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 Nicaragua - Part 2
March 4, 2005
Exchange rate: $1 = about 16 Cordobas
We were last in the colonial city of Granada. From there I left Nicaragua for a while and
went south into both Costa Rica and Panama, which I'll eventually tell you about. A couple of weeks later I returned
to Nicaragua from Costa Rica with two British chaps I'd met on the bus. Conveniently, they were both named Jon.
On this trip of almost six weeks I did nine border crossings. As a whole, I had no major difficulties entering
or exiting any Central American country, yet this process can still tend to be a strain on one's serenity. Constant
vigilance is paramount around frontiers, what with the bevy of opportunistic characters and outright thieves that
hover like moths around a light bulb. Nicaragua's the poorest country in Central America and a lot of its inhabitants
are especially desperate and insistent. Everywhere I turned someone was trying to squeeze "dinero" out
of me and that included those who're actually gainfully employed there - the Official Immigration Scam Masters.
I wonder how big a bribe you have to pay to buy your way into this racket? These guys have got to be making a killing
- the sheer sight of a tourist probably triggers a Pavlovian response: uncontrolled drooling. It appears that how
much someone is charged is totally arbitrary, depending on various unknown and undiscussed factors - costs arrived
at via mysterious formulas never posted in writing. The entry or exit fee can vary from one border station to another,
from one day to another. During certain times of the day you might need to pay extra for "overtime".
It's like some kind of lottery you're playing. Why don't the governments just remove the pretense of legality and
provide their staff with ski masks and shotguns?
On my initial entry from Honduras, some fellow travelers and I'd just gotten stamped in and were heading towards
the bus stop when we heard, "Passport!". I looked over and there was a man in his 60s perched in a chair,
wearing shiny new American designer clothes from head to toe, including the obligatory Yankee baseball cap. He
wanted to check our documents. At his feet was a young lad buffing up his shoes to a spit shine. Tenderly massaging
his shoulders was a young lady who looked about 16 but was probably a bit older, dressed up like a hooker… perhaps
because she was? This guy was the archetypal geriatric pimp daddy. The whole scene was classic!
After doing the mandatory check out/check in dance for my second entry into Nicaragua, I and the two Brits named
Jon strolled to where the buses were loading up and encountered a couple of men flashing badges and demanding $1
each for a "Municipal Entry Charge". My first thought was that it was total bullshit (especially since
there was no municipality there) and I ever so politely suggested as much. But on the other hand they had badges
and sure looked official. I knew that if I refused to pay I'd better be sure of what I was doing since this is
not the place to take authority lightly. People in uniform around these parts have a track record of being criminally
abusive… with impunity. So I walked over to where some soldiers where hanging out by the gate and asked them if
there was another fee required after already having paid $7 and getting stamped in. They shook their heads no.
By the time I'd returned to where the border mafia had been accosting us, they were nowhere to be seen. No surprise.
Then there're the ubiquitous money changers. Making this trip required that I frequently swap currencies, using
five different kinds, switching back and forth constantly. Because of this the traveler needs to always be thinking
about how much cash he/she needs and make sure when leaving that they aren't stuck with leftover quetzales, córdobas,
colónes, lempiras, etc., 'cause good luck trying to unload them later in another country. Perhaps the day
will come when there's a Central American version of the Euro and that day will be joyously welcomed by many… except
for the Shylocks at the border.
I suggest that you carry a bank card from home and withdraw local currency from ATMs, since this procedure usually
yields cash at a decent rate. But in addition, it's best to 1) carry some U.S. dollars in varying denominations
with you, 2) research before entering a country what the current exchange rate is, 3) have in mind when crossing
how much cash you'll need until getting access to an ATM, and 4) when crossing pull out your calculator and be
ready for some tough negotiating. Fortunately the fierce competition can work in your favor if you're patient and
willing to take the time to get a what's fair for both parties involved. I usually had a figure in mind and let
them know I was unwilling to settle for anything less than that. More often than not I succeeded in getting it...
usually while walking away.
