Conversations from Central America

The Frontier
When traveling in Central America no one tells you about the border crossings or crossing the frontier as they refer to it. Going from Costa Rica to Nicaragua was pretty easy and miserable at the same time. The bus driver takes the passports of everyone on the bus.
Like one passenger said, “I don’t’ like them taking my passport”. And it was true. The one thing you learn is your passport is king. Just to contemplate losing it or not getting it back is not something you want to go through.
At the frontier they let you off for a rest stop and there are the guys trying to change your colonnes into cordovas. They all carry calculators to show the exchange rate. I gave the guy a couple of American dollars but the exchange did not go smoothly and I took my money back. I found throughout my travel American one dollar bills are good to have for tips and the purchase of small items like sodas and chips. If you ask for a coca cola they will tell you they only have pepsi. If you ask for pepsi, they will say they only have coke. Go figure it! For some reason they don’t sell them together. The only trouble with using one dollar bills is you end up with a purse full of those clunky coins that never add up to anything and no one seems to want.
At the Frontier waiting for the passports to be processed I overheard a single gentleman talking about Managua.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but are you going to Managua? These girls told me there were riots there and three people were killed. Are you concerned?”
Well he went into a rant about how everybody takes every opportunity to slam Nicaragua which in his experience is the safest country in Central America. He said if you get drunk and are walking home they will help you get home safely. They might want something for their effort but they won’t harm you.
And he was derisive of Costa Ricans, “peace loving people, no army and all that, they will rip you off at every opportunity. They treat the Nicaraguans shabbily.”
“Really!” I said.
He was planning to stay five days and wished he could stay longer. I asked where he was staying since I didn’t have a hotel. He knew his way around he said and was staying In a local hotel for around $15.00 a night. Seeing I was traveling alone he recommended I stay at the Tico Bus hotel which was located at the bus station. Since we were getting In late this was the safest choice at least for the first night. The hotel was new and clean and had someone at the desk all night. He also recommended a well known hotel, you know, a real hotel with a swimming pool and all. But I would have to take a cab and on reconsidering it he thought it best I stay a the Tico Bus hotel.
Once the passports have been put through the computer they call out your name, hand you your passport and then you can get back on the bus.
My advice to those traveling to a new place is try to get there before dark. There is something unsettling about arriving at night. As the bus pulled into Granada the street lights were muted and the buildings were in shadows with interior lights . The buildings are one story attached with a sloping roof and overhang held up by posts along a cement porch. It was right out of one of those old cowboy movies where the cowboys ride into a Mexican border town and hitch their horses to the posts. The only thing missing were the sombreros.
There were two young women and a young man seated near me. As we pulled into Granada the young man turned to them wide eyed and said,
“It was your idea to come here. Do you know where we ‘re going? “
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I have a map.”
Everyone it seemed was getting off at Granada and again I’m second guessing my decision to forge on to Managua. To my chagrin the single gentleman was getting off too.
He looked at me and said, “Too many hours on this bus, I’m getting off.”
“Great!,” I said.

Tico Bus Station, San Jose, Costa Rica

I was sitting in the Tico Bus station in San Jose, Costa Rica, waiting on a bus to Managua, Nicaragua when a group of young ticos arrived. The young women were dressed right out of the fashion magazines; tight short shorts or mini dresses with spike heels. Not exactly comfortable traveling attire when you consider we were up for a 10 hour bus ride. But they were pretty and you had to admire their dedication to the fashionable!
Two young women were speaking English giving the tico group the once over.
“The boys are so cute”, said one, but they’re so short.”
Yes they are short, but personally I thought the young men were handsome with nice faces, dark hair and fair skin. The only dark skinned people I saw in Costa Rica were indigenous or of African descent.
I turned to inquire of the young women if they were traveling to Managua, as I was unsure of my decision go there and was looking for confirmation.
“No, they said, we’re going to Granada. Last week there were municipal elections and a riot broke out in Managua and three people were killed”.
“Great!” I thought, just what I wanted to hear.
“You should go to Granada instead,” she said.
“But my ticket says Managua,” I moaned.
“It doesn’t matter, just get off in Granada.”
As an afterthought she said, “Managua is a great old Spanish colonial town and it is really worth seeing!”
After spending the last ten days in Costa Rica I was up for a city with old buildings, a cathedral, a museum or two.
But was I being foolish to go to Managua, that was the question.