A warm welcome in Nicaragua

   We left Costa Rica last Saturday, our bus on the Panamerican Highway skirting the south eastern edge of Lago Nicaragua on our way to Rivas.  As soon as we crossed the border we had an introduction to Nicaraguan economy from the bus conductor: "You´re going to Rivas?  You need to pay an extra 5,000 colones each."

   Huh?  We already paid to go to Rivas.  Admittedly the tickets provide precious little detail but we definitely paid to go to Rivas.  "No," he shook his head, "this ticket is only to the frontier.  You need to pay an extra 10 dollars for the two of you."

   No, we definitely asked for a ticket to Rivas and paid on that basis.  "This ticket is not to Rivas," he informed us, "it only cost you 14,000 colones and a ticket to Rivas is 16,000 colones."

   That´s what we had paid to go to Rivas.  If there has been a mistake then perhaps he would need to have a conversation with the gentleman in the San Jose office.  "Ok, well just this once then."  Sadly we watched the conductor return to the front of the bus.  We had been hoping the conversation would continue another 10 minutes because at that rate of deflation we may have ended up with a refund.

   Our money exchange was equally comical.  "Cambio?  Cambio?  Cambio?!?"  Normally we try to avoid people jumping around insisting on providing us with a service but as we were stuck in the immigration queue anyway, I enquired,

   "What´s your rate for colones?"
   "Buying or selling?"
   "Selling, about 30,000"
   He did a few quick sums on a pocket calculator and showed me the resulting figure.
   "You get four hundred cordobas".
   "Seriously?"  I could only laugh, "no thanks, we´ll pick them up in town."
   He went back to his calculator.
   "1,200 cordobas!" That was more like it.
   Kizzy was confused.  "Did you just triple the price?"



   In Rivas we hailed a cab to San Jorge, the nearby port for the ferry to Isla de Ometepe.  "You go to the ferry?  I take you.  Only 10 dollars each."  Needless to say that journey only cost us two dollars.

   We had not yet been to a place where everyone was so pleased to give you a discount, a big discount, and so quickly too.  The warm welcome continued as we reached the port.  We were engulfed in a storm of thrip.  I have encountered midges in the height of the Scottish summer but this was something else.  Suddenly we were both in the arms of thousands of close personal six limbed acquaintances.  We scrambled to the boat whilst making our frantic goodbyes, whirling around and slapping each other clean.

   The sun dipped into the horizon as we made the crossing and it was almost dark when we disembarked.  A stream of locals charged of the boat and disappeared into waiting vehicles or just melted into the hazy dusk. We squinted into the gloom hoping to see a bus, or somewhere that a bus might conceivably consider passing.  Two Americans and an Israeli chap were a short way off, clearly thinking the same thoughts and not unsurprisingly consulting exactly the same guidebooks. 

   We had managed to come into the wrong port.  A lady came up to us and offered a lift to Moyogalpa, the easiest place to find a lodging.  "Taxi?  15 dollars each."  We laughed, although nervously this time.  "No thanks, we´ll get the bus."  We have got quite used to making out like we would prefer the cultural experience of the local bus, with our backpacks and the cramped seats and the chickens.  "No you can´t, the last bus went by at 5.30."  She paused for effect, then smiled, "15 dollars each?".

   At this point the two Americans, strode past us heading up to the main road.  Our interlocutor sensed a growing market.  "There are four of you?  In that case it is $10 each."  We looked at the Americans.  They looked at us, then at the lady.  "Oh, hi, are you going to Moyogalpa?" the taller one enquired politely.  He did most of the talking, "That´s nice, maybe we´ll see you there."  And they kept walking.

   "You want a taxi?"  The woman was rushing to keep up with them.
   "No, thanks.  We´re going to walk it."
   This stopped her.  "You can´t walk, it´s too far."
   "We´ll be ok."
   "No, you won´t.  It´s really a long way."
   "Thanks, we´ll be fine."  Then he looked at Kizzy and me, "Do you want to walk with us, or are you taking a taxi?"

   In desperation, the price was revised down to 15 dollars and the four of us jumped into the back of a pick-up truck as a surprised family of 6 was promptly evicted.  I rather hope someone went back for them, but the kids did not look happy.  The Israeli chap joined us in the back, having watched the bilingual exchange unfold with a confused smile blinking on and off as he tried to follow the two foreign languages.

   As we bumped along the road, we made our introductions with Dan and Dave, two New Yorkers on a long weekend, and Gili who was just starting on four months of wandering.  I complimented Dan on his negotiation style.  "That was brilliant.  You had me convinced that you were set to leave."  He smiled, "I was, I hadn´t realised it was 10 miles."