The bus to Nicaragua was longer than planned. But finally, off the bus in Leon with my latest U.S. travelling buddy Luke. We found a hostel thankfully still accepting people at 10pm at night. This was a dodgy hostel, not very clean, and ran by a small family, but home for the night. Keen to grab some beers after a long day we then returned to the Hostel at around 1am, only to have to wake up Granny, who finally came to the door and let us in, complete with zimmer frame and everything!
Feeling quite guilty, we headed for a different, cleaner and zimmer free hostel the next morning before finding somewhere for breakfast.
Breakfast in Nicaragua is one of it's best features. It consists of Gallo Pinto (beans & rice with a variation of spices, onions and often cooked in coconut milk), scrambled eggs (with red peppers and ham), tajadas (fried unripened plantains), chopped onion & tomatoes and some tortillas and is the only way to start the day anywhere in Nica, but in Leon, it was by bar far the best.
This one bar/restaurant Via Via, was the epicentre for the backpacker scene in Leon, but I didn't care, their breakfasts were first rate and also I soon learnt they organised educational booze-ups as well. The tour Luke and I signed ourselves up for was for $12 all you can drink cock fighting. It didn't sound like an educational trip but Luke (from Wyoming and a redneck) was very keen, so at 3pm that Sunday we headed off, to lose all our money, to be robbed was a certainty and to not remember a thing seemed even more likely. It was however, completely fascinating. Not the cock fighting itself which whilst not as barbaric as you'd expect, but for the sheer importance this past time has for local men.
They all bet big, the owners, when they've finally agreed on size, weight, blades and the purse will sometimes bet as much as $150 in the small impoverished towns such as here in Leon. Most men don't earn more than $300 a month and in a city which although famous for it's political heritage is outshone in wealth by most other regions of Nicaragua. Most things in Central America are treated with that Manaña attitude, but cock-fighting is a definite exception. It takes an hour for two men to finally agree they don't want to fight so we're not ring side until 5 in the evening when the first fight kicks off.
It's a brutal sport and quite inhumane. It is not however like many other blood sports. You put two roosters in a hen house and one either ends up dead or escapes bleeding. In Nicaragua the equality of the matches is paramount, the spurs are covered up and very small blades are attached to the feet (seriously small - 2-3mm). The matches last 15 minutes and thankfully on my debut, no chicken dies. The afternoon does take on the feel of Saturday afternoon at the local football in England a number of years ago, as you can see that hordes of men have finally been let of their homes by their frustrated wives crying, "Go, on, go and play with your chickens with your friends". They take to the sport with the same level of enthusiasm too, as mid way through a fight if one chicken's blade comes off, the fight is halted and everyman is in the ring shouting, giving advice and doing everything possible to give their tired or injured chicken a bit of a breather.
A local man called Bennito is insistent on betting with me (and having my sunglasses) and so the money (only $2) is held with his friend, and despite me thinking I'm not seeing that again, Bennito's chicken turns out to be exactly that and refuses to fight. Two more bets with fellow backpackers and I'm $10 to the good and 3 sheets to the wind. It might be an immoral sport, but its fascinating to get a proper look into what makes the local men tick and what they're willing to gamble a large proportion of their families income on, when at the end of the day after all the fussing over the details, it's just a chicken.
After 5 days up in Jiquilillo I'm back in Leon, and I find it a city very hard to leave. It's famous for it's stance in the civil war as being a Sandinista (FSLN) stronghold, and the city reminds me of Belfast with murals everywhere, depicting all the different heroes of the revolutions and martyrs who died for the cause. The turbulent past always seems to be never far from the surface, especially in Leon where the Sandinista colours are everywhere (red and black) and many walls are stamped with the pledge for Daniel for president in 2011. There are scars of the conflict everywhere, I don't see too many in the walls, but the people who were in the midst of it are everywhere. Men in wheelchairs are not a rare sight, and there are monuments to those that died all over town, even a centre ran by women who lost sons in the war is dedicated to educating tourists and the younger generations alike.