In the middle of massive Lago de Nicaragua (Latin America's third largest lake) is Isla de Ometepe and you really
should check it out. In order to do just that I first needed to leave Rivas, a seedy municipality where I'd spent
the prior night. It's nearby San Jorge where you can catch the ferry across the lake, a trip about an hour long
and costing C21. And for some passengers that can be a looooong hour since this large body of water is usually
rough and the boat rocks and tosses a bit, easily causing many previously digested meals to be jettisoned overboard.
While during a particularly rough part of the crossing a long-legged Dutch gal seated next to me started freaking
out and screaming. Totally hysterical, she grabbed a hold of me and it took some fervent but gentle reassuring
by me to settle her down and convince her we weren't all on the verge of drowning and/or getting ripped apart and
gobbled up by the up to 3m long fresh-water sharks that inhabit the lake. What I really wanted to do was give her
a robust slap and shout, "Pull yourself together woman!" Just kidding.
After the ferry had arrived at the tiny island port town of Moyogalpa, Jon and Jon and I (they'd decided to tag
along) instantly caught a bus (C15) that slowly worked its way around this figure eight island. Ometepe was formed
by two volcanoes that eventually connected via lava flow. Wherever you are on this island, looming nearby are either
Volcán Madera (1394m) or Volcán Concepción (1610m), the latter still cooking and smoking.
This is a place that seems to sit back in time a bit and is a world apart from the rest of Nicaragua. In fact,
the revolution, counterrevolution and all the other political upheavals that've beset this nation over time have
never visited Ometepe. It has an idyllic, somewhat primitive quality - there're no ATMs and the infrastructure
is seriously decrepit. It takes forever to get around, yet almost no-one cares in the slightest. After 2 ¼
hours on the old dilapidated bus we got off in tiny Balque and hiked about a kilometer up the hill to a "finca".
Finca Magdalena has been a working plantation for decades and primarily focuses on coffee, but also produces various
fruits, vegetables and spices, as well as honey and milk. Under the Sandanista government it was converted in 1983
into a cooperative owned and operated by 27 families. Prior to that there'd been an absentee landlord with a local
manager who lived in the big house, overlooking and lording over the workers whose families had no access to schools
or health care. Since the change, profits now benefit the area through water projects, schools and health services.
Presently, the fastest growing source of revenue is tourism and if you get there you'll see why.
The finca overlooks the shimmering lake with mighty Volcán Concepción looming off to the left, usually
partially shrouded in clouds. In front of the huge deck, where you can relax at a long wooden table or in hammocks,
are gardens of brilliantly colored flowers and trees. Flying here and there are numerous butterflies and birds,
including "burracas" - beautiful, long-tailed magpies. It's gorgeous and "muy tranquillo".
On the downside, the rooms have thin plywood walls so whatever's going on in the next room is no mystery (I was
between two double rooms with couples in both!). Plus there's no hot water. Accommodation is basic, yet adequate.
A daily tab is kept on food and beverages consumed and you pay up when you leave. Fast Eddie Travel Tip - pay in
US dollars, not in córdobas, as prices are quoted in dollars and the exchange rate is crap.
Behind the finca and up the hill is Volcán Madera and most visitors hike to the top, though I didn't. First
of all, I'd seen plenty of volcanoes up close in Indonesia. Secondly, the top part is not only entirely enveloped
in clouds with virtually no view, but is also extremely muddy and consequently a bit treacherous. Everyone I saw
after returning was splattered and soaked with mud, often due to falling. No thanks. Instead I opted to make the
hour's trek part way up to the top to El Mirador - a lookout that's worth the effort, plus you'll almost certainly
see zoomorphic statues, ancient petroglyphs and howler monkeys along the way - a nice bonus.
Whether you decide to ascend all the way to the summit, or only to El Mirador, you'll be asked at the finca to
pay for a guide to accompany you. Of course it's a way of generating revenue for the locals, but this policy only
became recently enforced… due to the death of two hikers a few months ago. It seems that a Brit and an America
decided to climb the volcano, but were unaccompanied, poorly equipped, and not wholly aware of where they were
going. They somehow got off the trail, found themselves in darkness without a flashlight and subsequently plunged
to their deaths. Some hikers sneak away to do the trail. I managed to convince the people there in charge that
I could be trusted to make my climb alone. Perhaps it was my well-worn, Indiana Jones style hat that did the trick?
