This morning at about 7:30 I began my stroll through the streets of Granada. The truth is, I'd been awake for much longer. Incessant scooter horns, loud music, and some non-descript form of heavy machinery operating a hair past 3:00 am aren't particularly abnormal around these parts. I had similar wake-up calls in Nepal.
The city's Spanish influence can be felt deeply in it's architecture at countless churches. Between Spain and England I often wonder what stretch of land managed to escape their imposition, which is to say they got around.
I'm enjoying my time here. I try to take in as many sites and sounds as I can, and if I'm lucky make a friend or two. Towards the end of the day, I walked into the Nicaraguan version of Le Pain Quotidien. Not surprisingly I soon discover the store is owned and run by an American expat who just moved from Austin, Texas.
She's kind and outgoing and asks what I'm writing as I wait for my tuna sandwich. "This? Oh, it's a screenplay," I tell her. "Oh,"she says.
"Is that what you do or want to do?" she wants to know. Both, I think.
I pay my bill and head home wondering what tomorrow has in store for me in this beautiful and strange new land.