Leon is comfortable but not a beautiful place. Its a place with a rowdy nightlife, its people are unphased by tourists and its a place that imbibes the Sandinista outlook and is incredibly proud of itself.
None of the photos are gory and they're in the usual place:
Feeling quite guilty, we headed for a different, cleaner and zimmer free hostel the next morning before finding somewhere for breakfast.
Breakfast in Nicaragua is one of it's best features. It consists of Gallo Pinto (beans & rice with a variation of spices, onions and often cooked in coconut milk), scrambled eggs (with red peppers and ham), tajadas (fried unripened plantains), chopped onion & tomatoes and some tortillas and is the only way to start the day anywhere in Nica, but in Leon, it was by bar far the best.
This one bar/restaurant Via Via, was the epicentre for the backpacker scene in Leon, but I didn't care, their breakfasts were first rate and also I soon learnt they organised educational booze-ups as well. The tour Luke and I signed ourselves up for was for $12 all you can drink cock fighting. It didn't sound like an educational trip but Luke (from Wyoming and a redneck) was very keen, so at 3pm that Sunday we headed off, to lose all our money, to be robbed was a certainty and to not remember a thing seemed even more likely. It was however, completely fascinating. Not the cock fighting itself which whilst not as barbaric as you'd expect, but for the sheer importance this past time has for local men.
They all bet big, the owners, when they've finally agreed on size, weight, blades and the purse will sometimes bet as much as $150 in the small impoverished towns such as here in Leon. Most men don't earn more than $300 a month and in a city which although famous for it's political heritage is outshone in wealth by most other regions of Nicaragua. Most things in Central America are treated with that Manaña attitude, but cock-fighting is a definite exception. It takes an hour for two men to finally agree they don't want to fight so we're not ring side until 5 in the evening when the first fight kicks off.
It's a brutal sport and quite inhumane. It is not however like many other blood sports. You put two roosters in a hen house and one either ends up dead or escapes bleeding. In Nicaragua the equality of the matches is paramount, the spurs are covered up and very small blades are attached to the feet (seriously small - 2-3mm). The matches last 15 minutes and thankfully on my debut, no chicken dies. The afternoon does take on the feel of Saturday afternoon at the local football in England a number of years ago, as you can see that hordes of men have finally been let of their homes by their frustrated wives crying, "Go, on, go and play with your chickens with your friends". They take to the sport with the same level of enthusiasm too, as mid way through a fight if one chicken's blade comes off, the fight is halted and everyman is in the ring shouting, giving advice and doing everything possible to give their tired or injured chicken a bit of a breather.
A local man called Bennito is insistent on betting with me (and having my sunglasses) and so the money (only $2) is held with his friend, and despite me thinking I'm not seeing that again, Bennito's chicken turns out to be exactly that and refuses to fight. Two more bets with fellow backpackers and I'm $10 to the good and 3 sheets to the wind. It might be an immoral sport, but its fascinating to get a proper look into what makes the local men tick and what they're willing to gamble a large proportion of their families income on, when at the end of the day after all the fussing over the details, it's just a chicken.
After 5 days up in Jiquilillo I'm back in Leon, and I find it a city very hard to leave. It's famous for it's stance in the civil war as being a Sandinista (FSLN) stronghold, and the city reminds me of Belfast with murals everywhere, depicting all the different heroes of the revolutions and martyrs who died for the cause. The turbulent past always seems to be never far from the surface, especially in Leon where the Sandinista colours are everywhere (red and black) and many walls are stamped with the pledge for Daniel for president in 2011. There are scars of the conflict everywhere, I don't see too many in the walls, but the people who were in the midst of it are everywhere. Men in wheelchairs are not a rare sight, and there are monuments to those that died all over town, even a centre ran by women who lost sons in the war is dedicated to educating tourists and the younger generations alike.
Leon is comfortable but not a beautiful place. Its a place with a rowdy nightlife, its people are unphased by tourists and its a place that imbibes the Sandinista outlook and is incredibly proud of itself.
None of the photos are gory and they're in the usual place:
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