After a semi-sumptuous breakfast, Edgar greeted us at 8.30 prompt having caught the chicken bus from his home in Managua. Off we went across the plaza and past the side of the cathedral to La Casa de los tres mundos an art / cultural centre where Caitlin got a chance to show off her skills on a wildly untuned piano. Nothing that much to see or do there but worth a few moments of our time. We proceeded next to the San Franciscan convent where eagle-eyed Edgar spotted a barn owl checking out the world from its lofty perch. Various objects of minor interest to us were enthused upon by Edgar.... which increased our interest level exponentially. Most impressive objects therein were the pre-Columbian stone statues from Zapatera island which reminded me, probably incorrectly, of the standing stones back home. Sauna heat level was being reached by this stage - well before 10 o' clock and we bought drinks from a mom 'n pop shop for a pittance. And then our carriage awaited. Two warring horses who are apparently in conflict away from work behaved impeccably for us taking us around and past the main and lesser sights of Granada. I did comment that their parking between two cars outside Iglesia la Merced left more than a little to be desired. There wasn't effective braking on the carriage either but the brick did the job. Up the tower to stand and look across and below. Picturesque of course. Time to join a few others in the belltower following the advice of the Welsh poet, W. H. Davies; "What is this life if full of care, We have no time to stand and stare". Unfortunately for everyone else, I couldn't resist ringing one of the large bells. The intention was to have no more than a moderate twang but it was a loud one, a very loud one. Edgar was shocked and had to mollify the remainder of the high-minded climbers to ensure that I was able to take the slower route back to ground level. It didn't help either that I found the incident quite amusing and was to be seen giggling to myself for the remainder of my time up there. I thought of passing on the blame to Caitlin for this incident in the bell tower but I am a responsible, caring parent quite clearly. Apparently, the citizens of Granada were thrown by my inopportune clanging and spent the rest of the day out of synch. Chaos was caused and many missed their chicken buses to Managua as I caused them to leave 10 minutes early. But there we go.....or in the case of the would be passengers, there they did not go. Back to the horses and on to a cemetery where many ex-presidents are entombed. I was eager for us to leave swiftly just in case the locals might want me to reside here long term following my disgraceful behaviour aloft moments earlier. It was outside the walls here that we witnessed a local make an unofficial but successful attempt to break Usain Bolt's record in the 100 and 200 metres as he held on to his runaway bull. I imagine that other distance records were shattered too but my eyesight is limited to below two miles or so. Back home, I mean to the hotel, we yielded to my daughter's dark looks and unconcealed threats and we entered the swimming pool for the second time in two days. Such was the proposed venom from Caitlin that Alyson was to be seen swishing around although when water splashed into her eyes, we were warned severely by her that blindness to the recipient could be the outcome. This was an effective technique from Alyson to scare Caitlin. The afternoon outing was to Lake Nicaragua not so far away where we were boated suitably and shared the company of Pierre, the owner of Nicaraguan Adventures. Edgar excelled as usual pointing out every breathing creature and informing us with the detail of Iolo Williams and the enthusiasm of David Attenborough. Traditional fishermen live simply with their families on many of the minute islands and we saw several washing their clothes and themselves in the waters. None offered to do the former service for me and thankfully there were no offers to wash me either. Surprisingly almost cheek by jowl on nearby islands were the second, or more probably, the twelfth homes of some of the wealthiest and most powerful men in Nicaragua. Tennis courts and servants to swim for errant balls! Amazing, wondrous places owned by the rich and infamous. Pierre told us that it would be possible to rent a chalet for a couple of days on some of these idyllic islands. Tempted to do this sometime in the future when Michael Gove realises my true worth. Returning to dry land, we passed a genuine cowboy, i.e. a boy herding his cows along the lanes riding a real cow. The evening meal in Granada was outside a pizzeria sharing an unpleasant half-carafe of red (vinegar?) wine with Alyson. The streets were packed with mildly harassing hawkers whose unappealing attractions we successfully resisted. Everyone, locals and more tourists than we have seen up to now, were jam-packed into this long street on Friday evening. A good, boisterous atmosphere with weird folk-dancing and a variety of musicians keen to try to entertain us for a modest fee. Our pizzas were reasonably edible but avoid going to our pizzeria which was on the corner on the opposite side / Lake Nicaragua end of the street from the plush, Dario hotel if you are in a sizeable group. A gaggle of about a dozen ungiggling, adventure-seeking teenagers, together with their accompanying adults, waited expectantly and eventually unexpectantly for something beyond the myriad of mosquitoes to land on their tables. All seemed to have lost several pounds in weight before their famine was broken as we left. That's about it. Tomorrow, we're leaving Granada for Ometepe island. And Edgar has left us too. He deserved the 20 dollar tip. Hope that it was sufficient! I hate tipping here because I just don't understand the rules and feel ripped off or unwisely exhorbitant with my hand out. If someone decides to pick up my bags and haul them a few yards without seeking my permission, I'm unkeen on thrusting anything into their assertive palms other than something unmentionable and smelly. If we tipped everyone who gave us a minor service, my retirement age would rocket into plus hundred. But tipping Edgar for his fantastic guidance seemed more than right. Nos da!