There are only three countries in the world that have a primitive art movement. One is in Haiti, another is in Yugoslavia, the last is in Nicaragua.
In the southern part of Nicaragua are a group of 26 islands in a province called Solentiname. A Catholic priest arriving there many years ago noticed locals painting on gourds and helped them move their inspirations to canvas. Local artists continue to paint and earn livings from this stylistic folk art.
This room, at the San Francisco Convent Museo in Granada, is dedicated to the Nicaraguan primitive art movement that celebrates nature, community,order, and color.
The works and artists, though different, all belong in this room. They work within a style that is larger than they are, an ocean that supports their boats.
It is like the Garden of Eden calling you home.
The intensity of the artist’s focus is like the eyes of a tiger watching you from inside it’s cage.
In Granada, streets have horses, wagons, carts and carriages..
Horses and carriages carry tourists on tours of the city and the usual place to match up is in front of the Hotel Alhambra at the Parque Central.
Horses and carts are also working today, hauling sand, lumber, and produce down shaded thoroughfares.
This morning, two Nicaraguan generations, sitting next to one another, turn a corner, the reins waiting to be passed, but not just yet.
There will not be many years before horses will not be allowed on thoroughfares here and one more trace of the nineteenth century will vanish.
This boy won’t have a horse and a cart in his future, but he will remember this early morning ride with his Dad.
This Lagoon was formed 23,000 years ago after an explosion on one on Mombacho’s bad hair days.
It is fed by a number of surface and underground water sources and is one of the first Nature Preserves created in Nicaragua to preserve the country’s natural landscape.
In tourist season there are kayaks in the water, swimmers, picnic’s and family outings, hiking, diving and other recreation. The Preserve has public areas that give access to the water for free or private businesses that let you use their facilities for six to seven dollars U.S. a day. A round trip shuttle to the Lagoon is $15.00 from Granada, if you go with a group tour, and you can spend most of the day at the Park working on your tan..
This morning locals are washing clothes,bathing, swimming, wetting a hook, and kayaking . The water is unusually clear and the bottom of the lagoon is covered with scattered lava rocks, small and large, reflections of clouds floating on the water’s surface.
In the old days, Hollywood came out with a movie called ” Creature from the Black Lagoon. ”
Believing in things we can’t see is difficult, but it doesn’t mean they don’t exist.
One good thing about being human is most really bad stuff we aren’t going to live long enough to see.
When Mombacho throws a big fit, again, it will shake out this entire country.
I look for the little white sandwich sign in front of the Merced church that tells me it is open.
When I see that sign, I pay thirty Cordova’s to climb a narrow circular staircase to the highest points in the Tower and snap photos of Granada from the church’s upper windows.
The stairs are steep but there are wrought iron bars to hold to as I wind my way up.This morning there is only one person in the Tower, besides me. When he comes down I find a nook, still on my way up, and let him barrel past..
At the top of the spire the city opens up as far as I can see and below me are red tiled roofs, spires of other churches, grids of streets leading to and from the District of the Tourists. As you move away from the Historical District, Granada becomes a different city. In the Tourist districts, you find an emphasis on food, entertainment, places to sight see, museums, education, history. Outside the Tourist District, the residents are all about commerce and community.
This morning church bells are quiet and Esmerelda is asleep in her small room, her hunchback gone to the local market to pick her a bouquet of flowers.
At the bottom of this staircase, mounted on a wall, is a sign that says ” Do Not Ring the Bell. ”
There is a room of torture buried deep in this complex, because, as most of us know, bells are always rung, at least once, by those who can’t read and don’t follow directions.
A sign, without consequences, is not worth the paper it is printed on.
The last pigeon conference I crashed was in San Sebastian Park, Cuenca, Ecuador.
Walking through these San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua pigeons, a few take flight as I move into their ranks, but most continue eating scraps thrown out by the restaurant’s kitchen help, undeterred by my appearance in their sidewalk dining room.
Food is one of those common denominators math teachers draw on their board before a class of hungry teenagers just before the lunch bell. Food, I’m always reminded by nature, keeps us living souls living.
These pigeon’s need to eat is greater than their distrust of humans, and, especially, tourists.
After i pass through them, they close ranks and finish lunch.
It is as if I was never here.
It is probable that some Spanish conquistador planted a flag on this beach, had a prayer said by the priest on the expedition, and had to pull a sword and fight locals who didn’t like the intrusion.
