Is Managua, Nicaragua the place to be?

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Mark Twain or Ben Franklin or Paul Theroux or Robert Louis Stevenson -all great travelers and writers said it best:" Your trip begins the minute you leave the door of one 'home' and enter another." And so it was yesterday as I made my way on what I thought was going to be a zippy little 45 minute flight from San Jose', Costa Rica to Managua, Nicaragua.
Knowing my way around a few So. Am. airports I know to give myself more than enough time since there are 2 types of time in the world: Latin and Central Am. and the rest of the world. I arrived at the airport with lots of time to spare. Paid my rip off 'exit tax' and went to my assigned gate.
The gate guy appeared and put the correct flight and departure time on his little board by the door that exited onto the tarmac. Then it happened, the moment anyone who has ever sat in a foreign airport fears. An announcement is made over a bluzzy speaker and everyone else sitting near you bolts for somewhere. Happened yesterday. I was left sitting with 2 or 3 other gringos. Well, my mama didn't raise no fool. I followed the guys who spoke Spanish as fast as my arthritic knees would carry me.
The line was long and the clerks were agonizingly slow. Finally, I was told the flight was indeed canceled, but no problema, that instead of going out at the planned 1:30 it would be 2:30. Ok, I thought , that's not so bad. Only it wasn't my zippy little hop over to Managua. No, I was going to fly right over Managua and land in El Salvador. Then I was going to have to wait 4 hours for the next flight to Managua. So instead of getting there at the planned 2:30 in the afternoon it would be 9:30 at night.
Now, I have to tell you I know no one in Managua. I know no one in all of Nicaragua. All I had was an an e-mail address for the 'Nicaragua Guest House' that was somewhere in the city, run by a man named Oscar, and his wife Elena. In all my e-mails Oscar had told me he would pick me up. My original arrival was long past so I was more than a bit apprehensive about the welcoming scenario. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I had asked the TACA agent to call and tell Oscar all the information about the new flight number and times. She did call. When I asked her if she had spoken to Oscar, she said " No, I just spoke to somebody who answered the phone. Besides you can always find a taxi or go to another hotel if no Oscar showed up." In other words, you're on your own, kiddo. Folks, this entire trip is a huge leap of faith.
Well, Oscar didn't show up. But his 16 year old son, Martin, did along with a friend, Francisco, who drives a pirate taxi meaning illegal. They are the taxis without a meter, a sign, or a little light on the top. Martin spoke no English. Francisco spoke some since he used to be an English teacher. Key words there are "used to be". His skills were, um, pretty rusty sort of opn par with my Spanish. We did fine. He told me he could not live on the money that teachers get paid so now he drives taxi. And what a taxi it was! The driver's seat was in permanent full 'relax' position. You could see the road through the holes in the floor. Some of the windows opened but couldn't be closed. I was cautioned NOT to open them as my bags could be stolen. There was no AC. It was approximately 90 degrees and HUMID. We took many side streets because along the main roads there were huge logs set on fire and rows and rows of parked buses. I asked about the logs and was told that there was a bus strike. Oh joy, more unexpected transportation adventures ahead. I told him I needed to get to Granada the next day and had been planning to take a bus. With a wave of his hand he told me "No problema". There never seems to be a problem as people are very ingenious and seem to be able to figure out how to get around any obstacle. He announced he would be more than happy to pick me up and take me to the collectivos. This was a win-win. I got where I needed to go to get a ride to my next destination and he got another cab fare.

They got me to my new ' home'. The air conditioner was on,. I had paid an extra $15 a night for it making the total cost around $30. The room was clean and cool. It was no Holiday Inn or even Motel 6 but it sure looked good to me. I slept fine.
The 'breakfast' was several pieces of cold toast. Martin seemed to be running the show. I asked him if there was any other food and he flatly said "No." Okay, plain stale toast it is.

He asked me to pay for the room and I told him I had no Nicaraquan money and needed to go to an ATM. He told me that he would walk me to a bank so I could get some money. I'm sure it was also to keep me safe. We walked and walked and walked in 90+ degree heat. I told him we were taking a taxi back. Always, when I travel I carry 2 debits cards. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don't. I call it ATM lottery. And, as I am finding out in Central Am., it is mostly VISA cards that work. I put my card in and it was refused. I was really sweating now as Martin was watching me very closely. I tried again and BINGO! it worked.

Francisco arrived soon after we got back to the B & B (a rather hilarious term considering it looked more like a prison with food to match) but I was being well taken care for despite not ever meeting the elusive Oscar and Elena.
On the way to the bus station Francisco gave me several more lessons in surviving as a tourist. 1. Never drive with your windows down because when you are at a stop light the people 'selling'' stuff will reach into your car and grab whatever they can and run. 2.Never wear any jewelry especially rings, earrings, or a watch. and 3. Always hold onto your money and hide it as best you can.
We pulled into where the vans were gathered ockeying for a few inches of space. It was like a 3 ring circus with shills trying to get as many people onto their vans as possible. It was complete chaos. I started to open the door and Francisco yelled at me "Don't get out yet". He inched and honked and pushed his was and found the right van going to Granada. He jumped out and ordered 2 of the shills to get my backpacks out. I paid him and he told me to go as fast I as could. The boys had grabbed me a good seat right up front and wedged by backpacks in so no one could grab them. I tipped them well. It was a breathtaking event just getting onto the van and I appreciated all Francisco had done. He was still parked there watching and waiting to make sure I got off safely.
A little outside the station a large young man came on the van and I had to move over. We were squeezed pretty tight for a good 3/4 of an hour. His name was 'Johnny'. He has lived 8 years in California but he said he had forgotten a lot of his English. So we chatted the entire way in Spanglish. When we got to Granada he helped me with my bags, told me to wait while he found me a taxi, made sure the driver knew where to go, and negotiated the fare. As my friend ,Val, says when we travel, " It takes a village to get us where we need to go." So far the villagers have taken good care of me.
Love, Carolyn

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