Originally posted July 16, 2017 on Mid-Life Meet Medici. For more travel posts about Nicaragua, visit: https://midlifemeetmedici.wordpress.com.

Granada is wild. People say the first Spanish word you need to understand is “mañana”, which means “tomorrow”. The reason you need to understand this, they say, is because things in Granada apparently only happen when the person who is supposed to be doing the thing feels like it. And this could be tomorrow, or the next day, or the week after, or maybe the next month. So you wait. Mañana.

But in my experience, this is not at all true. Nicaraguans have been jumping to help me since the minute I landed in the airport. And there is not one second where it has been physically comfortable to be helpful. It’s hot, hovering right around 30 degrees Celsius most days. But then you must add in the oppressive humidity. You finish getting ready in the morning and look at yourself in the mirror, thinking you should really just take everything off and go back into the shower. You sit perfectly still and feel the beads of moisture on your brow, above your lip, anywhere you may normally sweat, but amazingly, also on every other skin surface you possess.

Oppressive heat and humidity don’t really begin to describe the immobilizing effect of the climate in this area. But no matter. I have watched Nicaraguans continuously unload luggage, stand over open grills roasting corn on the cob, shovel gravel, mix cement (while wearing rubber boots), and present awards for best student of the month while standing in the full sun on the school’s outdoor concrete basketball court. All of these events transpired when there was no breeze.

Granadans work hard, usually by hand, 5 or more commonly 6 days a week, drive like maniacs, and drink beer in a rather consistent and repetitious fashion. At the end of a hellish day why wouldn’t you when it is so hot its smoking and that beer in the bar costs only $1.52 Canadian?

And if you are smile at them they are always warm and friendly, giving a shy but sincere smile back.

The climate doesn’t matter. I really, really like it here!

So I have climbed a volcano. I smelled the sulphur from the open, active vent and walked in awe of Mother Nature through the trees that sulphur had burnt when it was at just the right intensity and the wind was at just the right direction. I have sat in a pool of sweat with four other people in a tiny taxi with no air conditioning while it sat stuck in a traffic jam, and thought not of myself but of the two men walking in front of the taxi, one pushing a cart overloaded with produce and the other carrying sacks of flour or rice or something else so heavy he should have just fallen over and wilted. I have walked through the poorest neighbourhood in Nicaragua, the Pantanal Bario, and marvelled at the respect and admiration the kids gave to the man I was walking with. Then I went to the school he runs for them on charitable handouts and felt insignificant as the kids laughed while I helped them across the monkey bars. Like invisible ink revealing its message, I slowly watched a balance sheet take form. And as it took form I saw my plan to move here evaporate into the humid heat. I laughed and clapped and did a chair dance while watching a nine-piece band In a central square play songs that had the entire crowd singing.

I am now just a tourist. And so I beat the climate by taking a dip in the pool and laying out in the sun. I am somewhat disappointed, but I still can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.

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