In general it's safe to wander around Ometepe and one day I headed down the rough dirt road that led farther into
the even more remote part of the island, sometimes passing along the shore where waves rolled in as if it were
an ocean beach. In two hour's time I saw but one vehicle, but did encounter cows, horses, donkeys, pigs, goats,
chickens, ducks, turkeys and dogs… and a few pitiable houses. As I passed by them children would often scurry out
to the road and enthusiastically greet me. I spotted fields of maize, citrus fruit, beans and other crops growing.
Back in the town of Balgue there's not much to see or do since it's basically no more than a humble rural village.
But on New Year's Eve they made their best effort to do it up big time.
The festivities jumped off in the afternoon with a rodeo/bullfight. A makeshift arena had been erected with a wooden
platform for observers to stand on and adjacent to it was a holding pen with a few local bulls crowded into it,
looking a bit nervous and generally displeased. One at a time, a bull was brought in by wranglers on horseback
and tied up snugly to a thick post. Then a cowboy, more than likely roaring drunk, could mount it before it was
let loose… hopefully to put on a good show.
However, after one or two half-hearted bucks the confused bull would immediately proceed straight to the corner
where the gate to the holding pen was located and then just stand there, anxiously looking around. Even though
two very loud, very bad bands were blasting out raucous salsa music in an effort to stir up the animals, there
just wasn't much action. This is a far cry from the Calgary Stampede! But they were doing the best they could -
these animals get little opportunity to refine their premier cowboy-bucking maneuvers. In fact, the bulls generally
looked as though they'd prefer to be standing around in a peaceful meadow somewhere idly chewing their cud.
Nonetheless at one point there was some excitement when one scrawny rider perched on a massive bull was quickly
thrown to the ground and pinned against the post - then subsequently stepped on a couple of times. A few groans
of sympathy were heard from the crowd. His comrades quickly came to his rescue and it's a good thing cause the
young lad needed help just to stand up. I doubt very much that he did much dancing that night. But in general everyone
seemed to having a good time and - unlike in Mexico - at least the bulls got to happily trot home after it was
all finished!
That night the same area was set up with booths selling food and beer, plus there was a DJ spinning tunes. (Mind
the cowpies!) Several locals were standing or sitting around doing their best to have a good time. A couple of
teenage girls were half-heartedly dancing with each other. I was with a handful of other Westerners and when we
strolled over to where the DJ was set up, a shapely young German lass suddenly launched into some wild gyrations…
her pelvis sensuously undulating to the Latin beat.
Almost immediately, virtually all the men of all ages in the area rushed up and gawked - their jaws just about
hanging down to their kneecaps! Embarrassed, she stopped and tried to melt back into anonymity within our little
group. "You really got their engines running," I pointed out to her. Her reply, "I didn't mean to…
I just wanted to dance."And then at 11:45 pm the music suddenly stopped and the DJ started packing up to go
home. Just like that, the entertainment was over. So we all huddled around and did our countdown and celebration
as if we actually knew exactly when 2005 rang in.
After four nights on Ometepe I decided it was time to finally get to Leon, a city I'd been eager to explore. It
took just about all day to: 1) get from the finca across the island, 2) cross the lake again by ferry, and 3) journey
overland to Leon - 4 buses, 2 taxis and a boat. A typical day of traveling on this trip. When I eventually arrived
in Leon late in the afternoon - hot and sweaty, hungry and tired - I had unusual difficulty locating appropriate
lodging. Everything was either full or very pricey, so finally out of near desperation I entered Hotel Colonial's
stately gateway and inquired about their room rate, fearing the worst.
