Talking to myself in a monologue...(* thanks for the line Dylan)

While I don’t think I can write in such sweeping detail as I did about my first trip to Nicaragua 3 years ago – my first impressions of place and experience are that much more vibrant, and, well, I think I drank more tequila this go around – the trip should not go completely unnoted. This was also essentially Leila’s first brush with her paternal homeland, as she was all of 10 months last time, and it was much fun in that respect. The poor child must think she has no less than 1,000 aunts and uncles because each time we joined a new family gathering she was told “here’s your Tio A, and there’s your Tio B … now go give your Tias X and Y a hug….”, but she seemed to have a pretty good handle on everyone and their relations at the end of 10 days and she had a blast with her cousins Nadine and Ethel. Well, as much of a blast as 5.5, 4 and 2.5 year old girls can have with each other before inevitable clashes arise.

First off, Nicas have to be about the best party people I know. And I love that it’s a multi-generational thing. Yes, it was the 24 or so year old cousins who were out at the Managua clubs multiple nights (and the one night I entered a club, I’m not even sure I made it to 1a.m.), but the Tios and Tias can hang at the all-night wedding celebrations longer and with more energy and liveliness than can I. The purpose of our trip was Cesar’s cousin Mare’s wedding and we arrived in time to attend her civil marriage ceremony at the beach followed by the church wedding a week later with a shower/bachelor party, rehearsal dinner and several informal gatherings and cook-outs in between. I won’t detail meal by meal, day by day (OK, as I reread, I kind of did just that) as I did with our 2006 trip, but suffice it to say I am in full on withdrawal mode from gallo pinto, churrasco, ginormous whole fish, fried cheese and plantains (Even though it was suggested that the cheese – non-pasteurized – is probably what contributed to several days of stomach ailment, which hit a number of us. I’d just Pepto it up one day and eat cheese the next in cycles.) As well as cold Victoria and Premium beer, Flor de Cana rum, and yes, tequila. I am also missing the 90 degree sun with pleasant cooling breezes at night. And hammocks. Oh how I adore those Hammocks at Tia Gloria’s beach house.

So, we arrived on Friday the 13th, and in spite of the inauspicious date, found ALL 3 SUITCASES waiting for us at the airport. The trip was relatively uneventful. Delay at Miami airport (no surprise there) due to mechanical problems with the plane and when those couldn’t be resolved, American luckily found a spare to load us onto. Incidentally, it was snowing when we left National. We were well into our descent to Sandino international airport when the plane suddenly bucked back up and started circling Lake Managua at what felt like 100 MPH. It was finally announced that the tower had informed the captain to delay the descent so that debris could be cleared from the runway. Yep, welcome to Nicaragua! The Brandts had us picked up at the airport and we went to their house to wait for some other family members with a vehicle to be ready to leave for the beach house in Pochomil – about an hour over ½ dirt roads from Managua. There we managed a tequila shot and beer or two with birthday cake for Nadine’s 30th before exhaustion took over. Leila stayed at the house to share a bed with her cousins and Cesar and I went with two of his aunts to other lodging Tia Gloria had arranged use of. I fondly dubbed said lodging “the tree house”, because, well, it was constructed like a log cabin up on stilts and a bit rustic, but clean and secure. Unfortunately I did not sleep a wink, because 1) Cesar had both A/C and fan on full blast and I was shivering under a sheet only, and 2) THE WIND. From our elevated, non-insulated perch, it howled off the waves like nothing I’ve heard. Seriously, I thought I may as well be in the eye of a hurricane.

Saturday, we went back to the BBH (Brandt Beach House) for breakfast. Cesar, Leila and I cruised around a bit, hung at the pool until being kicked out for the installation of floating flower arrangement fountains, then went to clean up for the civil wedding. The civil celebration was hosted by the groom’s family and a patch of beach had been tricked out in lounge mode with dance floor, modular white chairs, bar, buffet, band etc… All the guests, men and women, wore white and Mare was in striking purple contrast. It was lovely. Leila and Nadinecita had a blast sprinting from the yard, to the party to dance and spin and jump, and back again time and time again. Tequila shots were involved. Several of them. Maybe more than several. It’s a wonder that I never had a hangover. Leila and the girls eventually went to sleep in the house far, far too late of course and Cesar and I managed to hang until 2a.m. or thereabouts. Was reported that stragglers carried on the party until 5 or so.

