In the city of Granada, every house is responsible for its own sidewalk, so some houses have lovely tile, while others have just a jumble of rubble—or maybe a stairway or fence to keep pedestrians out entirely. Away from the main roads, there is no pavement or sidewalk at all, and we just walk in the dirt.
Every day since we arrived, we have commented on how treacherous the sidewalks and streets are. This week, unfortunately, Ellen proved the point by turning her foot on the street. After a few days of rest with ice and anti-inflammatory medication, the foot still would not bear any weight, so we took a taxi to Managua, where there is a first class hospital with x-rays and doctors and paperwork just like at home. The prices and service are just like home 70 years ago. The same doctor who ordered the x-ray, read it and applied the cast over two broken metatarsal bones. Then he gave us a card with his cell phone number in case we have any problems or questions, and he walked us to the door, where our taxi was still waiting.
This has slowed us down a bit, but we’ve met a lot more nice people, and Ellen has extra time for studying Spanish or preparing lessons. The young elders, who have to stay with their assigned companions at all times, are scandalized to see that we can spilt up and Frank can go to meetings or run errands alone!