We spent a lovely week in Leon, preoccupying ourselves only with how to fit all of our food cravings, pool time, and meeting new friends into our days. We met a funny and sweet Norwegian gal who introduced us to Leon's artesans (one of which gave me a beautiful pair of sea shell earrings) and a wonderfully sweet law student who not only hung out with us but graciously catered to all of our needs (not to mention our silly whims). We spent a beautiful, sunny, lazy day at the beach, wondering whether we should play in the sand, lay in the sun, eat fruit or drink beer first- what decisions we were forced to make! At night when the air no longer was suffocatingly hot, we would wander around, finding music or (of course) food.
One morning we discovered that the after-hours bar we had been drinking in the night before actually had been a Sandinista worker's bar, and also where the dictator Somoza was assassinated. Our Norwegian friend told us how her Spanish teacher remembers hearing the screams of prisoners being tortured and killed at the prison a few blocks from her house. All of Leon is like a living, breathing, historical monument and all of the movement and the stories and the people are quite addicting. Maybe I even left my heart there.
15 March 2008
10 March 2008
La policia.....
3 hours making a ridiculous police report. We wait in the heat for a good 45 minutes before the officer asks us 3 times, "So, you want to fill out a police report?" No, sir, we just love hanging out at police stations while we're traveling through Nicaragua, clearly.
Finally, we're allowed in and the officer sits down very seriously at his typewriter and takes out a small Barbie notebook, where he tells me to write down my information and a list of things that were stolen and the total value of everything stolen. Abby does the same and meanwhile he asks a lot of questions about the circumstances, where we where, when, etc, etc. Every now and then he throws in a strange question and it's hard enough for me to hear him over the noisy air conditioner, so I have to ask him to repeat himself several times when he asks questions like, "Well, at what age do you expect to get married then?" These questions only add to the surrealeness of the experience.
Near the end he asks, "I sure ask a lot of questions, don't I?" "Isn't that your job?" I reply. Clearly this guy is bored and he must realize that he wastes a lot of his own time and that of others filling out police reports, knowing full well that there's no possible way any stolen goods will ever be recovered. He's also a bad typist and this wastes more time.
Finally, we're allowed in and the officer sits down very seriously at his typewriter and takes out a small Barbie notebook, where he tells me to write down my information and a list of things that were stolen and the total value of everything stolen. Abby does the same and meanwhile he asks a lot of questions about the circumstances, where we where, when, etc, etc. Every now and then he throws in a strange question and it's hard enough for me to hear him over the noisy air conditioner, so I have to ask him to repeat himself several times when he asks questions like, "Well, at what age do you expect to get married then?" These questions only add to the surrealeness of the experience.
Near the end he asks, "I sure ask a lot of questions, don't I?" "Isn't that your job?" I reply. Clearly this guy is bored and he must realize that he wastes a lot of his own time and that of others filling out police reports, knowing full well that there's no possible way any stolen goods will ever be recovered. He's also a bad typist and this wastes more time.
Mala suerte...
In the morning we make a quick getaway from the island, declaring ourselves finished from its nonsense, and looking forward to a change in scenery. Part of me wants to stay on the island a little longer but the signs show that it's time to head out.
Because buses are already hard to come by on the island, and on Sundays only worse, we get ride in the back of an old man's pick up truck. He's reluctant to take all 3 of us because he doesn't have his tourism driver's license, but when we get stopped by the police, he just tells them that he's not charging us. Seems like a fine enough system to me.
We get to the ferry and for some reason the prices are twice as much and thus the robbery begins.
We toss our bags in the luggage area and climb straight up to the top level. The ferry is large, with several cars including a banana truck on board, and I am anxious to just sit in the sun and feel the breeze coming off the water as we glide back to San Jorge.
A few bus rides and hours later we arrive to the Hostal Albergue in Leon, yet unknowingly deceived by their clever and hip advertisement. We are exhausted, having traveled all day, and when the hostal worker asks for our passports, we move slowly. Even slower is our reaction to the fact that many of our things are missing. Most importantly, Abby's passport and my money, and then all of our jewelry and a number of smaller and more insignificant things, but silly things like my deodorant and contact solution. Disbelief, horror, and anger wash over us in waves as we figure out what to to do. The hostal employee is less than sympathetic and we realize we need a drink.
Drained and miserable, we head to a nearby bar, unable even to communicate properly or politely with the waitstaff. I neither want to sleep, nor wake up, nor be in Nicaragua anymore, nor leave the stop that I am sitting in ever. I haven't felt so bad in a really, really long time.
In the morning, after our "free breakfast" of white bread and butter (we didn't bother making the ancient-looking instant coffee), we find a new hostal a few blocks away. Lazy Bones offers us constant internet access, a pool, coffee and tea all day long, hammocks, and a pool table, and in the state that we're in, it seems perfect. Ok, I know I've said before that I don't care for the backpacker hostal atmosphere but honestly, after our bout of bad luck, it felt completely necessary and good to relax in the "luxuriousness" of this hostal.
In the morning, I realize that actually all of the rest of my money has been stolen and that hits me hard for a bit. But, it takes a lot to keep two gals like Abigail and I down, and soon we are relaxing and laughing over our misfortune. Today we will relax, tomorrow we'll take care of passport nonsense, and then we'll enjoy whatever days we have left in Nicaragua. But no more blaming, anger, sadness, or disappointment. As a dear friend, Vladmir, said to me afterwards, "Well, the most important things aren't the material things anyway, but rather the friendships and connections you'll make while traveling, and those are things that are far more valuable and which no one can ever steal from you."