Sunday was a perfectly lazy day at BBH. Aunts, uncles and cousins entered at staggered times for breakfast and we were in bathing suits well into the evening, snacking and drinking beer in and around the pool and in those fabulous hammocks. We took turns riding a dune buggy on the beach and Cesar actually managed to convince me to drive – with that slow, old lady like caution I exhibit when driving any 4-wheel vehicle. Cesar and I returned to sleep in the tree house, in a non-air conditioned room this time, which suited me just fine, but for whatever reason, sleep was relatively elusive. I closed my eyes with a little lizard on a beam overhead, but as they’re one of the very few critters that don’t bother me, I guess it was just a generalized insomnia, or, perhaps, not enough tequila.

Monday we returned to Managua mid-morning and showered off at that Brandt’s house before meeting up with cousins Rogelio and Tito and brother-in-law Michael for a delicious Rancho lunch. Mmmm… how I love churrasco w/ chimichuri sauce. I could likely consume a steak a day there. Yeah, I was hit hard with stomach ick shortly thereafter and suffered the better part of the next 24 hours, but that divine meat was surely not to blame. We then picked up our rental car and Cesar, Leila and I hit the road for his hometown Rivas, where we visited with relatives on his mother’s side. I guess I wrinkled my nose at some point when Cesar said he’d like to live in Rivas, because I’m still being accused of hatin’ on his birthplace. But really, I have nothing against the town, it’s just not nearly so scenic as the other colonial centers, and I always feel so closed in upon on its busy streets. It’s very nicely situated between the Pacific beaches and Lake Nicaragua; however, so if the goal is to spend 95% of the time at the beach and just retreat to the city for amenities, I’m there.

Speaking of the beach… We woke early with the sun Tuesday morning and packed up the car with the surf board Cesar stashes in Rivas for such occasions and hit the road in search of waves. And hit is the right word, as in head hitting the ceiling of the car as Cesar careened over the rougher patches of dirt road to reach the more remote (i.e.: best surf) enclaves. It was at this point in the trip when Cesar declared with his best dramatic flair that he would never return to Nicaragua (I figured it would take him 2 weeks to recant, but we didn’t even make that. He’s already saying he wants to go back and he doesn’t belong here/in D.C.), because many of the beach access points he recalls from back in the day are now inaccessible unless you’re resident to a gated foreign owned development. We did talk our way into one of those developments, Iguana, by telling the guard we were seeking information from the sales office and took a tour of the place with an agent. There you can own a top floor, 3 bedroom condo with beach view and private beach access for $250,000 or a 1 bedroom walkout to the beach for $150,000. Ridiculously affordable by U.S. standards, I know! But the benefit or tradeoff depending on your viewpoint is the isolation – we’re talking someone comes to sell fruit and veggies on the property once or twice a week and aside from that, you’re a good 45 minutes or more from a town with any infrastructure.

We finally found our way to “Tica 2”, a beach in Popoyo where Cesar and his friends used to go on surf ventures, and again, he was ranting and raving about development. Ummm, the development I saw was all of about a ½ mile dirt road, ½ dozen houses and 3 bungalow style surf hotel/restaurants where rooms went for $5 or $6 a night. Apparently, he liked it better when one had to trek through questionable bush and water with lord knows what terrifying spider species lurking at the edge to get to the beach, which was still wide open and perfectly accessible. But alas, the surfing was not to be. We lugged Leila’s sand toys out of the car and dragged ourselves through the hot sand for about 2 minutes before she was wailing inconsolably about the sand blowing at her face. Cesar scanned the waves for a moment and determined that the wind was neither in his favor, so we picked up and marched back to one of those surf hotels for lunch. At least the view was striking, the beer cold, and the fish delicious. Leila, who will eat almost any fish, so long as it’s filleted, took one look at the head and eye on mine, poked a finger at the tiny barred teeth and would have nothing to do with it. Couldn’t even convince her to have a French fry off my plate. She was also in near hysterics over the couple of feral dogs that were lingering back hoping for scraps. We did meet an interesting fellow named Leon – an Aussie by way of New York – who shared our table and talked surf with Cesar. He’s supposedly a children’s musician/entertainer following a stint in acting school, so if you’re a New Yorker looking for entertainment for your kid’s birthday party, do look old Leon up. Not that I can vouch for his talent or anything!