Upon speaking with the woman at the front desk I discovered that though the air conditioned rooms downstairs were
quite expensive, there were several upstairs with shared bath for $15, still costly but closer to my budget. I
asked her name and was told it was Mariana. I looked at her and flashed my most affable (and ever so slightly flirtatious)
smile and stated slowly in Spanish, "Mariana, I've traveled about ten hours today and I'm very tired and hungry
now. I like your hotel very much, but can pay no more than $10. Is that possible?" She smiled and handed me
the key. I've learned that if you do it in an appropriate way, it never hurts to ask for a discount.
The Hotel Colonial was built in 1808. Think about it - 1808! When the final nail was driven into place all of Central
America and Mexico were still under direct Spanish colonial rule! Beethoven was still composing symphonies! Abraham
Lincoln hadn't been born yet! There's a lot of history and stately elegance in this building and I enjoyed my three
nights there. Upstairs, the verandah offers a splendid view of the cathedral spires, downstairs boasts a lush courtyard,
and throughout the hotel are plenty of beautifully crafted wooden chairs and rockers to relax in. (www.hotelcolonialdeleon.com)
My second day there, twenty five Canadian high school students showed up, boisterously filling the rooms surrounding
me. So far I'd had the top floor to myself and I instantly cringed at the thought of the clamorous chaos that would
no doubt inevitably ensue. But some of the boys took a keen liking to me, fascinated by my lifestyle, and they
kept peppering me with questions about my travels. "You went to Borneo! Really? What's it like? Wow… you saw
orang-utans? Cool!" These kids had never been out of Quebec before and for them it was like meeting Marco
Polo. From then on they bullied their classmates into treating me like a rock star, "Ok, Eddie's going to
bed now… everybody either clear out or shut up!"
Leon was the nation's capital up until 1857 when it relocated to Managua. It was also the ecclesiastical center
for both Nicaragua and Costa Rica, so many attractive colonial churches and other significant historic buildings
exist. There are numerous points of interest. Leon's cathedral is the largest in Central America - started in 1747,
it took over 100 years to complete. Strolling around the city you'll find plenty of classic Spanish architecture,
a charming look I never tire of.
In my last OTR I gave a brief historical overview of Nicaragua and you may recall my pointing out that Leon was
and still is a Sandanista (FSLN) stronghold. It's far more radical than its political rival Granada and this radicalism
is often abruptly evident, just as it was in Estelí. On a wall facing parque central (the main square) was
painted in huge letters, "Bush genocidio enemigo de la humanidad. Muerte [death] al invasor imperial".
Do I need to translate that any further? They've got some serious attitude in this town!
Also opposite the square is Mausoleo de los Héroes y Mártires, a small plaza with a powerful mural
dedicated to those who gave their lives to "the cause of revolution". There's also Galería de
Heroes y Mártires on 1a Calle which is run by mothers of FSLN veterans and "fallen heroes". I
found it to be a very powerful memorial with photos of hundreds of revolutionaries killed while fighting the Somoza
dictatorship. The pictures and the mini-bios make it all strikingly real. A donation is requested.
Just down the street from the Mausoleo I passed by the Casa de Cultura and decided to duck my head in and check
it out. Offering various classes for both children and adults, its ambiance was artsy, funky and also defiant.
As I wandered around I checked out the walls full of paintings, including a huge one featuring Ronald Reagan with
the blood of women and children covering his hands. It wasn't that long ago that he was funding the hated Contras
who fought to bring down the Sandanista government. So he's probably about as popular in Leon as Adolph Hitler
is in Tel Aviv.
One of the most respected and celebrated poets in Latin American history is Rubén Darío and guess
where he lived? He grew up three blocks from the central plaza and that's where you'll find Museo Rubén
Darío. I think it's worth visiting, though all information is solely in Spanish. Darío was responsible
for introducing 19th century modernism and had immense influence on Spanish literature. I confess I've yet to read
any of his work. The museum is free.
One place you just have to check out in Leon is the Hotel el Convento, near Iglesia San Francisco. If you can afford
to pay $68/night for a room you should definitely stay there… it's exquisite. I went there merely for a cappuccino
and stretched it out as long as I could while also drinking in the setting: a stunning courtyard, magnificent furniture
and fabulous artwork all over the place! When I expressed an interest in looking around some more I was given a
complete tour. And the cappuccino was only $1.25, including the tax and service charge.
