At only four days, my time in Leon was regrettably short. Latina Hostel had quickly become my traveling home, while the streets of Leon rapidly became my regular stomping ground. 

Though Leon is the second largest city in Nicaragua, it has a small town feel that's entirely different from the big city attitude of Managua. In Managua, the presence of the police are noticeable. Whereas in Leon, I never caught sight of them. A couple high rises, mostly - if not all - hotels, punctuate the Managua sky, while nothing but clouds and sun remained the sole occupants of Leon's. Traffic lights and stop signs are more diligently obeyed in the capital city, with honking the preferred alternative traffic control system in Leon.

No fireworks this time, just the rays of sunshine peaking through the windows. It's been getting difficult to keep track of the days of the week, a wonderful feeling indeed. 

After a quick cup of coffee, I headed out with Miguel again. This time, it was to Cerro Negro, the youngest volcano in Central America.  There was only one other traveler, a fellow from the Netherlands. Perhaps it was because it was eight in the morning or maybe it was because he was hungover, but he wasn't as talkative as the Canadians I had previously befriended up Volcán Telica.  

Sitting in a caravan, we rode to Cerro Negro National Park in silence, peppered with the occasional question I had for Miguel. 

We then spent another half hour driving off road. Although, off road this time was a smoother experience than the last. The trails were much more developed, with the occasional large rocks thrown into the mix.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Like gunshots, the noise of fireworks somewhere in the vicinity made its way to my ears. My eyes opened to the morning light shining through the open widows.  After a few minutes, I made my way to the barstools out in the courtyard. The sky was ominous, with a promise of rain in the air. However, from my observation over the past few days, that promise was rarely fulfilled. Thus, I figured it was as good a day as any other to make my way to the Playa Las Peñitas, a beach just 20km outside of Leon. 

After eating breakfast (pancake, banana, and coffee), I asked Silvio for directions. 

A block to the left of the bakery I've been frequenting, in front of a couple food stands, was where I hopped on a cambio. A modified delivery truck with tarp covering the top and two sides, the cambio had metal benches lining its two long edges and bars at the top for those standing. For 4 Cordobas, ~20 cents, I jumped onboard and grabbed hold of a bar as the truck jerked its way through the city, picking up and dropping off its wearied morning cargo. We passed by a small procession on the street, with men, women, and children dressed in white gowns overlaid on top of another red one. Just as I was wondering how much longer I had to endure the noxious car exhaust that blew my way, we arrived at El Mercandito, where a dozen stands selling bananas, juices, and other goods surrounded my next ride.

After being dropped off at Latina after our night out on Telica, I was starving. At Silvio's suggestion, I headed to a restaurant that lies a couple blocks up from where we were. The brightly colored homes and tiendas that I observed earlier in the day were now shrouded in darkness. The occasional streetlight lit my way as I switched between walking on the road and the sidewalks.  I made a mental note of the direction I was heading as there were few observable markings in the dark to guide me back. 

I found myself at the square of the Cathedral. On the corner closest to the Cathedral door stood El Sesteo. Half believing it was closed, I approached one of the waiters, "una persona." With that, I sat down as a breeze swept through the open walls. 

I ordered the chancho con yuca, pulled pork with steamed yuca, and freshly sliced tomatoes. I recalled earlier that Miguel, our guide on Telica, said chancho also means dirty. Whatever that implied about my dish, I didn't want to know.  Finally glad to get a real meal in, I devoured the plate and headed back to Latina, where Latin music greeted me even before I rounded the street corner. 

And so that was the end of day 1 in Nicaragua. 

Day 2 was bound to be more restful. I "slept in" until eight. With the intention of walking through the neighborhoods, I filled my water bottle and headed out the gates.

As quickly as I had gotten out of the taxi, a woman from Latina Hostal came out to unlock the front gates. Located in a quieter section of the city, Latina locks the door and front gate each time a traveler enters or leaves. Though it doesn't have a pool, the hostel opens out to a large courtyard with hammocks, chairs, a bar, and a kitchen. Behind the rear wall of the courtyard lies an even larger yard, where the laundry is hung to dry.

The pilot pulled a double bump landing, bouncing us twice before the plane slowed and headed to our gate. It was a little past midnight in Managua, the capital of Nicaragua and home to roughly 25% of the population. The largest country in Central America, Nicaragua has been witnessing tremendous growth in tourism - and I am here to help push that along.

After going through immigration, paying for the $10 tourist card, and zipping through customs, I was on the hunt for my taxi driver who was supposedly dispatched by my hostel. 

I ushered away the taxi drivers following me, and continued my search for the driver who seemed to be playing hide and go seek with me. After 10 minutes of futile searching, I gave in to the next taxi driver who approached me. The night wasn't getting any younger. 

I followed him as he led me across the road that separated the airport waiting area from the parking lot. Then I continued following him as he kept walking through the parking lot and onto the street. By that point, I was in an area that was dark and less than ideal for one in the morning. As I was about to ask him "Donde esta el auto?" we had arrived.