Sunday, February 5, 2006

After enjoying a breakfast of Pizza Hut in our room, we checked out and headed for the bus station. The station is way out there, so we took a taxi. Our driver was very, very chatty. He spoke some English and we had a conversation in a mix of tortured English and tortured Spanish. He told us he was Indian and his wife was Garifuna. He mentioned he was poor, but has God, so is rich. He promised it would only take us three months to learn Spanish. And he said I didn't talk loud enough.

We took a chicken bus out to Las Manos, at the border, where we were charged a $3 fee to leave Honduras. I was immediately suspicious because 1) the guidebook said there is no fee to leave Honduras and 2) we did not pay a fee to leave Honduras the last time we left it - two weeks ago. So I tried the old "ask for a receipt" trick. No problem, no problem.

I was given a preprinted receipt for $3 worth of "immigration services." Since there is a legit charge of $3 for the "immigration services" involved in entering the country, I don't put a lot of faith in my little receipt. But what am I going to do, stay in Honduras?

At the Nicaragua entry window, they wanted $4, but I told the guy he'd have to charge me in cordobas since "that guy" took my last US dollars. Michael was fidgeting and trying to discreetly shush me. He's constantly afraid I'm going to get us deported from somewhere.

After paying the entry fee, we had very few cordobas left. We'd changed all the lempira we had at the border and were hoping to be able to make it to Esteli and a bank on what we had. With two more bus rides ahead of us, it was looking shaky.

On the bus to Ocotal, we had the misfortune of sitting behind two drunk guys. Both were wearing forest green shirts, though one was a polo and one a t-shirt. They were fine at first, but eventually got a little loud. Much later on, over dinner, Michael and I were talking about the two of them. "Something about them moved me," he said. And I said they seemed like they really loved each other. And he said, "yes!" and talked about how when one got too upset, the other would put an arm around him and commiserate and then they'd both calm down.

There was a gringo couple on the bus to Ocotal. They had been on the bus from Tegucigalpa to Las Manos too, but there had been quite a few gringos on that bus. This time it was just us. But they didn't give us the Gringo Nod. The boy one didn't even acknowledge Michael helping him put his giant, heavy pack behind our seats.

At Las Manos, we transferred right onto a bus to Esteli. It was a very attractive bus with a good sound system. Someone's wife or mother must have been in on the decorations, because all the lights in the ceiling were edged with crocheted red and white fringed bands to match the red pleather seats. Again the gringos were on our bus, and again they ignored us.

I don't know which is weirder, when other backpackers want to be your BFF and do everything together just because you're all going to the same place, or when they try to pretend they don't see you. I mean, come on, of the hundred people on this bus, we four are the only ones to whom the experience is unusual. You're not Nicaraguan. We see your passports and the big ostentatious airport tag on your pack. You don't have to be our buddy. We don't want to save money by sharing a room with you. We don't even want to talk, if you don't. Just give us the Nod.

I feel all the more grateful now to Audrey, who took me aside at my first job and told me about the Black Folks' Nod. She did not call it that, but she told me about it kindly and clearly and it's been a big help to me in life. I wish she was here now to pull their coat to the Gringo Nod because they may not realize how rude they are coming across, just like I didn't, back in the day.

They disappeared lightning quick at the Esteli bus station. We dallied, having as little desire to wind up walking together as they did. I decided to go to the bathroom.

Knowing it would cost me, I pulled out my change as I approached the door. I misheard the attendant and offered her one cordoba. She said, no, two. I pulled out my handful of change again and found that I had no more one cordoba coins, but I had a five. I tried to offer her that, but she was looking at the other coins in my hand.

I had US quarters in there because the last time I'd worn those pants had been in El Salvador, which uses US currency. She pointed to a quarter and said something. I thought maybe she was willing to take it, so I offered it, but she didn't want it. "No vale aqui," she said, or something like that. I had no idea what she was talking about. It seemed that she was telling me my quarter was no good here, which, duh.

So I offered my 5 cordoba coin again, but she was still trying to talk about the quarter, so I offered it again and again she told me it was worthless. I think. I couldn't figure out why she was talking about it at all. Finally she took my 5 cordoba coin and let me in the bathroom.

In the stall I said to myself, "she is not going to give me my change." And she didn't. She just let me go on my merry way. After telling Michael about it back at our bags, I felt irritated but figured it was too late now since I'd already left the scene. Then I decided it was not too late. She owed me change and I would go and get it. Anyway, I had nothing to lose.

Michael and I went back to the bathroom together on our way out of the station. Trying to save face for us both, I asked her if she had change now, as though she hadn't given me my change because she didn't have it at the time. She wrinkled her nose at me. I tried again and she wrinkled again. The wrinkling thing was weird. She just wordlessly lifted the bridge of her nose up toward her eyebrows but without wrinkling her forehead at all.

Having no patience, Michael barked out, "Cuanto cuesta?" and she said, "dos cordobas" and I said, "Yo di seis" ("I gave six" except it's much more ungrammatical in Spanish) and she reached into her cup and gave me three cordobas. We walked away.

Esteli is a long, flat grid and the streets are well labeled, so we felt we'd have no trouble finding a hotel though dusk was settling. I was thinking of this and that and trying to figure out what she'd been trying to say about my quarters and really what business was it of hers what coins I had in my pocket? I was paying her with Nicaraguan money, wasn't I? And then - wait - she gave me back three cordobas when I'd given her six and the price was two. D'oh.

She had still managed to cheat me out of a cordoba. And there was no way I was going back a third time. Not because it's too ridiculously small of an amount for me to stress over - though it is - but because that is some embarrassing stuff right there. Getting all riled up and calling over my big, scary boyfriend and then not being able to do simple arithmetic. Man.

On a brighter note, we ended up finding an ATM (lots of progress since our edition of the LP came out) and were able to have a nice dinner and sample some Nicaraguan beer. The beer improved my mood enough to let me laugh at my idiocy over the bathroom fee, but not enough to excuse the rude nodless gringos.

HOURS IN A TAXI: 2

HOURS ON THE BUS: 150.25

 

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The streets of Tegucigalpa.

The streets of Tegucigalpa.

The streets of Tegucigalpa.

The streets of Tegucigalpa.