I took this shot my second night in Granada this year. In general the sky here is unique. Clouds sit low and appear to move on a horizontal plane across a giant wall that is the horizon. Sometimes it feels like a movie set, albeit a beautiful one, usually in pastel.

The photo shown above was taken on Calle Real Xalteva, about 5 blocks from where I am staying, and only a few blocks from Parque Central de Granada.

There was a small fair set up for about a week in an empty lot not far from where I’m taking language classes. The machines seem old and unsafe and the ferris wheel moves about three times as fast as any comprable ride in the United States.

They don’t always have much, but they enjoy what they have, and it was hard for me to imagine such an effort going into organizing, building, and working such a small set-up. In the United States it feels as though community programs are of a different sort, and anything of this scale would be scoffed at and placed in the hands of super parks like Six Flags. The closest things we have are small community fairs that come complete with Strawberry Princesses and Tractor Racing.

Making a ceramic starts on your hands and knees scooping up mounds and mounds of clay, which are only sufficiently softened by ample rain. Then, once collected, it can be shaped, partially dried, polished, painted, and sold! There is a large community of artisans in San Juan de Oriente who pursue this trade, which has helped their community to blossom into a tourist destination…in part for the art, in part for the vista from neighboring Catarina. For now, I’ll stick to ceramics.

Using my leg to power the disc, which powered the wheel to shape my beautiful creation, I performed four easy maneuvers under the instruction of the father of this family operation. He had also pre-softened and pre-formed the clay, which are the two most difficult parts.

1. Gently cup hands around the outside of the mound of clay and press your two thumbs down into the center.

2. With your thumbs in the center of the hole, gently pull them apart, like a dentist opening a mouth (my simile, not his).

3. Remove the thumbs from the orafice and cup your hands against the outside of the cylinder and gently press together.

4. With your thumbs inside the orafice again, find the fattest part of the cylinder and gently pull up to elongate the vessel and make it taller and thinner.

When the ceramic was complete, we cut it with a piece of string.

When the clay haul is brought in, his son makes 70 perfect ceramics in a few hours, all more exactly the same and in a more advanced form. With the climate they become about 70% solidified in the air over the course of days while they are polished with stones from the sea. Paint is then added and a piece of plastic is used to further polish the coat and make it shine. In some instances, images are then cut out using a knife blade that is sharpened by hand. Finally, the ceramic is cooked at 950 degrees Celsius for 14 hours in the oven shown below.

Volcanos have been considered the houses of Gods, the entrance to Hell, and the guardians of Gold. In Nicaragua many were the sight of sacrifices and their underground caves have were used to hide liquor during the Samosa regime and later as a place of refuge for families and soliders during the civil war.

I personally subscribe to the modern explanation for and “function” of volcanos as defined by secular science, however they still have a peculiar pull, something mystical, ancient, and powerful that compels me to visit them, even if only to see another barren crater floor.

I had been to the Volcan de Masaya last year, so to justify the cost of the trip ($15 USD), I took the night tour with a number of students and two nicaraguense. From Granada, Masaya is a straight shot on the road to Nicaragua’s capital city Managua.

Before our van reached the summit we visited the small museum at the foot of the volanco. Verdict: clean, informative, boring. But only because what lay ahead was more exciting. We pulled up to the parking “lot” just as the sun was slipping behind Santiago’s Crater - the largest of the three craters that comprise Volcan de Masaya- which is still belcheing gas on average around 1,000 metric tons of sulfur dioxide into the atmosphere per day. Natives also considered it something menacing, calling it La Boca de Inferno (”Mouth of Hell”).

Our tour began with a short to high ground to see the recently recreated large wooden cross that was planted by the Spanish to exorcise to volcano, but was cut short by a wind shift that pushed the gas plume directly into our faces, igniting a volley of coughs.

Afterwards, we climbed the loose soil slopes of the second crater to gain a view of Masaya Lagoon, Granada, and Lake Nicaragua. When we got to our van the sun had set behind the crater and we were given a flashlight and helmet for our walk to the caves. There is a vast network of passages as a result of the volcanic activity, but only a few are large enough to walk in. We stopped outside the first only to observe, listen in fact, to the vampire bats that live within. Out of the 100+ species, only 3 are vampires. That is, they leave the cave at night in search of animal blood, and return solo before sunrise. Because of constant touring in the larger of the caverns, we had stopped here so that we could really feel their movement when we all turned out our lights.

The dizzying sensation of standing still while hundreds of small flying rodents, ok mammals, swarm about your stationary body was replaced by a hunched hike through larger caves. The walk was just 200 meters, but lasted about 30 minutes because of the uneven terrain and information breaks to hear about gas bubbles, guano, cavern structure, and stalagmites.