Because buses are already hard to come by on the island, and on Sundays only worse, we get ride in the back of an old man's pick up truck. He's reluctant to take all 3 of us because he doesn't have his tourism driver's license, but when we get stopped by the police, he just tells them that he's not charging us. Seems like a fine enough system to me.
We get to the ferry and for some reason the prices are twice as much and thus the robbery begins.
We toss our bags in the luggage area and climb straight up to the top level. The ferry is large, with several cars including a banana truck on board, and I am anxious to just sit in the sun and feel the breeze coming off the water as we glide back to San Jorge.
A few bus rides and hours later we arrive to the Hostal Albergue in Leon, yet unknowingly deceived by their clever and hip advertisement. We are exhausted, having traveled all day, and when the hostal worker asks for our passports, we move slowly. Even slower is our reaction to the fact that many of our things are missing. Most importantly, Abby's passport and my money, and then all of our jewelry and a number of smaller and more insignificant things, but silly things like my deodorant and contact solution. Disbelief, horror, and anger wash over us in waves as we figure out what to to do. The hostal employee is less than sympathetic and we realize we need a drink.
Drained and miserable, we head to a nearby bar, unable even to communicate properly or politely with the waitstaff. I neither want to sleep, nor wake up, nor be in Nicaragua anymore, nor leave the stop that I am sitting in ever. I haven't felt so bad in a really, really long time.
In the morning, after our "free breakfast" of white bread and butter (we didn't bother making the ancient-looking instant coffee), we find a new hostal a few blocks away. Lazy Bones offers us constant internet access, a pool, coffee and tea all day long, hammocks, and a pool table, and in the state that we're in, it seems perfect. Ok, I know I've said before that I don't care for the backpacker hostal atmosphere but honestly, after our bout of bad luck, it felt completely necessary and good to relax in the "luxuriousness" of this hostal.
In the morning, I realize that actually all of the rest of my money has been stolen and that hits me hard for a bit. But, it takes a lot to keep two gals like Abigail and I down, and soon we are relaxing and laughing over our misfortune. Today we will relax, tomorrow we'll take care of passport nonsense, and then we'll enjoy whatever days we have left in Nicaragua. But no more blaming, anger, sadness, or disappointment. As a dear friend, Vladmir, said to me afterwards, "Well, the most important things aren't the material things anyway, but rather the friendships and connections you'll make while traveling, and those are things that are far more valuable and which no one can ever steal from you."
09 March 2008
One more day on the Isla....
So, upon waking up we quickly realize that our original plan of leaving the island today is surely not going to happen. Abby is as sore as I am, with each step it feels like some large animal is grabbing onto our calf muscles with its claws. And the only part that might not have ached on me, my head, is slightly pounding from my alcoholic pain remedy from the night before.
Instead we rest and head to the Ojo de Agua, a little freshwater swimming hole with a cement bottom. Strange, but the day is nice and we can drink beer while letting our aching bodies soak in the cool water. Ok, so I didn't come to Nicaragua to drink but times (and pains) like these call for a change in attitude.
After a couple flings off the rope swing, we get in the back of Mel's pick-up truck and head to the Playa Santo Doming, an insect-ridden beach nearby. Gnats swarm all around us, trying to get into our mouths and our beers and we try in vain at first to keep our drinks covered but then just start casually picking dead gnats out of our cups. The fish we order is miserable, but the tostones (fried bananas) and cheese are perfect, and the breeze coming off the lake is nice. Aquiles and Mel tease Kari endlessly about her Costa Rican, "Tico," accent, and it feels good to just relax.
At night, Kari, Mel, and Aquiles go out dancing. Or attempt to, my body is still in a lot of pain and we get to the bar too late anyhow to do much dancing. Instead, we play pool for a little while and head back to the hotel. Unfortunately Mel gets a little drunk and irrational and that puts a sour end on the night, but I'm not too worried about it; I have my sights set on one thing: BED.
Instead we rest and head to the Ojo de Agua, a little freshwater swimming hole with a cement bottom. Strange, but the day is nice and we can drink beer while letting our aching bodies soak in the cool water. Ok, so I didn't come to Nicaragua to drink but times (and pains) like these call for a change in attitude.
After a couple flings off the rope swing, we get in the back of Mel's pick-up truck and head to the Playa Santo Doming, an insect-ridden beach nearby. Gnats swarm all around us, trying to get into our mouths and our beers and we try in vain at first to keep our drinks covered but then just start casually picking dead gnats out of our cups. The fish we order is miserable, but the tostones (fried bananas) and cheese are perfect, and the breeze coming off the lake is nice. Aquiles and Mel tease Kari endlessly about her Costa Rican, "Tico," accent, and it feels good to just relax.
At night, Kari, Mel, and Aquiles go out dancing. Or attempt to, my body is still in a lot of pain and we get to the bar too late anyhow to do much dancing. Instead, we play pool for a little while and head back to the hotel. Unfortunately Mel gets a little drunk and irrational and that puts a sour end on the night, but I'm not too worried about it; I have my sights set on one thing: BED.
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