Thursday, February 23, 2006

We got up at 5:00 a.m. to pack for the trip to Managua. This was all well and good, but it's not very light at 5:00 a.m. and we had no electricity. So we had to drag all our stuff out onto the porch to pack. (I'm really going to miss having a porch.)

One of the hippie couples left yesterday. The other couple was leaving today and we had made plans to walk with them, but they decided to go on ahead. They said it was because they'd hired a wheelbarrow to take their stuff and that might take longer, but it was obvious that they were freaked out by how unpacked we looked and how long it would take us to get ready. I don't blame them, but I also did not believe that the panga would be leaving at 7:00 a.m. "sharp."

Packing up my toiletry kit, I found a large roach hiding in there. Gross. I knew I should have kept it zipped when I wasn't using it. But it was not as bad as the mutant centipede that Michael found curled up in the belt loop of his shorts last night. Derek's does not have the profusion of insect life that Ensuenos had, but there are still bugs, and hermit crabs, and regular crabs, not to mention cats, dogs, and chickens wandering around. You really have to be cool with God's creatures to enjoy Little Corn.

When we were finally packed, Michael made such a fuss worrying that I wouldn't be able to walk fast enough to make it to the panga in time that I insisted on setting the pace. As a result, we arrived about fifteen minutes early and dripping with sweat. Probably it was his plan all along to goad me into proving him wrong, but I made sure he was sorry by the end of it. Then again, I was sorry too. It's not great to be fully sweaty before 7:00 a.m. when you have a full day of travel ahead of you.

The panga to Big Corn did not leave at 7:00 sharp, but to be fair, it was only about five minutes late, well within normal watch discrepancies. It was not a pleasant ride, but it was not hellish as the trip out had been. We didn't get wet at all and I kept my eyes open the whole time. Some backpacker kids in front of us were drinking beer. Seven o'clock in the morning on a bumpy boat ride, drinking a beer.

And there was another kid who looked like he might need to vomit. Sitting in the front of the boat. We had to keep an eye on him because if he'd let go, we'd all be wearing it. Dude, if you're going to puke, sit in the back of the boat, please.

From the dock at Big Corn, we shared a taxi to the airport with the hippies. They're nice and I didn't mind sharing with them, but taxi sharing kind of loses its advantages when the charge is per person and not per ride. The airport was a giant pain in the butt. Line cutting, slow and indifferent service, and confusion. And they assumed that Michael's credit card was to pay for both of us, which means we now have a bunch of figuring to do. They weighed us each with our hand luggage and yelled out the number to be recorded. I was like, just how small is this plane?

Then we had to have our hand luggage inspected. A dime fell out of my daypack and the inspection lady helped herself to it. Just put a finger over it and slid in away somewhere. It was bizarre. We looked at each other. My look said, "Did you just take my dime? I'm pretty sure I saw you do it, but I am too shocked and amused to object. Plus I am not sure what to say." I don't know what her look said.

They confiscated Michael's lighter and matches. Also his hot sauce, that he'd picked up in La Palma, El Salvador for forty cents. He understood about the lighter and matches but asked why the hot sauce. "Because it has pepper in it," the lady said.

"Fine, just throw it out, it doesn't matter," Michael said.

"No, no, we can put it with your luggage."

"No, don't worry about it."

But they insisted. They wrapped it up in white paper and tagged it and some guy went running out to the plane with it.

Our plane was little. It was a tiny little old plane and I did not like it one bit. I mean, it was cute to sit in it and see the cockpit from my seat and peruse the ancient, stained safety procedures, but I did not want to fly in it. It was like the panga of air travel.

But it was that or five days on the bus and revisiting Bluefields. The plane actually stopped in Bluefields and it was wonderful not to have to get out. Bluefields is in our top five most hated places of the trip. A bit unfair since we only spent an hour there, but there you go. Our opinion.

In Managua, a miraculously short time later, we hopped right in a cab to the Tica Bus terminal, where we were waitlisted for the 12:00 bus to San Jose, Costa Rica. While waiting, I went in my main pack for my nail file. (You know when you have that jagged edge that keeps scratching you and catching on things?)

While rummaging, my fingers closed over something which I have never felt before, but recognized immediately. Cool, wiggling legs. I squealed and yanked my hand back out. I caught a glimpse of brown. There was a roach in my backpack.

Crap. I had to unzip the thing and go after it as it tried to scurry back into the darkness. Finally I flung it out onto the bus station floor, where it lay pathetically on its back. It was a small one, only the size of my thumbnail, but - gross. And then there's the next logical thought - are there more? Well at least we made it onto the bus. And it was a nice Gleaming Behemoth too. The movie was The Matrix, the second one. Why would you show the second of a series of movies to any given random group of people? I did not see the first one and now I'm just as glad.

Customs and immigration between Nicaragua and Costa Rica are tedious but smooth and simple. We had to get off the bus four different times, once for Nicaraguan immigration, once for Nicaraguan customs, once for Costa Rican immigration and once for Costa Rican customs. At Costa Rican customs our luggage was piled up in the middle of a garage to be sniffed by a big dog and then we had to have it hand inspected. Luckily my inspector did not find any stowaways in my pack. At the very end, our bus was sprayed with something to kill any lingering Nicaraguan germs. They should have zeroed in on my bag.

But Costa Rica looked nice through the windows. It was very clean along the side of the road, much more so than we've seen so far. And something about it, not the cleanliness, but something about the shapes of things, reminded me of the U.S. We arrived in San Jose after dark and got a room just a block and a half from the bus station.

We had dinner at a place called "Casa del Sandwich," on the corner, and through a misunderstanding ended up with ridiculously large quantities of food. (We said "two pieces" of chicken. The word "each" was never uttered. Greedy, chicken-eating gringos.

So it was a long day. Five a.m. to nine p.m. of continuous travel by foot, boat, plane, taxi, and bus. But when you think about the distance we covered! All the way from Little Corn Island, Nicaragua to San Jose, Costa Rica... dang.

And no, Michael never got his hot sauce back.

HOURS IN A LANCHA/PANGA: 7.25

HOURS ON THE BUS: 170.25

HOURS ON A PLANE: 5.5

HOURS IN A TAXI: 3

LIGHTERS CONFISCATED: 2

 

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La Costena flies between Big Corn Island and Managua, Nicaragua.

Inside the teeny La Costena plane.

Another view of the La Costena plane.