After stopping for a few scenic cliff top ocean photos, we took the road back to Rivas, as bumpy on the way back as it was going. Leila slept and conveniently woke to Cesar slowing down in the middle of the road buy himself an ice cream from a fellow with a cooler lashed to the front of his bicycle. I sat by with the wipes as she proceeded to turn herself into a dripping sticky mess. We decided to head back to Managua instead of spending a second night in Rivas and headed to our room at the Brandt Bed & Breakfast (one of the family’s two hotels) where I think I was actually asleep at 9:30!

Wednesday we woke for eggs and gallo pinto at the hotel, and after changing plans a couple times, decided to take Leila and head to Grenada for a tour of the Isletas, a sort of archipelago of islands in Lake Nicaragua formed by an eruption of Volcan Mombacho, many of which have been purchased and developed with extravagant weekend homes by Nicaragua’s rich and famous (or infamous as the case may be.) The highlight of the lazy boat tour to me, of course, was to see the monkey island, and though I was expecting something a little more Planet of the Apes in scope, I wasn’t disappointed when one of the 4 or 5 monkeys inhabiting the green space the size of my cubicle dropped down to a low branch to scoop up some water. Click, click, click of my camera. No sightings of the only existing freshwater sharks in the world. Leila had had it as we crept back to shore after an hour and a half and was ready to get back to the store we passed on the way into town with the piñata display, but we were able to bargain lunch out of her first.

Just to reiterate. I love Grenada. It’s so very pretty with its sharp red, yellow and cornflower blue trimmed in white Colonial facades that just pop out against the sun-drenched blue sky. We took a restaurant recommendation from the parking security guy and headed round the cathedral in search of El Zaguan and wow, parking security guy did not steer us wrong. We could smell the delicious meaty aroma grilling on spits as soon as we entered and were led into a lovely indoor courtyard setting. I wanted something to tide me over until Mare’s shower that evening, as I knew that these nighttime events were usually late dining affairs, and ordered chicken kebabs, which easily had a pound of meat on them. Cesar again went for a whole fish, called guacote or something of the like, which was the size of a serving platter. Leila had the same fish in battered fish stick format and was served about 12 of them. These meals with salad, bread and drinks set us back under $50 by the way. After the feast, we went back to the piñata store and let Leila pick out a small clown (my favorite), that I was then responsible for carrying home on the plane, and made the return trip to Managua.

Wednesday night was the bridal shower/bachelor party night, and while I’m not privy to the debaucherous detail of the bacheloring, the shower was lovely. I can hardly call it a shower, because aside from all the attendees being female, it in no way resembled the tea and bow-bouquet showers I am used to here. It was more a cocktail, dinner and dance party with, I’m guestimating, about two hundred guests. The host, a splendid artist, and his wife had a magnificent house upon a mini-mountain top above the city with his wall sized trompe l’oeil orange paintings dominating the interior and a spectacular, breezy wrap around patio exterior (have I used enough adjectives in that one sentence?). There was a band, sangria, rum and tequila, a phallic pastry display, a late chicken curry buffet, etc… Upon that event winding down, I joined Cesar’s sisters and cousins and Rogelio’s lovely girlfriend Vanessa for some night-clubbing, by which point, I should have been dancing off the booze and drinking water, but went to the balcony to sip another Ron con Coca and wait for Cesar and the boys to join us. Leila was sleeping at Tio Ramiro’s with her Mimi and Nono just for the record. And again, not to suggest I think I’m still young and hip for being in a club, I was probably there under an hour, leaving for bed shortly after Cesar arrived.

