Matagalpa, Tuesday evening.
According to my computer, today is Tuesday and I am in Matagalpa (although I figured out the second part on my own)
Yesterday’s bus trip from Jinotega into town was relatively tolerable, with never more than 5 or 6 people standing during the entire route. With the bus significantly less crowded than my ride north on Saturday, I was able to truly enjoy the beauty of the scenery as we descended into the Matagalpa area. The people on the bus looked at me like I was nuts as I snapped photos of various scenic areas. [“Look at the crazy gringo, taking pictures of rocks and trees!”]
Arriving around 10am it took several requests of various taxi drivers before one knew of my intended destination.
La Buena Onda (English translation- Good Vibes) is a small hostel with one private room, which I have for the next 4 nights [No-one would get any sleep if I slept in a common dorm!]
Located about 3 blocks away from the main cathedral, it is within walking distance of most of the core area.
Matagalpa is a town of around 500,000 inhabitants, located about 1200 meters above sea level and roughly 130km north of Granada [although the road distance is considerably longer] Surrounded by hills that tower over the town centre, a walk in any direction will generally involve at least one or two uphill sections.
Walking around town yesterday, I was quite surprised at the changes that had occurred since my last visit in 2009- a few new coffee shops, restaurants and shops and a general look of improved prosperity. Meanwhile, some things hadn’t changed at all- the same fruit vendors on the same street corners and the same old ladies begging for change in front of the more popular stores.
Walking back to the hotel yesterday afternoon, I bumped into one of the Spanish teachers from my previous trip. We enjoyed a brief chat, half Spanish, half English about work and life in general.
Between a heavy rainfall, the 2 am barking dogs and the 4 am roosters I did not get a whole lot of sleep last night.
The temperature was in the very low teens when I first stepped outside this morning at 7. The surrounding hills were barely visible through a very dense low cloud cover.
Following an overly heavy Nica traditional breakfast [fruit juice. tortilla, rice and beans, scrambled eggs] I set out for a walk to the cemetery. Starting out with two layers of clothing against the chill, I was not feeling any warmer by the time I reached the southern bus depot. Passing this halfway point on what I estimated was a 3km trip, I found myself off the edge of the map in my guidebook. Faced with the choices of flagging a taxi down or just using my internal GPS, I managed to follow a route that found me, more or less at the front of the cemetery.
The city actually has two cemeteries which are located side by side- one for locals and one for foreigners. The former was my intended destination.
Located on the side of a hill, the grave markers ranged from simple crosses to very large mausoleums. After wandering aimlessly for a good half hour I sought the assistance of one of the staff who was doing basic site maintenance.
Following a very meandering path across the cemetery he eventually led me to the gravesite that I had been seeking.
A stone, much smaller than expected, marked the grave of Ben Linder, the only non-Nicaraguan buried in this part of the cemetery. The grave, surrounded by a low, pastel blue painted, cement boundary, had clearly not been attended to for some time. A few weeds and the odd flower had struggled through the dry earth that marked his burial place.
After taking a few photographs I began my walk back to the city centre, somewhat saddened by the fact that a significant motivator and developer of the country’s infrastructure hadn’t received more attention. [Besides other things, he was instrumental in the development of several small hydro-electric projects offering electricity to villages in the Jinotega area]
Passing through the market area I observed some sights typically off limits to most tourists.
A couple of kids were digging through a large pile of refuse, salvaging any pieces of discarded fruit and vegetables that were still passably edible. Further along the same street, passed out from either alcohol or solvent abuse, a male in perhaps his early thirties lay face up, oblivious to the world, while dozens of flies crawled over his face and body.
Somewhat further along the route I noticed a male, perhaps in his early forties, sitting on a small stool in front of his home. In his hands a pencil and a grade one (or two?) spelling tutor, complete with simple pictures. In a slow and deliberate manner he tried, with obvious difficulty, to fill in the words representing the pictures before him. Taking basic literacy for granted, I was somehow shocked as I watched discretely while he struggled.
Having had more than enough exposure to the hidden side of life in this country, I was glad to be able to return to my hotel room where I could hide from the realties of life for a few hours.
Having succumbed to the effects of a batido de mango [fruit blended with ice and milk like a smoothie] which I drank on the way back to the hotel- delicious but dangerous!(possibly bad ice or sour milk) I didn’t leave the hotel until late afternoon.
A 1km walk to the northern bus depot to check on bus routes and schedules brought on an episode of dizziness and profuse sweating which I attributed to a combination of hypoglycemia and dehydration. Afraid of blacking out on the street, I made a hasty retreat to the hotel, only straying as far as the adjacent café for a light supper once the dizziness settled down.
Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.
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