The final, and most anticipated, leg of the tour involved looking at real lava! Well, when the gas mask had been attached, the walk out to the crater’s edge made, and a hand had been pressed to a concrete post for safetly (they have different security and liability standards here folks) what we saw was more a reflection of lava. More accurately, the refraction of red glowing lava carried to our eyes by shiney gas molecules as they rose from two fiery holes at the crater floor.

Generally, I regard dance circles as threats to my reputation, rings of boundless potential for embarassment, things to be avoided at nearly all costs. Even if I want to see what is happening in the center of the circle it takes a little mental reinforcement to include myself in the audience. Afterall, like a front seat at a comedy show, you might be made a participant whether you want it or not. But sometimes things - rum, weddings, and Nicaragua - allow me to overcome this sentiment.

I arrived in Nicaragua on Thursday and had 1.5 days to acclimate to the weather, language, and culture that I left 10 months ago. Reduced to the essentials, this simply means that I was still constantly sweating and fumbling with pronunciation. In such a state, I made the 30 minute bus trip to the Laguna de Apoyo, which is a volcanic crater filled with water, located outside of Granada. There are few public restaurants, one resort, and a number of small cabana oriented places to stay. Otherwise the shores of the crystal green water, perhaps sulfur, are undeveloped, providing a very tranquil, beautiful place to spend a fews days and nights.

The wedding was an intimate affair of roughly 35 people. Most were immediate family of the to-be weds: Jose Luis of Nicaragua and Greisy of Honduras, who, although from neighboring countries, met in Alaska where Jose Luis studied for 5 years and Greisy lived with her mother. They now both live in Jose Luis’ native Granada where they are directors for a non-profit foundation that offers spanish language classes and helps homeless children.

The ceremony itself lasted under an hour and was followed by toasts from parents and newly weds. After saluds were given with the non-alcoholic sparkling peach drink, bottles of Flor de Cana rum and Victoria beer began making their way into peoples hands.

By the time a massive dinner was uncovered and served buffet style I was feeling rather loose and didn’t blink an eye at the congregation of bugs that had gathered under the light that was above my plate at the table. I ate everything. There was broccoli, probably from a frozen bag, but a pleasantry because it is not from Nicaragua. They had also prepared steak, chicken, salad, bread, and a number of unidentified sauces. Of course, rum accompanied it all: rum on the rocks, rum with water, rum with coke, rum with coke and rocks.

Dinner officially wrapped up when the band member’s had eaten and had returned to their instruments. I still lurked with the event phototgraphers under the obvious excuse that I wanted to practice my spanish, but others were dancing. And, as if to deter me more, they were setting the bar rather high. For starters, Jose Luis’ father was the definition of suave. He moved about the floor with an easy smile in his black loafers and oversized oxford. He looked like he had no bones in his body. And this was all with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in another.

Younger Pancho had more enthusiasm and energy. He created a wind rather than allowing himself to be moved by it. He would easily qualify as a back up dancer for any reggaeton stage show. Even Steve, the Alaskan boyfriend of Greisy’s mother was pulling out some tall, adroit salsa, with a very steady torso and light feet.

But the real show was an Aunt of Jose Luis. La Tia Loca. The Crazy Aunt.I had spotted her the moment she got out of the cab in Granada. When she boarded the microbus in Granada, she was in sandals, short shorts, and still had hair curlers in. While racing through Granada and swerving down the road to the lagoon she deftly applied makeup. All in all, in the 24 hours that I spent around her she was always loud and laughing. When everyone was mingling, she was dancing. When everyone was dancing, she was dancing. When there was a dance circle, she was in the middle. I know this because, the whole time I was watching.

Close to 11 pm, a full 5 hours and seemingly countless bottles of rum later a dance that I had been watching over and over became, well, familiar. It involved a napkin being placed on the ground and fluffed so that it roughly formed a pyramid, rather than being laid out flat. Two dancers would use it as a point of separation, a division line. During the dance, the man gets the napkin with his mouth. I’m not sure if were rules, but Pancho always got the napkin by quickly dropping flat and popping back up as quickly as possible, somehow remaining with the rhytm and flow of the dance and the music.

I had reached the point where I felt comfortable joining the audience, but in this case I knew for certain that this would mean participation. There were no back aisles to hide in or ways to escape it. I didn’t want to escape it. I was thinking, “How many times will I go to a Nicaraguan wedding? Entonces, When in Rome”.

Unforunately, I don’t think anyone could take a picture of me working my unorthodox and unrefined salsa- the laughter made hands unsteady. I was too impaired to register the Aunt’s true response, but judging from people’s positive reaction the following day, every one agreed that gringos, while unable to dance, can enjoy themselves at a boda. I’m sure I didn’t do as the Nicaraguans do because I lacked a certain amount of ritmo that they seem to have in their blood. I’m sure it appeared that while clumsily salsa-ing I was overcome with the insurmountable urge to do a military push up and just happened to get a napkin stuck in my mouth while yelling “Sir, yes Sir”! But, as they say, “No me importa, that’s why I’m here.”