San Juan Del Sur is a most popular place, a party town, a hot spot on International bulletin boards, a place to see and be seen. There have been plenty of footsteps on these streets before Scotttreks got here, and last night’s waves washed footprints away to start the next day with a clean slate.
Two images come to mind when walking the town. The first is what happens when you stand on the beach and waves come around your feet and erode the sand you are standing on. The second is the conglomeration of good and bad on the beach in the morning as you beach comb and find beautiful shells among the plastic containers.
The whole town gives a feeling of looseness, of pieces barely kept together, of ankle bracelets and incense, of pagan God’s and too much alcohol, drugs, and bottled water.
If I’m going to fit in here I need to loosen my belt a notch.
Like most countries in Central and South America, Nicaragua’s independence was won from Spain. In some countries Spain held the field till the bitter end and there were fierce battles. In other countries, like Costa Rica, their power and control was more gently transferred.
On the net, BBC lays out a timeline of Nicaragua’s history, a country that has been meddled with by Spain, Britain, and the United States from its inception.
There has been a succession of dictators and strong men here,but,at the moment, revolutionary Daniel Ortega, American President Ronald Reagan’s nemesis, remains in power, duly elected, true to his Marxist theology.
This birthday finds Nicaragua moving forward,but escaping your reputation is daunting.
The people in this celebration audience are attentive and polite as political speeches come rolling out of political mouths.
There are probably some in the crowd that wish Nicaragua still belonged to Spain, but they don’t have the microphone.
Consensus is nearly impossible to achieve, these days, on just about any issue.
Leaders wish us to obey, but what they really do, their entire elected term, is try to herd us cats where we don’t want to go.
Nearing the end of our trail, Jose takes a side trek to show us fumeroles.
At this spot, the Earth’s breath is moist and hot. There is a steady updraft of steam in columns as if it was squeezing up between clenched teeth.
If you believe in dragon’s, you would call this dragon’s breath.
When you lean over, the steam is warm, seductive.
I hate to leave.
Dragon’s cast deep spells.
Our Lady of Assumption Cathedral is also called the Granada Cathedral.
The church dominates the main plaza of Granada, Nicaragua and was begun in the 1500’s when the city was being colonized by Spanish conquerors. The church still serves the community and at a recent evening Mass was filled with locals as well as tourists who make the place one of their must do stops.
This Cathedral dwarfs other churches in the city and is not as ornate or beaten down as its competition. It is still a simple box covered with smooth plaster, tall bell towers, and is painted a striking color you can see from a distance. In its shadows is the main city Plaza, a collection of horse drawn carriages lined up in front of the Alhambra hotel, vendors selling sunglasses and food, tourists, and locals who have nothing better to do than people watch and take photos and videos for their Facebook page.
Walking into a Catholic church brings the usual statues, pews, robed white plaster men commemorated for dedication, nooks with burning candles, dizzying rotundas, a sense of space.
The unusual in this church is a Genie lift that supports an artist painting on the ceiling.
The cast of characters is to be expected. There is God, Adam and Eve, all of Noah’s animals, angels and scenes of Creation.
This morning, when there is no Mass, I find the lift extended and observe a little man on the platform high above me patiently expanding his assigned themes. He is no Michaelangelo and this is no Sistine Chapel, but the effect is still jaw dropping. The ceiling is huge, and, with so many sections to be filled, it is hard to believe the task will ever be finished.
But, completed or not,it is certain that this project will outlast many men and make the point continually that we are alive for a purpose, just not our purpose.
Taking a different way to the Plaza, there appears another Catholic church, one of fifteen in Granada.
This place of worship is unique for its grizzled exterior that looks older than history, and people are standing way up in a church bell tower taking photos of the city at dusk. It is evening and Mass is in progress.
I have been told by a tour guide that the black stained exterior is not mold but comes from a fire built by an American, William Walker, who invaded and tried to take control of Nicaragua in the 1800’s to extend Southern slavery. He was trying to burn out defenders of the city who were holed up inside the massive walls of this church.
Walker was eventually captured and executed in Honduras but American interventionism has never stopped anywhere.
Church’s try to do God’s work, but men keep putting their foot in the door.
American’s have been visiting Nicaragua a long time, and good has not always been on their mind, no matter what their mouths said.
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