A Very Different World

Matagalpa, Nicaragua
Feb. 15, 2009

Last night, for the first time since we left Canada, I lay awake wondering what the heck we were doing here, convinced the door was going to be kicked in any moment or at the very least, a nocturnal visit to the toilet would mean encountering scuttling or furry beasts. My desire for adventure was certainly at an all-time low.

I am feeling sheepish about my weakness now, but felt an honest chronicle of our adventures means disclosing second thoughts. To be fair, I have been really ill with a cold (which Mitch and I both dread becoming pneumonia after my episode last spring). Maybe I was feverish and delirious -- but I think it was just backlash after a tough day.

We did our research on Central America carefully. One of my best friends did a post-university stint in Guatamala, where she had a miserable time which peaked when her room-mate was raped. Interestingly, I taught one of my first Alexander classes in London to an extremely wealthy woman from "Whhatamala", and she wanted me to come and teach workshops there... but after Bev's story and some research, Guatamala was stricken from our list... despite wistful thoughts of Tikal and Mayan ruins.

So we decided on Costa Rica, which seemed to have a good mix of rain forest and beaches. After a month in Culebra, however, when we began looking to book this travel, I happened to open the Lonely Planet "Central America" accidentally to the Nicaragua section. I think that like many people, I had dismissed Nicaragua as a dangerous country full of Sandinistas and Contras and war. When I started to read, however, I discovered that although all those things happened, the wars are finally over, and this poor but beautiful country is trying to start over again. America should hang its bullying head in shame over its horrific treatment of this country... which despite everything that has happened to it, is dubbed by Lonely Planet as the safest country in Central America. Statistically, it has less tourist crime than even Costa Rica. "Hmmm," we thought, "maybe it's worth popping up over the (Costa Rican) border for a little exploring." We liked the idea of exposing the children to a third world country which was safe but not so sanitised and "gringified", the way Costa Rica is. Then when we went to book airline tickets, we found an amazing ticket deal to Managua, Nicaragua for $39 per person (+ taxes, but still...!) and the rest is history.

The problem was we had to land in Managua, which is where the danger in the country is centred, and our cheap flight meant arriving at 1:00 am, a dubious time for safety in any big city. To offset this, we booked a posh hotel near the airport -- and it was really lovely, with a gorgeous pool and patio filled with lush tropical flowers and bright pink hummingbirds, not to mention deferential and excellent service.


Which brings us to yesterday, when we had to uproot from our safe but unrealistic (and expensive) haven, and venture out into this country was have chosen to get to know. For the first time, we scrambled to make sure all the suitcases were locked and our money-belts hidden, which felt funny. As taxis here are generally small compact cars, squeezing all five of us in -- let alone all five of us plus luggage -- was a challenge, and involved Cachell crammed at an awkward angle on my lap. Needless to say, seat-belts were not an option and the driver was insane... but fortunately there were enough traffic clogs and horse-and-carts (!) on the road that he had to check his speed occasionally. We arrived at the bus station in relative safety, and after a quick but fervent "thank-you" prayer, we looked around and discovered that the express bus to Matagalpa was leaving in five minutes. Mitch and the boys rushed through the throng to try to get our bags on the bus (and keep them from being stolen) while Cachell and I pelted off to buy tickets. Here we encountered the first learning curve that comes from actually being in a place, rather than just reading about it -- Lonely Planet had implied that as long as we carried small bills, we could buy things as easily in US dollars as in cordobas, which certainly wasn't the case at the bus station. I didn't even have cordobas with me, as Mitch had all of the cash he had exchanged -- and I did a dance from one ticket seller to the next, trying to get tickets in
my 10 words of Spanish with dozens of people surging up around me, and leaning across me to buy their own tickets even as I was trying to talk to the teller. Eventually, Cachell loaned me HER cordobas and I bought the tickets, we ran to the bus, went to jump on -- and discovered they'd sold us tickets for the next bus, which wouldn't leave for half-an-hour. Mitch and the boys frantically got the bags off just as it was starting to pull out... only to be accosted by dozens of people who swarmed around to pick up our luggage and carry it to the next bus -- for a fee, or possibly more sinister reasons. We beat them off (verbally! and like the polite Canadians we are), and then Mitch checked the tickets and discovered they'd overcharged me 200 cordobas (which is about US$10, a small fortune here). We went together and politely pointed out the mistake to the lady behind the counter, who dismissed me and called me a liar without batting a lid of her piggy little eyes. (I am still furious and embarrassed over that -- how could I be so stupid?!)

We finally got on the right bus, and the two-hour trip passed reasonably uneventfully as we watched the beautiful but garbage-strewn countryside go past. There was the expected rabble of sheep, cows, horses and chickens along the road, as well as fruit-stands with pyramids of watermelons, and heaps of beets and carrots. Many, many people were walking, obviously unable to afford car or even bus, but as soon as we left Managua they seemed neater and cleaner. Women casually walk along here with sacks of rice or other heavy loads balanced on their heads. Many men were carrying machetes, but they seemed more like farmers than fighters. The countryside is beautiful, and quite empty -- the rolling hillsides and sun-baked grass made it feel like autumn, but fruit trees were in bloom as well -- it's a strange juxtaposition.


When we arrived in Matagalpa the taxi driver who approached us was driving a pickup, so we decided to spend the $4 (he took American money!) rather than wander the streets trying to find the hotel Mitch had booked. We threw our bags in the back and hopped in ourselves, only to have to youngs boys and several other men jump in too! After bouncing along the streets for several minutes, it became clear that neither the driver nor his entourage of helpers had any idea where they were going. They stopped to ask directions, and a man on the street actually swung up on board, too -- he apparently shared our doubt that the driver would ever find the place unaided.

With the help of the kind stranger, we managed to get within sight of our hotel -- but access to it was blocked by a huge stage they were setting up for a street festival celebrating the town's birthday. We maneuvered around the crowd and deposited ourselves and our bags into the cool lobby of the hotel with a sigh -- only to be met with a barrage of questions from the manager. Turns out she had given our reservation away... and the taxi was long gone.

Tired and exasperated, we insisted that she help us ring around to find another place, which we eventually did... and then we set out, the five of us and our bags, across many blocks and through a massive throng of people, in search of the elusive "room at the inn"! What a terrible feeling, as parents, to not know if we were going to have somewhere safe for the kids to sleep that night. Happily, this hotel is quite decent and had space for us, and all is well for another day. Travelling up until now has been delightful; now it is an adventure, and I suspect the descriptive adjective will vary from day-to-day.