Matagalpa

Matagalpa is the last stop on my journey before I travel to the capital this weekend to fly back home.
Contrary to my expectations, I am not enjoying it here. Unfortunately, I am also experiencing in Matagalpa that tours to nearby nature reserves or coffee farms are only offered for two or more people, and once again, I am the only interested person.

I don't feel comfortable walking through the broken, dirty, and hilly streets. In other cities, the streets are broken, dirty, and chaotic, but here it feels somehow different. Nowhere else have I seen so many begging children sent by their parents through cafés and restaurants with a basket full of trinkets to sell. 

Throughout my whole journey, I have not felt unsafe anywhere else. I am generally not an anxious person, but here in Matagalpa and its surroundings, I have already had an uneasy feeling twice while walking alone under the gaze of the locals. My guidebook states that Matagalpa is safe. Interestingly, no such statement regarding safety is found for any other city.

Yesterday, I walked up the hill to the nearest viewpoint. The guidebook suggested taking a taxi for that. I went on foot because Google Maps showed only 40 minutes. The path led me through a (or the) impoverished neighborhood of the city. It was shocking to see the conditions in which some people live here. It reminded me of Europe during the Industrial Revolution. I saw shelters hastily constructed from corrugated iron, plastic tarps, and a few bricks, on ground beaten into clay. Inside, more corrugated metal sheets served as partitions, supplemented by fabric curtains, creating small dark