Thursday morning, the whole clan headed back to Rivas for a memorial mass honoring the Abarca matriarch at her old church. Cesar’s dad has five sisters and several cousins and it’s a rare occasion for all the children, grandchildren and cousins to be in one place to pay his grandmother their respects. The mass was in Spanish, so I can’t say much about that, but the musical selection was, ummm… interesting. I don’t quite know how to classify electronica church music. Everyone then visited her grave at Rivas’ interesting hill-top cemetery on the outskirts of town (the raised and varied tombs lent it a sort of New Orleans feel) and gathered for lunch at Grandma Abarca’s home, where Cesar’s great-Aunts still live. Then it was a blitz back to Managua via Masaya to pick up the flower girl gowns from the seamstress to arrive in time for the wedding rehearsal. I was dubious about the girls walking down the aisle in triangle formation, but they seemed comfortable in practice at least. The rehearsal was followed by, what else? Another social gathering. This time in the form of a casual cook-out at the Brant’s home. A mellow musician duo warmed up with those same American language standards you hear in any non-English speaking country (think “Hotel California” – the favorite of Moroccan cabbies) and we sipped cold beer and red wine in wait for more delicious churrasco, ribs, chorizo… I went back to the hotel with Leila at a relatively early 11:00 or so and let Cesar go out with the boys. I’m sure I missed something amusing at the crazy pyramid shaped night club, but sleep was not a bad thing at all!

With no formal activities on the agenda for Friday, Cesar, Leila, little Nadine, Rogelio, Tito, his girlfriend Melissa and I took a road trip to the town of Leon, where we met up with Vanessa ready to give us a tour of her home. Leon is the colonial contemporary to Grenada, but was base to the liberals and poets. Even on boulders leading into town, I could see more FSLN (Sandinista party) and red and black painted graffiti. Food was first on the agenda, of course, more whole fresh fish, and fueled by that we took off for sight-seeing. Vanessa guided us to the beautiful Convento hotel, the cultural arts center, and the old cathedral, where she pointed out poet Ruben Dario’s memorial and hired a guide to take us to the roof for stunning views of “the ring of fire” volcanoes and the town's numerous other cathedrals. Cesar and I opted for a low-key Friday night with the tios/tias at Tio Ramiro’s in lieu of more clubbing with the cousins. It’s always nice to sip Scotch with Tio Ramiro and hear of his early days spent as an interpreter in Russia.

It was probably a good thing that we didn’t join the youngsters out Friday night, because Saturday morning in the hotel, they looked spent. Leila and I had managed to sleep until about 10:30 ourselves, even with the early lights out. Once everyone had rallied enough, we headed for another leisurely churrasco lunch, knowing that dinner would likely be served at 11:00, then dispersed for our wedding preparations. Our three flower girls were way too precious in their floor length ivory tiered dresses and they performed just fine walking down the aisle. I of course spent the rest of the ceremony up and down following Leila in and out the church’s side door, but from what I could tell, it was lovely. I did my obligatory tearing up at Ave Maria (get’s me every time) and Mare was stunning in her strapless, mermaid, lace gown.

By the time we got the kiddos their Burger King meals and got them in their pjs at the hotel it was nearing 10:00, but I wasn’t worried about missing too much of the reception, having some experience with these all night affairs. I’m told there were about 500 guests at the reception, and it was your perfect mix of sophistication and wildness. I’m no longer surprised by the “carnivale” segments of these parties, but the full drum band and stilt walkers were a blast, as well as the wacky headgear, glasses and jewels. I was grabbed to participate in the sombrero wearing, handing out of ribboned ceramic tequila glass segment (you just never know when you might need that shot of tequila hanging round your neck!) Somehow we missed the taco bars, which followed the dinner buffet, but not the tequila bar! It was all in all a blast, and, surprise surprise, Cesar and I were about the first to leave at 3:00a.m. And thank goodness we did, because all three girls were wide awake with the hotel room open, lights and TV on. No, they weren’t unattended, but the girls we’d hired to watch them hadn’t thought to enforce sleep.

Lazy Sunday we spent repacking then went to the Brandt’s house to collapse on the patio by the pool. The family members yet to leave town gradually gathered for another impromptu cook-out. We begged an early ride back to the hotel, as we had to leave before 5:00 a.m. for our Monday flight, but sleep was again evasive. And the trip home, beside the nightmare that is the Miami airport, was unremarkable. I’m already ready to go back. Next time for just a week or two on a hammock at a beach house (though the family partying is fun!)