Nicaragua: The historic city of Granada

Our time in Granada unfolded across a handful of slow, sunlit days that felt shaped as much by what didn’t happen as what did. We arrived by minibus from our previous stop, deposited somewhat abruptly in the middle of the city and left to haul our bags along busy, uneven pavements to our apartment a kilometre away. Though inconvenient at first, our location—down a quiet side street just outside the city centre—soon proved to be a welcome retreat from Granada’s lively core. The city itself, though not Nicaragua’s largest, commands an outsize presence in the country’s history. With its colonial Spanish architecture and the nickname La Gran Sultana, Granada wears its heritage openly. Its past is layered with both splendour and violence—from pirate raids in the 17th century to political clashes with León and the destructive intervention of the American filibuster William Walker. The sense of this history lingers in the streets and buildings, especially in places like Parque Central, where we began our visit among quiet work crews and the bold yellow of the cathedral’s façade. Much of our time in Granada was spent gently wandering. We sought out the quiet charm of museums like the Convento de San Francisco, with its ancient basalt sculptures and cloistered courtyards, and discovered a more contemporary spirit in brightly painted murals and curated door displays tucked away in unexpected corners. Though our plan to visit the nearby Masaya Volcano was thwarted by a recent landslide that rendered the lava lake inaccessible and the national park closed, this only encouraged a shift in pace. We took the opportunity to explore the craftsmanship behind the city’s signature cement tiles at Ladrillería Favilli, and from there drifted through neighbourhoods filled with colourful houses and sleepy plazas. We walked down to Lake Nicaragua, admired its shimmering stillness, and wisely decided not to swim after noticing the conspicuous absence of locals in the water. Meals were often simple, found in cafés tucked behind sculptor’s yards or community-run visitor centres, and always followed by long pauses in the shade. One such café encounter even led Karen to volunteer at a local English class for students, adding an unexpected and rewarding layer to our visit. Granada’s market offered a sharp change of tone—a chaotic and pungent swirl of voices, smells and movement that felt like the city’s collective pulse. And then there were the churches. On our final day we explored them properly, walking the Calle Real Xalteva to visit Iglesia de la Merced with its panoramic bell tower views, the rich, gold-adorned interiors of Iglesia de Xalteva, and the pastel Gothic charm of the Capilla María Auxiliadora, which we admired from behind its closed gates. Each building echoed a slightly different note of Granada’s religious and cultural history. There were also small local mysteries, such as the armed guard posted day and night outside a house on our street, his presence linked to the death of a wealthy individual under unclear circumstances. As our time in Granada drew to a close, we felt we had come to know the city not through any dramatic event or singular highlight, but through an accumulation of gentle encounters.