Granada is located along the coast of the Lake Nicaragua, the world’s twentieth largest lake. It was founded in 1524 by Francisco Hernández de Córdoba, and claims to be the first European city on mainland America. In the first centuries after its founding, the city was witness to and victim of many of the battles with English, French and Dutch pirates for control of Nicaragua.

In more recent times, though, Granada avoided most of the violence of the aftermath of the Sandinista revolution in the 1970s and ’80s. Back in 2008, I found a city that had managed to preserve and restore much of its Spanish colonial architecture and its pleasing public streets and squares. I’m not alone in this observation. The story is told that when Pope John Paul II visited Granada, he was so charmed by the town that he told the people not to change a thing.

When we first encountered this bandstand in a public park, it was empty as you see it here.

But the next time we happened by, it was mobbed with people. A band played. Different couples took turns dancing in front of the crowd, not so much to show off hot dance moves as to have their time in the limelight. The audience approved.

We headed down to Lake Nicaragua, not so much because we wanted to beach it, but because we wanted to scope out where we would be catching the ferry across the lake. It being a holiday weekend, many people were heading out for some sun and swimming.

I traveled to Nicaragua in 2008 with my son, Spencer. It was my ur-trip, the experience that formed the template of much travel to come:

• A faintly exotic destination that had experienced civil war in living memory
• A mixture of luxury digs and down-and-dirty hostels
• A stay in a town noted for its architecture, followed by a trip into the countryside

I’ve since taken this kind of trip over and over since then. But back in 2008, it was all new to me. I’d never traveled in the developing world before. I had a little Nikon point-and-shoot (my first digital camera) the I scarcely knew how to use. I had a plan I’d cobbled together from travel magazines, back when such publications were printed on dead tree media. I remember that I was so anxious and excited that I hardly slept the night before we left.

Since that trip seven years ago, Spencer and I have taken two other journeys together, one through Vietnam and the other through Morocco. As he moved into adulthood and independence, I wondered how we would relate to each other. Travel, I’ve discovered, bonds us as adults, further deepening my appreciation of fatherhood. I’ve learned to rely on him, something that was a little difficult for me, since I can’t quite shake the old parental habit of thinking of him as a mere kid sometimes.

Back in 2008, flew to Managua, waded through the dozens of touts at the airport, and selected one who drove us in a van to Granada. It was about an hour away. We checked into the Hotel Colonial, a small but beautiful hotel built around a courtyard with an inviting pool and large-leafed tropical plants.

We were here:

After resting up, we set out to explore Granada.