En route to Granada

The busses gurgle and choke as they weave their way through crowded streets, up rolling tree packed unpopulated mountains and over cloudy rivers rushing toward the unknown. I have chosen the local route. Peasants, as they are called I suppose, hop off and on the package laden vehicles at a myriad of small villages. I struggle to find the next bus at each main stop. Finally I arrive at a majestic little town called Granada. Grand Grenada,I sense I have entered a world 100 years earlier. Many of the buildings are large ambling wooden structures. The fanciful parks are clean and uncluttered. Occasionally I encounter men in sagging black suits and women strolling in the sun with modern umbrellas resembling parasols.This, my last night before roughing it, I choose a stately grand hotel adorned with antique furniture and a lobby cluttered with large aging wooden clocks. A private balcony outside of my room overlooks the main plaza. I am not disappointed when I have to share a bathroom.

For dinner I am directed to a resurging Granada and a renovated 1840’s building. In an open air court yard located at the center of the home I am served local stake while surrounded by trees and colorful flowers. Not far away are the Granada docks where I will launch the exciting part of my float walk.

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