Nicaragua, or bust.

On the day that flap showed up at my place, the plan was to take a bus to San Jose that afternoon and catch an early bus to Nicaragua.  It didn't quite work out that way.

Mudflap chillin' on my balcony.

Instead, we hung out on my balcony for a while, watching the women walk by and commenting on each.

'Hey, check her out, she's only got one kid.'
'Sweet!  I'll run down and get her number.  Oh wait, I don't have a telephone.'

Yeah, I know, horrible.  But the women down here are something to behold, especially for a guy like me who was never a fan of blonde hair and blue eyes.  When I'm at the apartment, there's a little parade that walks by below my balcony, and it's nice to look.

It was a woman that kept us in San Isidro that night.  The flap is interested in a Tica who works just down the street from my place.  She sounds right for him-- she's going to school for zoology and she's got a little hippie chick in her.  She spent a night out at the garden recently, she's actually interested in what he does there, and has suggested she wants to go for a long weekend.  She even wants him to meet her parents, and this is a good thing because I think the flap wants to settle down.

I insisted that we stay the night in San Isidro, so that he could take her out.  I'm like his wingman with roots.  Even if he has to sleep on a blanket on the floor, it's still a place to crash.  Hospitality ain't so easy when you have next to nothing.

We made it up to San Jose early the next afternoon, though too late for any of the buses to Nicaragua.  We spent the night where the flap usually stays, the Capitol Hotel... nice enough place, near the center of everything, cable, and the hottest shower I've had in a month.  At twenty bucks a night, it's now my spot in San Jose too.

While sitting at the station waiting to get on the bus the next day, the flap decided he was hungry and was going to find something to eat.  I slid him a rojo, slang for the red one-thousand colones note.  If you come across some cigarettes...

I took my spot in the back of the station with the bags.  Across the aisle, a guy asked what time it was, pointing to his wrist.

'Once y cuarenta y cinco', I said slowly, to make sure I got it right.  There were two girls sitting up one row, one across the aisle and one to my right... they looked at each other and laughed at my slow Spanish.

'¿Si?´ I asked, my hands out in a shrug.  '¿Si?'

They both nodded.  Yeah, I know what time it is.  The one up to my right turned in her seat towards me, not looking at anything in particular, yet still with smiling eyes... an invitation if I ever saw one.  I learned that she was on her way back home to Nicaragua, and that she lived just outside of Managua.  Sorry girl, that's all the Spanish I've got and it's time to get on the bus.

The flap made it back and we got on, two rows behind what I assumed to be a couple.  The guy had some baby dreadlocks going, and the girl had her head shaven to a stubble.  When she wasn't wearing headphones, she rubbed her head like I used to when I first buzzed mine.

'Hey dread', flap said.  There's an identity among the dread kids, one that I was never a part of, so it's interesting to watch when I hang out with the flap.  When we walk together in San Jose, it's not uncommon to hear calls of Rasta.  Or it might be a nod from another dread kid walking by.  In this case, flap wanted to borrow their iPod to listen to, since he's had the same two gigs of music for three years.

He got the iPod for a bit and he was happy.  Meanwhile I overheard Jimi Hendrix, Yes and some Led Zeppelin.  Later when he returned the iPod, they all introduced themselves.

'I'm Mudflap.'
'Sorry, what?'
'Call me Mudflap.'

From what I've seen, this always earns a similar response from the gringos.  They pause for a moment, the look on their faces says ooooo-kay, and then they seem to make some flash decision and everything is cool.  As for me, when I'm with him, I call him by his given name.  Sorry, just can't do Mudflap.  Though, when he introduces himself as such, I have so far resisted the temptation to introduce myself as Ashtray.  Call me Ashtray.  That's cenizero in Spanish.  Or just call me Ceni, or even Zero if you like.  Spare a cigarette?

We eventually hit the border at Peñas Blancas, and the flap was already off the bus before I even realized we were there.  I stood in line at the Costa Rican post to get my exit stamp with everyone else, as men with large wads of cash were walking around changing money for a small cut.  Flap came out with his stamp, and went off into the dark to the Nicaraguan post.  I decided that I was going to play it safe and see how it all officially worked, so I got back on the bus for the short trip up to the next post.  One of the bus guys collected everyone's passports, so they could be checked and stamped more efficiently in the immigration office.

When we were filing off the bus with our bags to go through Nicaraguan customs, an Italian girl that I had been talking to in line grabbed my arm and pointed outside.  There was flap, motioning for me to grab his bag.

I got it and got off, and I was about to propose to the girl with the shaved head that we start our own club like the dread kids, and we could rub each others heads in greeting.  But then I heard flap.

'Nicaragua didn't let me in.'
'What?', I asked, starting to laugh.
'Nicaragua, no entrada.  They want you to have at least six months before your passport expires and I've only got four on mine.'

That was a tough call.  Granada is supposed to have some nice colonial architecture, and I've heard it's beautiful.  Also, Costa Rica is very mixed and I wanted to be somewhere that has more of an indigenous flavor.  I'm sure I would have been just fine had I continued on, yet I couldn't leave my man hanging.  For one, I was a walking excuse to let him back into Costa Rica -- he could be my tour guide and I could play helpless gringo.  And if anything stupid was to happen, two are better than one.

Nov 22 in, Nov 22 out.

So we walked across the parking lot in the dark, with semi trucks going by kicking up dust, to the immigration office so I could get my passport back.  I got it, and we got back into Costa Rica, and now the challenge was to get back to San Jose.  The first objective was to get away from the border and to Liberia, about an hour south.  It would be safer there and our chances of getting a lift to San Jose would be far greater.

Flap, after failing to bribe a charter bus driver for a ride, went from one random passing car to the next, begging for a lift.  He got a bite, and we hitched a ride to Liberia from a guy and his mother in a new Hyundai.

When speaking in Spanish, the flap's got a way about him that he doesn't have in English.  I think he struggles a little to connect with people in English, like the kid in high school who was never quite cool.  In Spanish, he's a different man, smooth and laying out the charm.  I don't understand most of what he says, but I can see it in the faces of whoever he's talking to.  He'll have them laughing, shaking his hand or clapping him on the back.

It was no different with our ride to Liberia.  While I looked out the window and saw men on horses going to the bars (as long as you're not so drunk that you fall out of the saddle, you'll make it home), the rest of the people in the car were having an animated conversation.  I was able to follow it for the most part, but by the time I could form up a sentence to add something, the subject had already changed.  The driver had spent a few years in the states and had some English, but out of deference to the mother, I let the Spanish flow.

After many thanks and handshakes they dropped us in the intersection that defines Liberia.  There was an ATM there, and while I went to get some cash, the flap stood out by the highway and stuck out his thumb.  Who pulls up again but the guy and his mom.  They were going to San Jose anyway and they had decided to turn around and come get us.  Talk about some good luck, that's like hitching a ride from Niagra Falls to NYC.

When they let us out in San Jose after midnight, by way of thanks I said, 'When I get back to the United States, my friends will ask me what the people in Costa Rica are like.  When they do, I will tell them about you.'

So yeah, Nicaragua or bust.  I think I'd call this one a bust.  I was in Nicaragua for all of about twenty minutes.  Still, it was fun... and I now know how a border crossing works, I've got some stamps in my passport, and I've got a story to tell.

Comments

[bernsly]

what a great story. i'm disappointed though (as i'm sure you are) because i couldn't wait to hear all about nicaragua. i hope you make it there soon.

[Adri Lexi]

wow that's too cool!

*hugs* miss ya! keep having fun!! :D