On the edge of town is San Juan Bautista de Subtiava, the oldest intact church in Leon. Subtiava was actually the
indigenous village before the Spaniards arrived and decimated it. Alone inside the church, I meditated and reveled
at the exquisite arched timber roof. Across a courtyard is the Museo de Arte Sacro where 17th century sacred art
and icons are housed, due to the destruction by volcanic eruption in 1835 of an even older church called Veracruz
which'd been built in the late 16th century. It, or what's left of it, is just down the dusty street.
As I hunted for it I heard a young girl's voice call to me, "Las ruinas son aqui." (The ruins are here.)
She was standing at an open gate, beckoning me to enter. Behind a high wire fence was her family's dilapidated
home and beyond that I could see the crumbled walls of a building even more sorry looking. Somehow this family
had gotten the concession on Veracruz and after paying C6, I explored the remnants - parts of outer walls and a
few stumps of internal columns. I suppose it was worth the small fee and surely the family looked as though they
desperately needed the money.
There's immense poverty and difficulty for the people of Nicaragua, but one thing that bugged me a little about
Leon (and Granada also) was the constant begging. I'm far from being a stranger to getting hit on for money. As
an American having lived in poor areas of Asia and Central America and having traveled in Africa, it's dogged me
as it has anyone else in the same situation - it's part and parcel of the privilege of traveling. My personal policy,
one that's constantly challenged by circumstance and sentiments, is to give only to those I'm reasonably sure cannot
possibly fend for themselves, people who are genuinely helpless. And my preference is to provide them with food.
Plus I usually support buskers (street performers) or others who I feel are trying to exchange something of value
for the money they're requesting.
In Leon, there were a lot of drunks and children hitting on me and other Westerners. It got a bit annoying at times,
especially when the kids were roaming around the square loudly banging drums - "entertainment" to justify
their soliciting. It was hard to relax, plus I hated witnessing the new pre-adolescent generation of scroungers
in action. Only gringos gave them money and I wanted to march up to them and exclaim, "Thanks a lot you knucklehead.
Besides re-enforcing their dependency on you and others like you, you're also guaranteeing that from now on it'll
be impossible to sit here in peace." I thought better of it, yet the truth is that it only frequently happens
where you come across tourists or foreign soldiers. I know people cave in and contribute out of kindness (or guilt?),
but I still feel that it's ill advised.
I encountered more begging and hassling and hustling in Nicaragua than in the other Central American countries
I was in. But this country has been through some especially hard times and is even worse off economically than
its neighbors, so it shows up in the culture. Part of their personality has a rough edge and grittiness that's
sharply in contrast to the shyness and equanimity of the Guatemalans, for example. But aside from those few who
only viewed me solely as a walking treasure chest, I was as well treated as most anywhere else I've been.
Time and again the infrastructure was predictably deficient and between Chinandega and the border town of Guasaule
was a road that doled out heavy punishment on both the bus I was on and all of us within it. Mile after mile of
rutted heavily dirt road rattled our teeth and covered us with dust. Then we broke down… until the driver eventually
figured out how to get us bouncing along again. The three long hours were made worse by one of those blaring cheap
radios I've grown to curse, and buses and roads are even worse on Ometepe Island!
Nicaragua is now becoming a favored destination for hard core Central American expatriates. Many American citizens
who've been living in Costa Rica and Panama are now relocating north. Those I spoke with who'd already moved, or
plan to do so, say their rationale is both cost-cutting and safety. The economy in Nicaragua is on the way up and
apparently it's-- statistically-- the safest country in this region. It's also interesting, very inexpensive, and
sometimes stunningly attractive. Perhaps that's why it's rumored to be "the up and coming tourist destination
in this region". We'll see about that, but I'm glad I went there.
Next… Costa Rica, the country that felt to me like one big national park.
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Hasta luego,