stand is Pedro Joaquín Chamorro Park and the Monument to the Martyrs. Chamorro was a journalist who published an opposition newspaper prior to the revolution. In January of 1978 he was assassinated when a gunman pulled up alongside his car and opened fire. His death helped spark the revolution.

Encircled about a plaza are over a dozen monuments with images and names of men and women who in one way or another contributed to the independent state of Nicaragua. These include people like Cacique (or chief) Diriangén, a native Nicaraguan king who fought a Spanish army and forced them back into Panama during the early colonial era.

Another monument is dedicated to Concepción Palacios Herrera, the first female physician in Nicaragua. She went to Mexico for schooling, but returned to Nicaragua in 1928 where she supported Sandino's fight against the American occupation of the country. She was later taken as a political prisoner.

Many, but not all of the individuals honored in the plaza were assassinated for the cause and became martyrs.

Monument to the Martyrs commemorating national heroes of Nicaragua. 

For years now I have looked forward to visiting the Old Cathedral of Managua. Building began in 1928 and lasted for a decade. Patterned after the church of Sant Sulpice in Paris, it was designed by Belgian architects.

It was heavily damaged in the 1972 Nicaragua earthquake and the building was condemned. Rather than tear it down, it has stood as an icon of the city for the last fifty-four years.

The church is set off the main avenue, away from the chaos and bustle. As we enter the Plaza of the Revolution the old cathedral comes into view in all its majesty. It stands like a castle with its two bell towers jutting into the cerulean sky.

Palms and other trees grow below and a fence surrounds the building. A tacky red banner is pasted across the front: “LA PAZ ES NUESTRA VICTORIA!” (Peace is our victory!)

As we get closer we can see cracks along the side and bell tower. Through the many windows we notice that there is no stained glass, but open air that gives us a peek inside. Looking into the nave I see what appears to be a high-relief sculpture of two winged angels, one of them clasping hands with someone else. From my puny angle I don't see any painted murals and it doesn't even appear that there is a full ceiling.

Side view of Managua Cathedral.

Cracks along the bell tower. 

More cracks and a statue of a monk.

A glimpse inside the vacant cathedral. 

Above the front face of the cathedral is a high-relief carving of a man on a horse with his sword drawn and at least nine men running or falling down from his presence. Atop the gabled roof is a statue of whom I presume is Jesus Christ. The Savior only has one arm and the entire front portion of his body is badly deteriorated.

Beyond the front steps and pillars of the cathedral are the front doors. These are closed off by iron gates. Through the slats we see two armed guards pacing the floor of the interior.

The Old Cathedral of Managua is a strange kind of beauty. Probably because it hasn't been maintained, it appears much older than a century. It is a relic in a city that is striving to be modern. Maybe it's because we are off the main avenue, but there is a peace here.

A detailed frieze below the gable of the cathedral. 

Old Cathedral of Managua. 

We return to the traffic and din of Avenida Bolívar. (Did I mention that this street was named after Simón Bolívar, the Venezuelan military officer and statesman who led several South American countries to independence from the Spanish Empire? There seems to be a common theme here!)

The avenue comes to an end (or more exactly, a “T”) at the edge of Lake Managua. Here there is a large plaza with well over a dozen Trees of Life. There is also a long line of street vendors that all seem to be selling hamburgers, hotdogs and elotes.

The lake is very large and we can faintly see mounds of land on the other side. About five miles away, jutting into the lake, is a peninsula that we can see well. On this strip of land is the Chiltepe Volcano, part of a chain that runs from the northern border of the country all the way to Lake Nicaragua.

It is a beautiful lake and a peaceful place to take a break and watch the people in the plaza. Here there is also a monument of Simón Bolívar, riding victoriously on a horse.

A glimpse of Avenida Simon Bolivar. 

Trees of Life in Plaza Nicaragua. 

Lake Managua and Chiltepe Volcano in the background. 

Street vendor at Plaza Nicaragua. 

I look southward toward the long-stretching avenue and see dark and juicy storm clouds forming over the city. We decide it is time to make our way back. This time we choose to walk on the other side of the road.

We find food stalls next to the road with tables to sit down. I see they are selling güirilas and recognize them as a typical Nicaraguan food.

Güirilas are made of young sweet corn, blended into a paste, then grilled like a pancake. Instead of pouring the dough directly onto a griddle, it is first cooked between two banana leaves, then finished directly on the griddle.

I sit down at a table as I watch the traffic. By now it has started to drizzle. My güirila is served with cream and cuajada, a local white cheese. The taste is slightly sweet, and the cream and cheese are appreciated, adding an extra savor and texture. I also buy a drink made with fresh mangoes.

Cooking corn on the cob for elotes. 

Güirilas served with cream and cuajada.  

We continue our walk along the avenue. Rain has stopped and the lights of the city are coming on. Trees of Life are now illuminated.

Next to the street is a statue of a man with no shirt, with a pickaxe in one hand and raising an automatic rifle in the other. At the base of the statue are the words: “Solo los obreros y campesinos irán hasta el fin.” (Only the workers and farmers will make it to the end.)

This is a quote from none other than our good friend, Augusto Sandino. I believe it was intended to fire up the working class.

Another monument in Managua.

A shack along Avenida Bolivar.

Mural on a building that is in the process of being demolished. 

