Masaya: el club and the 50 cent book

A long lost friend of mine was going to be in Granada on Saturday so I decided to make the trek to see him. Going back south I planned on checking out Masaya for a day, in which I had heard that it was the place to go for any Nicaragua artisan necessity. Being that Masaya was only 30 minutes from Granada, I left a day early to go see what my American dollars could get me. After yet another dreaded transit I arrived in one piece in Masaya. The market was amazing. I shopped until I spent every last dollar and cordoba on me just as it was getting dark.

I pulled out the trusty Moon book to find the nearest hostel I could walk to. I found one that looked walking distance on the map and asked (in my newly acquired spanglish) a group of Nica's sitting outside a restaurant if they could point me in the right direction. They told me it was getting dark and that it wasn't safe to walk. Being that I had spent everything last type of currency on me, I asked for an ATM so I could grab a cab. The group looked at each other with concern and one of the men personally escorted me to the ATM. This made me a bit uneasy, but it turned out he was there to protect me. He put me in a cab and once again my heart melted at the fact I keep finding Nicaraguans that want to go out of their way to help me.
Apparently the only hostel in Masaya no longer exists, but a nice old women next to the once hostel offer me a room for $6 at her hotel named "Hotel California". The accommodation was of the $6 standard but the sheets were clean and I just wanted to sleep. At about 8pm pulsing Katy Perry and other variations of pop music flooded my room along with neon lights. I looked out the window to find "El Club" in full motion. It was a Friday night in Masaya and the locals were ready to "party like its the weekend". Damn.

At this point I realized I hadn't eaten dinner so I decided to find food. About a block into my wander, torrential downpour hit and I found myself taking refuge in the doorway of a bar, how convenient. The rain didn't stop so I took it a sign of fate and awkwardly drank a beer in the middle of five Nicaraguan dudes as the rain passed. I eventually found beloved street food and happily ate it on the steps of "Hotel California". I studied some Spanish, had some practice with el nino de la senora, took an ambien and eventually fell asleep to Brittany Spears and green lasers on my wall.
The next day I was eating breakfast and a young Nica claimed the chair next to me. Nicaraguans that can speak any English love to talk to white people and practice. So he blabbed as much as he could as I ate gallo pinto and then offered to be: mi guia para el dia. In every town I go to Nicaraguans seem to inform me I have them as a guide for cheap price. I always decline and then they change the line to mi amigo para un dia. I accepted my new friendship and told him of my on going search for a book in English. We grabbed some cokes and were off to find los libros en ingles. We went to a total of three book stores. During this process I was convinced that America uses Central America as a sort of garbage disposal. The Nicaraguan public buses are condemned school buses, some repainted and filled with dangling crosses and flags, some not repainted and the words "Boone Country School District" still in bold black letters reminding me that my source of transportation decades earlier is now my current source. To add to this handy down idea, plenty of "tiendas" sell clothes with goodwill price tags still on them. Now during my search for a book, the english books I was offered were 1990's tween books such as The Baby Sitter's Club and Goosebumps (which I considering for 3 seconds). Along with War and Peace that started at page 153 and Principles of Psychology volume 2. So, I'm pretty sure this is how it works: An American school bus is condemned and on its way down towards the Mexican border this bus stops at Goodwills and libraries along that way and takes whatever shit that us American's deem as unworthy and send it on down to Central America. Anyway, I somehow managed to find a book that seemed interesting, in english, all pages in-tacked and for 50 cents! Even among the odd organization concept of tienda de libros.

After the book success, Nelson and I went to the hammock factory, I bought one, we talked in half Spanish half English to the bus station, I bought him a banana and fanta to thank him and I was off to find my favorite Scottish man in Granada!