Persephone

We arrived in Granada and left its parallel sister Leon. These waring brothers could not be more different. And the conservative Granada, mellow, quiet side of town with fireworks but less people, clearly defined colonial architecture and all the rest that screams tourist, and also a bit of peace. I know my speed. And shoo the peddlers away, non, non, non. And continue suping my club soda. And in siesta moments inclining my head down the slope of the street to the massive freshwater sea, mascarading as a lake. (Nicaragua).

After just a couple hours downtime it was time for our next excursion. Another Volcano. I thought, yes, I did sign up for the "volcano adventure" but so much direct interaction with the pacific rim of fire seemed overkill. Yes, belching smoke. Ok. Gritty black sand. Lava. Active. Dormant. Signs this way and that to volcano, volcano, volcano. Ok enough, I said, with the wave of my hand. Lo siento. I'm sorry. I give in.

And yet, we keep going. When the guide pointed the way up these winding stairs, to a cross, overlooking a crater, I was like oh, dios mio. Here we go again. So I took the back and me and my now bum of a left leg hobbled to the top to hear about poisonous sulfur gas and various smoking craters... yes, yes, volcanos are cool. Whatever.

Hobble down.

Then the guide led us up another far bigger dormant crater to point out the trees and parrots and I muttered, oh how i love being the last one, now prone to motion sickness and various, schu? are you ok? comments. A complete reversal of being. I made it to the top, only about 10 min, but then refused to summit the top steep peak, as I said to myself, yes you know how far you can go. Enough is enough. I don't know why all tourist destinations must include epic vistas and sunsets. But they must. And so martin our plucky but crazy swiss tour leader vaulted up the peak to explain that well, the girl down there, has bad knees now and asthma and god knows what, a bad leg, and she's not coming up with us and it was all because of Pacaya. So she feels she does not need to reach the top anymore but 3/4 of the way is fine. And the longer, less steep way down would be nice as well.

Then not to be done to soon... We went down to a batcave, literally all of them flitting about, and then yet another cave where massive tree roots trailed the ground and walls like piping. I forgot my camera in the hotel unfortunately so my glorious descriptions of the pocked and pointed floor, and the stalagited ceilings will just have to do. As we tramped through mud and I blinded everyone with my flash mercilessly in the dark. I was that girl.

And then the guide had us sit in the pitch dark at the back of the cave for a minute and I found the silence to be roaring in my ears and I didn't like it. By then my legs were muddy and the guide in broken english was saying something about families living down here or child sacrifices. I'm not quite sure but it seemed grim. And I thanked my helmet as I went clunk against an overhang and scrambled out on my hands.

Walking back was the most beautiful moment though, luminous clouds and stars peaking through as we walked the narrow path up and out, through the field, only to put on gas masks and see the glowing furnace below.

And then it was Pizza at the MonaLisa... What does it matter though, once you've eaten Mexican food, the various nuances of central american cuisine can really be done without. Can the same be said of volcanos?