48 Hours in Nicaragua

I’m sitting on the steps of the small plaza in front of the Iglesia de la Merced in Granada, Nicaragua, feeling like I’m in an obscure movie at a gay film festival. I don’t know if this movie is going to be boring, interesting, funny, tragic, or a combination of any of these. Whenever I see a film at one of these festivals, no matter how boring, I always stick it out to see how it ends.

I’m waiting for Danilo to get off work so that we can maybe get a bite to eat, jump in the hotel pool, fool around; who knows where the afternoon and evening will lead.

I know where I would like it to lead. It’s my last night of a 10 day vacation and I’d like it to lead to where it went to last night—my hotel room.

Danilo works around the corner so I’m waiting here to not make it obvious to his employer and neighbors that there is this American Queer waiting for him. Granada is a small town, maybe a hundred thousand, and while not prosecuted, homosexual activity is illegal--and that is exactly what I want to do.

Danilo says he is not gay. He has a two-year old daughter, Nicole, named after Tom Cruise’s ex (start counting the clues). She lives with her mother and grandmother and goes to school while he helps support them. Danilo is 27 and she’s 19. Yesterday he did not have pictures of them in his wallet.

I’m studying the façade of the church. The guidebook says it was completed in 1539 but reconstructed several times. The inscription on the tower says it was reconstructed almost 200 years ago. The architecture and condition of the tower, however, doesn’t appear similar to the Spanish Colonial baroqueness of the rest of the church. And the tower is relatively clean compared to the grime, mildew, and moss of the rest of the church.

As I waited I remind myself that tropical humidity is a natural moisturizer and good for the skin. The grime and mildew may look good on the church but I can do without that part. I want to look fresh, I’m going on a date.

I get tired of melting so I leave the plaza and go to check on Danilo. I walk to the end of the street where he can see me and calls me over. His employer has not returned so we hang out on the street talking.

I’m confused now on how to proceed with this story. If I do dialogue in Spanish few people will understand and I’ll have to think all this through in two languages. The entire 48 hours I spent in Granada was done in Spanish but I think I’ll dispense with the whole issue and instead describe how I ended up on the plaza in one of the oldest cities in the western hemisphere.


The story begins with a wedding. When my nephew and bride-to-be announced they were going to be married in Costa Rica I knew I had some planning to do: flights, hotels, etc. Studying maps and the internet I discovered how close Nicaragua was to the wedding location and how gay Costa Rica is. Since I’m in the area, why not explore?

San Jose, the capitol of Costa Rica, was only a 45 minute prop flight from the wedding site and had many gay options, including a gay hotel that had branches both in the capitol and in Granada. I decided to fly into Costa Rica and out of Nicaragua, stay with this mini gay hotel chain, and later work out transportation.

Sensing my inner gay-self rise to the surface, I instead booked a male-only, clothing optional, guest house, and the other hotel for Granada.

The wedding was in Playa Grande, Costa Rica, an area encompassing the Parque Nacional Marino Las Baulas, an national park full of birds, lizards, crabs, crocodiles, monkeys, and according to Lonely Planet, one of the most important nesting sites for the world’s largest turtle, the leatherback, or baula, weighing in at 300kg.

Nesting season is between October and March so they wouldn’t be coming to the June wedding. That would be fortuitous because the wedding was on the beach, presumbably on top of their nesting grounds.

The combination of this raw natural beauty with the formality of a wedding created a striking and spectacular experience. Picture this: a white tent on an undeveloped tropical beach with a roaring surf in front and clouded mountains in the distance. From 2500 miles away come a group of two families and their friends, dressed up, and deposited on an unknown and wild beach, to celebrate the formal union of two people.

The wedding was scheduled at sunset but in the late afternoon a heavy tropical rain came down. No one was sure how long it would last but it eventually cleared up but left dark overcast skies. And to further add to the contrast, during the ceremony the setting sun broke through the clouds.

One more contrast I need to note. The wedding dinner was held at a small 12 room hotel near the wedding site that was also in the nature preserve. In fact the Park Ranger’s office was at the hotel’s dockside. It was a 15 minute boat ride to town on an estuary with crocodiles or a 35 minute ride over rough roads. But here at the jungle’s edge, Todd and Walter, a gay couple from Pennsylvania, four years ago opened up their hotel and restaurant. At the end of the evening, the bride, groom, and myself sat at the bar and toasted their 15 year anniversary the next day.


After a few more days in Playa Grande I broke off with the family and checked into the all male clothing optional guest house in the capitol. It was also in a beautiful setting but quite removed from all the gay activity in the city. Nonetheless it was staffed with young men in their early twenties. A few guests came in and out but I was largely alone with staff and got to know some of their stories.

And that’s all of them I got to know.

I left the hotel only once to take a city tour so I never made it to any of the gay venues. Maybe because of this, or was it the porn that was piped into the room’s televisions, or because of the young (and clothed) staff I left the capitol feeling a little, well, do I have to spell it out. My family is going to read this.

Landing in Granada the “gay” hotel picked me up and I checked into a room that I couldn’t live with. After scopeing out the rest of the hotel, and making sure of this realization, I decided to walk around town and see what else there was. I spent a few hours looking around as Granada’s third world Spanish colonial charm began to grow on me. I found a very nice hotel with a room that had a balcony over looking the main plaza. I took it and went back to retrieve my luggage.

