Nicaragua
Tourists go to Costa Rica, but travelers go to Nicaragua. And what a great honor to have visited during this spectacularly historic time, when the guerrilla fighter who overthrew Somoza four decades ago has become the epitome of what he destroyed. The human lust for power ultimately leads to self-demise, but never without dragging down everything in its despicable descent.
Silly armchair pundits claim that America is backing the resistance, but those of us who stayed until the bitter end sensed the complete absence of the USA, led by its own reckless leader who would hardly be the first to fuel a revolution to dispose of a foe-turned-friend. Men, women and children have armed themselves with morteros to guard the tranques that block the nation’s highways in an effort to bring the supreme Sandinista to his knees and cut off any future with him and his ugly hippie wife of a vice president, rumored to be a witch.
Nicaraguans are hardly Costa Ricans, nor do they want to be. They are too real, too talented, too artistic, and too independent, with their shockingly good craftsmanship that can be seen in the elegance of their children’s shoes or toys such as kite reels. The printmaking tradition, ripe with political overtones, is entangled with graffiti in a fascinating yet ominous way for those who risk selling their artwork.
A young historian warned me of the catastrophic loss if Granada’s adobe buildings – which include flammable hay – were burned. He told me how a man repairing backpacks and shoes only makes $8 a day. With my camera in hand eager to capture a lost sense of justice, he gently admonished me to ask, “Puedo tomar una photo?” On the day that I escaped, Granada’s historic center was set on fire, and the streets erupted in armed chaos.
Until the moment I fled, with no one but locals to tend to me, I pretended that everything in the world was all right. The lake was bountiful with fish, the isleta abundant with rosa mangos and iguanas, and myriad birds kept me company, including a purple gallinule that slept soundly throughout the night in front of my casita.
In sharp contrast, the people of Nicaragua have awakened, and now there is no turning back.
Here’s my photo essay on Nicaragua.