It is interesting that amid this street that seems to be filled with government propaganda intended to make the city look magnificent, we pass a row of shacks along the way. One of them in particular stands out as the front is nothing but patched together corrugated metal. The door is made of old wood and we watch as the inhabitants walk in and out.

We pass the Monument to the Martyrs, now illuminated under the evening sky. Next we come within view of the larger-than-life image of Hugo Chavez.

As we walk, I am becoming more and more resolved to buy a t-shirt of one of the national heroes, possibly Che Guevara or Hugo Chavez. Perhaps it would be best to choose Sandino since no one would know who he is. Of course, it would all be tongue-in-cheek.

To my disappointment, when we arrive at the place of all the vendors, every single one that was once selling t-shirts, flags and ball caps of notorious Nicaraguan heroes are now gone for the day. It is interesting to note that all the food vendors are still out, making me wonder if the propaganda vendors are all hired by the government . . . and now it's after 5 pm.

Trees of Life now illuminated at night. 

All signs of twilight are now gone and it is clearly the evening hour. We have an early-morning flight so it is time to head back to our hotel at the Crowne Plaza.

There's a shopping mall between us and the hotel. I need a little more to eat. We find a grocery store on the bottom level of the mall and there we find one more pleasant surprise. From the deli we buy a plate of nacatamales. ♠

Monument to Hugo Chavez.

First Hours on Isla Grande del Maíz

From the window of the plane I could see the blue waves of the water come closer into view. Then streaks of turquoise, followed by a thin stretch of white beach, a thick stand of palms, then the corrugated roofs of the shacks. After that it was a blur of greenery and bright colors until the wheels of the aircraft touched the ground and jolted us in our seats.

The ATR 42-300 twin-propeller plane reached the end of the runway and circled around to a small rectangular building called the airport. We came down the air stairs to the tarmac and into the little building where we waited for workers to bring our luggage.

Outside the building a man in a white shirt and pot belly came asking if we needed a taxi. I couldn't tell if he was speaking Spanish or English, but could understand the gist of his question. “One dollar a person,” he added, but he had to repeat it twice.

We walked to his old beater, a car that looked like a Volkswagen Rabbit with a large crack across the windshield. Our two carry-on bags barely fit inside the trunk.

Jenelle and I sat in the back seat, but were surprised when he picked up two girls on the short drive to our lodging. They were in their early teens and of a beautiful Afro-Caribbean complexion. One sat in the front and the other in the back seat next to me. The three of us barely fit. He dropped them off at the beach. “I have to take any opportunity I can,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if he had to justify.

I won't bore the reader with the details of our hotel, but sufficeth to say, our cabana was close to the beach and looked like a thatched hut.

By this time I was very surprised at what I had seen. Nearly everyone was of African descent and they were everywhere playing in the streets, walking the streets, and at their homes which were little more than patched-up boards.

We walked along a narrow paved road that ran along a slender beach. Palm trees grew along the side and groups of boys played together in the water. Up ahead we could see a congregation of boats at the port.

Everyone was friendly. A young man came up alongside us, smoking a cigarette. The left pant leg of his blue jeans was pulled up to his calf. “How are you?” he asked.

He went on to point at what looked like stacks of wooden pallets on one of the boats and explained they were cages to trap lobsters. That's where he worked, but now he was on his way to meet his wife.

As we continued we passed several living quarters. With the exception of two nice houses the rest were very modest or simply shacks. Some stood on stilts. Others had chickens running around. Most, I would say, had someone in the the front sitting on a chair enjoying the breeze. I expected to hear a strumming banjo.

We passed a small white building with an ATM machine on the inside. This was the island bank. I would need to use it later.

Nearby a small footpath led through a fence and across the airport runway. This was the shortcut to the other side of the island.

Across from the port we found a little nook that sold food. We sat down at a table and a lady asked if we wanted something to drink. She brought a Coke and water, then we waited. A hot charcoal grill on the other side of the open-faced room sent smoke rising into the air. The lady used tongs to place marinated chicken on the grill. We thought she would return with a menu, but never did.

Meanwhile, a stray mutt came and sat right beside my chair. A skinny homeless man with filthy dreadlocks and swarthy skin sat on the steps in front of us. He, like the dog, was hoping for a crumb of food.

I finally went to the lady and asked if there was a menu. “No,” she said. “It is a buffet and it is 280 córdobas a plate.” She pointed to trays of food enclosed inside a glass casing.

We were hungry and began to pile food onto our plates. I didn't know the name of anything except the white rice with red beans, known locally as gallo pinto. I piled on pasta, two drumsticks, fish and a chicken breast.

By now the flies had found us. The warm food layered with the hot and humid summer weather left our skin with beads of sweat. The homeless man twice made eye contact with Jenelle.

On our way back to the room we enjoyed the now cooling summer evening. Heavy storm clouds billowed in the west. All the grass and trees were green. A subtle breeze enhanced the ambiance of the evening.

At the room we changed into our swimming suits and walked a few minutes to the beach. A stray dog followed us.

The white sand beneath our feet felt fluffy. We waded into the warm water where we bobbed and talked for the next half hour. The sky gradually darkened as distant street lamps now bore illumination.

All was quiet except our talk and the incoming baby waves that pushed us around. Twice I saw bolts of lightning far to the west. This was an omen of adventure to come.

All was well in that moment on a far-flung island that no one's ever heard of. This was just the beginning. Jenelle and I had five more days in this paradise. ♠