Nicaragua, a Country of Diverse Landscapes, Culture and People

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(MANAGUA, NICARAGUA) -- The bus from Antigua, Guatemala left at 4:00 a.m. and traveled through El Salvador and Honduras before arriving in Managua, Nicaragua 17-hours later.  We had to pay an exit fee when leaving El Salvador and Honduras even though we were only transiting the two countries.  The tax was compulsory regardless of the length of time we actually spent there.  In El Salvador we did not even have to get off the bus.  Instead, well-armed, serious-looking immigrations officials came onboard to check passports and collect the fees.  Several of our fellow passengers must have unknowingly raised a few red flags, as they were required to remove all of their belongings from under the bus for inspection.  The bus eventually departed, and I am sure those subjected to the "inspection" had lighter wallets as a result.

We arrived after dark in Managua, the only city so far where security was a concern, as it is well known for its high crime rate.  It was pouring rain and we lugged our gear to the taxi stand to wait our turn.  One of our fellow passengers took pity and gave us her cab.  She also asked where we were going, gave the taxi driver the address, and we were there in less than 10 minutes.  We experienced many such unselfish acts throughout our trek, and were always grateful for their assistance and kindness.

In addition to being dark and rainy, the neighborhood appeared a bit seedy.  We booked the hostel because of its proximity to the bus station, and of course price - probably not the most sensible criteria given the city we were in.   Once we arrived at the hostel our anxiety increased, as it appeared to have the security infrastructure of Fort Knox - high fence and a heavy barred entrance gate that could only be unlocked from the inside.  We were famished and asked the proprietress where the closest restaurant was, and she looked at us as if were crazy.   We interrupted her reaction to mean this was not a safe area and we should not be going out this late.  However, we were all so hungry we could have taken the Alamo if someone had offered us a plate of rice and beans.

She indicated there was a restaurant just down the street, and off we went.   Thankfully it was not far and we enjoyed five heaping plates of food.  We were very wary during the return walk to the hostel and were welcomed by a man wielding a machete, blowing a whistle and yelling something in Spanish.  After reentering Ft. Knox, we were told he was harmless, just a little drunk.  Apparently he was more than just a little drunk, as he kept up his vigil yelling and blowing his whistle outside our window for several more hours.  Under normal circumstances I would have reasoned with the guy to go home and sleep it off.  Since he had a machete and I did not, it seemed prudent to lie in bed and hope he would go away, which eventually he did.

Our destination in Nicaragua was Surf Sanctuary, a surf camp on the West Coast of the country.  Friends operated it, and we planned to stay there for a week, as the boys had not been able to surf since beginning our trek nearly four weeks earlier.  Nicaragua is a Mecca for surfers from around the world.

As with all of our other destinations, getting there was half the adventure.  We arrived at the bus station the following morning and were greeted by complete chaos, or at least it seemed so to us.  By comparison, our culture is so orderly that being assailed by a dozen guys yelling and asking where we were going was a bit overwhelming.  Thankfully our taxi driver understood where we wanted to go and took us to the right bus, or at least we hoped.

Once at the depot, we were again assaulted by a barrage of people all claiming that their bus would take us to Rivas, the waypoint before our final destination.  The bus drivers are notorious for grabbing the bags, throwing them on top of the bus and claiming to take you where you want to go.  In some cases travelers have rode for hours before discovering they had been on the wrong bus all along.  Fortunately, it never happened to us because I always checked several sources including fellow passengers.  If at least two out of three agreed, we would relinquish our bags and get on.

Once underway, an assistant came around to collect the fare.  I was told how much and was getting out the money, when several people around me began verbally assaulting the assistant.  I was not sure what was happening until someone explain in English that he had tried to overcharge us, and they were making sure I paid the same as the locals.  Like the woman the night before who gave up her taxi, I appreciated their kindness and tried to say so in my inadequate Spanish.

My seatmate, a small weathered dark-brown man who wore thick glasses, an old hat and was at least in his 70s, welcomed me to his country in his limited English vocabulary.  He obviously understood that my Spanish was even more rudimentary than his English and gave me an English/Spanish phrase book.  It was a kind gesture based on careful observation and done without malice.  He simply did not want me to continue butchering his language and embarrassing myself.  I hated to break the news to him, but I was certain both would continue unabated - with or without his phrase book in hand.

There was an upscale housing development near Surf Sanctuary where many US expats lived, and bought large homes with ocean views for a fraction of what they would pay back home.  By contrast, the typical local resident lived in very small homes with limited running water and few inside toilets.  They washed their clothes at the hot springs nearby and hung them to dry on barbed wire fences that corralled most of their livestock.  A typical day's wage was $5 USD, and by our standards these people would be considered dirt poor.  In reality, they did not view themselves that way.  To the contrary, they were happy, well fed, always clean and offered smiles without expecting one in return.  In the US, our culture is constantly reminding people of what they don't have, and most of the time they view themselves as poor or deprived and act accordingly.  Without the constant reminders, the locals were rich beyond measure and simply enjoyed the life they had.

Almost all of the locals have livestock - chickens, cows, horses and pigs.  As a kid growing up on a farm, I have put up my share of fence to keep animals confined to an enclosed area.  However, in Nicaragua their focus was mostly on keeping animals out of certain areas.  As a result, they devised a clever "headgear" system that limited (mostly) pigs from gaining access to certain areas such as gardens.  The pigs roamed free, but because of the wooden triangles around their necks were unable to access restricted areas that were surrounded by barbed wire.  It was just another way of dealing with a common problem, and employed a solution that seemed to work for all concerned.

Beautiful Costa Rica was our next destination.  Incredible scenery, rich biodiversity and unparalleled natural beauty were ubiquitous.  Trying to catch crocodiles, negotiating the narrow winding roads and enjoying the breathtaking coasts were just a few of the highlights during the two weeks in Costa Rica.

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