On the walk back I spotted Danilo sitting in front of his post. Or he spotted me first. My gait slowed and I noticed he was still looking. I looked back but continued. If it weren’t for the country I was in I know what was happening. Nicaragua has a dangerous reputation and the guide book said nothing about gay venues except that it’s illegal. This must be one of those situations where hotels and other businesses use the gay card to lure our money. I walked on.

With luggage in hand I walked past him again and asked if it was safe to be walking around at dusk with my luggage obviously looking like a tourist. He said it was fine but don’t do it in Managua. We chatted for awhile and I learned that he takes care of properties owned by foreigners. He offered to show me some and arranged to meet at 8:30 in the plaza.

As I waited in my room I wasn’t concerned about safety. Right, I was going to go into some strange house with a stranger in a strange country. But we were meeting in the town’s main square, so what about a meal and a drink instead, as in let’s keep it in public places.

As we wandered to a restaurant I wasn’t sure about the streets we were walking. The restaurant said they ran out of food so we walked back and he started to show me some of the places he took care of. Danilo talked about their prices and how properties have appreciated. Like any American from over-heated real estate markets, I have to see how it compares, and lookout for ambushes.

I could give a whole other discourse on property with what I observed in Granada, Playa Grande and San Jose. The talk and signs were everywhere. Needless to say, the rules are the same. In Nicaragua, however, the recent re-election of Daniel Ortega of Sandinista history, has had a chilling effect. But I suppose that is another rule, markets like stability, even if there are charming old colonial homes that can be restored and resold handsomely.

And this is what Danilo showed me, homes in various stages of restoration or speculation, even while I looked around every corner for an ambush.

We found a Thai restaurant that served margaritas so Andy was very happy, and safely out in public. During dinner I noticed there was a gay flag in the restaurant doorway. The power went out and everything proceeded under candlelight. Capping off my first nine hours in Nicaragua, we went back to my hotel.



After a relaxed day by myself seeing some of the ancient architecture, visiting museums, and the lake Granada is situated on, Lago Nicaragua, I’m rested, showered, and talking to Danilo in front of one of the houses he takes care of. We talk, waiting for the owner to arrive, so he can leave and I can start my last evening of vacation.

We talked on the street for over an hour. He asked me what I wanted to do, I asked if he was hungry. I mentioned jumping in the pool. He mentioned calling up and getting together with a friend.

I’m wondering how it’s going to go. One would think that the sexual pressure is now off. But it’s not, at least for me. I try to resign myself to not thinking about this and just enjoy Granada, and the company, and whatever else the evening may bring.

Finally he was free to go and he went and called up his friend Holman. With the sunset a light rain began to fall as the three of us looked for a place to eat that also had margaritas. I was inclined toward the more touristy places but since I wasn’t particularly hungry settled for one of the local corner chicken joints.

The open-air room was hot and they asked if the fan could be turned on but the electricity was out. Holman was gregarious, unlike the serious Danilo, and we joked with him about this. As they ate I again had the feeling of being in a movie. Giving up on the margaritas I joined them in their national beer, Tona, and ordered some salted fried bananas called tostones (just like my mother use to make).

Holman and Danilo told me about a gay coronation held several times a year in Granada with a parade and ceremony at the lakeside discos. In the US a gay royal court is equivalent to a Kiwanis or Rotary club, only in drag. But in Nicaragua?

After dinner we went to a mini-mall: the courtyard of a large colonial building containing restaurants and bars with large screen TV’s playing sports events and old rock music that was patronized by foreigners and locals. It had its charms but I’m not the old rocker type. Okay, I knew all the music being played, but I’ve been there, done that, and not even the exotic locale and exotic natives make me nostalgic for my roots.

By now Danilo had stopped drinking so Holman and I started up even while I sensed this movie dragging. Finally I got hungry so we left the trekkers mall and looked for something more, contemporary, and found a roasted chicken place in a more decidedly upscale courtyard.

Holman ate again and said he didn’t get fat because he exercised, and proceeded to lift his shirt and show us his flabby stomach. Check please.

It was getting late as we left and started walking around the town again. I was tired of sitting and didn’t want to go to another bar. I just wanted to get laid again. But walking around Granada has its charms so we settled on one more outdoor café where another friend joined us. Holman and the new friend started playing music on their cell phones. Nicaragua may be the second poorest country in the western hemisphere, after Haiti, but somehow cellphone culture is firmly rooted.

Danilo and I noticed two young feminine looking men walk by. This place was getting queerer every minute.

The cafe closed at ten and the three of them asked if I wanted to check out the discos by the lake. I felt it was time to leave the theater and go home and pack. Quit while I’m ahead, walk off into the sunset, end a fabulous vacation in a beautiful square with three young men as company. We left and walked toward the plaza.


POSTSCRIPT: Ever since I’ve been back I’ve been wondering if much of the locals socializing with foreigners is gay for pay. I paid for everything but while Holman asked for a cell phone card and cab fare, Danilo never asked for anything. I believe Danilo is relatively naïve but Holman had been around the plaza a few times which says to me Danilo really is in the closet and Holman is for pay. Lonely Planet says to support local economies and I don’t see why this couldn’t be included in that philosophy.

Upon arrival in Nicaragua I was struck by the numerous billboards of Daniel Ortega announcing “Rise the Poor of the World.” The fighting in Nicaragua, of which the United States has historically been part of since William Walker in 1853 through Ronald Reagan in 1985, is hopefully over for good. Danilo says Ortega was elected with only a 35% majority because the right split the vote and the legislature can keep him in check. He lost two brothers in what he calls a civil war and others called a revolution. Upon leaving the airport for the States, the plane was filled with missionaries completing their service.