Granada is a city that’s incredibly easy to just fall into and never want to leave.  I spent more time there than anywhere else on my trip to date (21 days) and could have stayed longer.  I loved it: the friendly Nicaraguans, all eager to talk to tourists; the brightly painted walls and doorways; the relaxed Oasis Hostel with a rotating cast of friendly travelers, lots of hammocks, and unlimited free internet access; the deliciously fattening gallo pinto and fresh cashews sold for a few quarters on the street; the flavorful fruit juices available by the bag. 

I spent my 21 days in Granada mostly productively.  I toured a small house where Nicaraguan-style candy of coconut and caramel is made.  I road on a boat through Lake Nicaragua to Monkey Island and visited the Laguno de Apoyo twice, where I jumped off the floating dock, played in the volcanic sand, and relaxed in a hammock.  I read about fifteen books, including a history of the battles in Northern Africa during WWII.  (Yes, there was a serious lack of readable books near the end of my stay.)  I went to Masaya to watch a volcano belch out smelly, sulfurous smoke and visit the enormous markets and fruit stands.  Small towns, empty of other tourists, made for interesting day trips, albeit at the end of long chicken-bus rides.  The enormous tombs in the cemetery where wealthy citizens where buried were perfect for wandering through - it looked almost exactly like the cemeteries in New Orleans.  I spent a lot of time relaxing.

Among my most memorable adventures were my near-daily visits with “my family.”  A local house on the outskirts of Nicaragua where a variety of juices were sold out of plastic buckets on the porch, I happened across it accidentally one day and decided to try a mysterious “cebada” juice.  It was amazingly delicious, rich and thich and sweet, with little bits of grain in the bottom that added texture, much like bubble tea.  I ended up returning day after day for this barley juice.  On my later visits, I was offered a cushioned rocking-chair inside the house and tried to chat (in broken Spanish) with Julie and her mother Francesca.  Each time I’d return and we’d talk.  How long would I stay in Granada, and when would I come back?  They first assumed three months, then offered six as a compromise.  Where my family lived and of course whether I had a boyfriend or not.  After meeting my 16 year old brother, Francesca offered to marry her daughter off to him.  Fortunately, that conversation was short!

We talked about the food of Nicaragua, the tourists and the things to do here.  My Spanish wasn’t strong enough to delve more deeply into local politics, hopes and dreams and worries, but by the end of my time in Granada I was offered hugs and smiles each time I visited, or samples of their Granadan lunch and the candy they made each morning.  They were friendly and opinionated, happy to talk with an American of limited Spanish ability and never seeming to view me as a walking dollar sign.  And, they made delicious juice.

This kindness was almost universal in Granada, and was one reason I liked it so much.