My third full day in Nicaragua I was still bagless (my luggage was lost in limbo thanks to Spirit Airlines), a little sweaty, and beginning to look a bit like a wooly mammoth (razor in a carry-on? yeah right) but in generally good spirits as Mak and I discussed how we would spend our day over coffee and free pancakes at the hostel.
We’d made a day trip to the nearby beach, Playa Pochomil, the day before, but the experience turned out to be a time-filler and not much more. We finally settled on another day trip, this time to the colonial city of Granada a few hours’ bus ride to the south.
Ask anyone who’s been to Nicaragua and they’d probably agree–Granada deserves more than a day trip. In fact, for most people, it’s the preferential home base while traveling in Nicaragua; most desirable destinations are easy to reach from there, in addition to the city itself being a much more pleasant place to pass the time than Managua.
As we finished up with breakfast and readied ourselves for another round of sauna-like bus rides, my stomach began acting up. I felt a sudden rush of nausea like I haven’t experienced for quite some time and had to immediately take to my bed.
Nothing more happened after several minutes of waiting but the nausea persisted. So, I did like any logical person would do and I made myself vomit. There we go, problem solved!
I still wasn’t feeling quite like myself but I hated to be the one to delay our departure any longer, so I put on a happy face and said “Vamos!”
Like two overstimulated school children, we squealed with glee when we were shoved to the very front of our mini bus to Granada. Not only did we get to avoid bumping elbows and swapping sweat with strangers, but we got to take in the views and the action taking place in the streets around us.
Everything seemed to be going well, but that mild feeling of nausea never truly subsided; the suffocating heat and minimal airflow inside the bus didn’t help much either.
As we arrived to our destination, Mak became animated once again. He couldn’t wait to show me the sights and play tour guide; he had readily agreed to return to Granada a second time because he’d loved it so much the first. But as his childlike excitement soared, mine quickly disappeared, replaced by a miserly snarl and the realization that I was much more ill than when we’d left.
It’s not every day that one gets the opportunity to explore a beautiful colonial city like Granada, and it’s not every day that one ends up spending half the visit puking their guts out in a restaurant bathroom.
But so it went.
I hardly noticed the brightly colored buildings, the horse-drawn carriages, or the motorbike-filled streets as I made my way to what looked like a sports bar to ask for a public restroom.
We eventually moved from our first smoke-filled location to a rather beautiful place called The Garden Cafe where Mak ate lunch while I climbed into a fetal position in a hammock, chugging water in a futile attempt to remain somewhat hydrated in the heat of the day.
I finally managed to stomach a juice and we slowly shuffled out of the restaurant to make a quick lap around the small city center. Mak suggested various activities, I gave apathetic answers. A wander through the local market nearly caused me to vomit again (the smell of hot fish is something fierce), so we decided to head to the one attraction he insisted I see, the view from the bell tower of Iglesia de La Merced.
As if the day couldn’t be any more disappointing, we arrived at the church only to find that it was closed for the time being and would reopen again in the late afternoon. Claro.
I briefly considered sticking it out for a few hours, but my body screamed in protest. Back aching and head hung low, I loaded myself onto the return bus to Managua.
I left Granada that day having seen very little, having learned nothing of its history, having certainly not done it justice in photographs. My only hope is to one day return for a do-over and a chance to soak up the real Granada.
Has illness ever tarnished any of your trips?
