In Nicaragua

Big travel day today. I made it across the border to Nicaragua with stories to tell. Ah yes travel is not a boring occasion, especially when you do not speak the language. The journey started at nine am when Titus drove me to Liberia to pick up the bus. We waited in the restaurant where the bus was supposed to stop. Out in the parking lot it was just going to stop. Some how that didn't seem to make sense to me. What about a bus stop, a location for pick up and drop off. Really just a parking lot?

Yep, it arrived and along with another couple I boarded the bus. First interesting point, although assigned a seat number on my ticket, actually sitting in that seat was not an option. I think that bus was crammed to capacity. I took the last open seat toward the front, and discovered that my backpack would not fit into the overhead compartment. Now what, I wondered. The Bus drive had assured me I would not need to check it below with a wave of his hand, and now I was standing holding the bag. Suddenly the ground shifted beneath my feet and we were off. Definatly not putting it below now. Blessedly it slipped beneath the foot of the seat and I straddled it with my legs. I was seated next a quiet gentlemen, who was most pleasant and took piety on me with my Spanish. He spoke no English so I got my first lesson of the day. Its strange, I seem to understand what people are saying, but doubt that I really do. I discover this when someone translates for me and I find myself saying "I thought that was what they were asking."

Before the conversation started with my fellow seat passenger, the bus came to a stop. I thought we were picking up some more passengers, although where they would sit would be a mystery. Turns out it was an accident and we waited for an hour on the road. Blessedly there was air conditioning, it was early morning, and every seemed relaxed. We drove by the wreck, turned out to be another autobus on the road, the entire left side torn off. Rumors flew that it has rolled off the road. Our whole bus rocked to one side as we passed the carnage, everyone vying for a spot to see. What is it about wrecks? Is it seeing the possibility of it having happened with thoughts that it could have been us, that death had passed over us to another bus? I heard no sirens, no police, just a tow truck and a guy in a reflective vest waving us on. I wondered where the passengers were but could not get a good enough view from my side and the height of the bus.

Once moving again I struck up a stumbling conversation with my friend and pleaded in what I'm sure was a desperate matter for his help when we arrived at the border. We arrived much sooner then I realized, and my hand shook as I scrambled to fill out the customs and declarations form as people got off. Disembarking a group of moneychangers haggled the crowd, but were not too pushy. My friend pointed to a line and made the gesture that I was too wait. I did like a bewildered child watching the activity around with wonder. Trying to blend in and appear cool was not my concern. I wouldn't anyways. They allowed us through groups at a time, and watching, I tried my best to keep up with what everyone else was doing. I handed over my passport with my papers, were handed the papers back, a loud bang, and my passport was stamped. I was waved on without even an upward glance and I left, the line of waiters stretching down past the building and out of sight. We had arrived just before two large buses. Another blessing.

Back on the bus, before I could sigh, I went to the bathroom and discovered all forms of paper had been removed. Luckily I had a stash, but I was reminded that I was now traveling on public transportation. Oh the fun. Upon returning to my seat, people were dropping their passport into a plastic bag along with a form. I quickly dug mine out and then the driver said I needed to pay Cinco Mil. I only had a 10 Mil on me so I handed it to him with a shrug. He told me to remind him to give 5 back to me. I nodded and wondered if I'd would know how I would remind him later. So off the passports went into a bag and we drove another 10 feet to another stop.

Here we all disembarked, with our bags and stood in a line execution style and waited. Baking in the sun, we had our bags sniffed and then ourselves by the cutest black drug dog puppy I'd ever seen. I wanted to pet him, but I figured I'd probably get my hand shot off if I tried so I simply stood still in silence like everyone else. Three times the dog stopped at the same bag and finally dropped down onto his stomach and waited. The guards took the bag and began unloading its contents on the hood of a car. The owner, a rather larger, older woman explained each item as they pulled it out, until they got to a small lotion bottle with a screw off lid. Opening it were different medicines, the punch out kind, resting inside. Holding up the suspicious pills, the guard eyed her and she began gesturing to her back, and there her knees, making it seem as if they were for those particular areas. While guard and drug toter went back and forth, the other guards compared footwear, with one having received new boots, still clean beige and crisp laces. Like those famous scenes in movies, where everyone is sweating in the hot sun while a vulture circles above, the guards with sunglasses chewed on toothpicks and glared. Tourist and local alike stood in pools of their own sweat and cursed the day pain meds were invented. This was my movie scene and there was no spritzer to cool us off. Being an extras has no frills!

Finally the signal was given, we all gratefully piled back on board and settled into our seats for another 10 feet crawl and then were herded off again. What now? I wondered, but all we did was unload all our luggage, turn in our white slips and then get back on the bus, after our name was called and our passports stamped. It was the luggage inspection/ boarder patrol for Nicaragua. We'd crossed the border.

Dropped off in Rivas on the side of the road, bus driver took care of me, returned my 5 mil colones and arranged a taxi with a fare of $20 to San Juan. In 35 minutes I arrived in San Juan Del Sur and found the school down a dirt road. Graciously welcomed by the owner, who mentioned she was worried I was so late, I was shown to my room, complete with own bathroom, and everything was painted in bright bold colors. I'd made it, a little hotter, dirtier and later then I expected, but I was happy. I'd made it across the border.