Managua: first stop in Nicaragua. You could feel the humidity fighting to overwhelm the airports chugging airconditioners. The smell, once out of the plane, is of warm mildew. Looking out the airport windows lush green burst from the ground and heat waves rise off the runways. Sombre, dark, Nicaraguan faces greeted us. Ten dollars US to enter the country and then time for customs inspection. Once the customs folk realized there would be twenty bags of medical equipment to search they just waved the girls through; too much work. Heading out the airport doors the humidity, freed of airconditioning, greets us eagerly, clinging to our shirts and sticking to our pants.
Central Managua is a hard affair. The houses are made from cindercrete blocks roofed with corrugated tin; the fences all topped with circular rolls of razor wire. We are counselled to avoid walking around at night and to remain vigilant.
Our arrival coincides with a big FSLN (Frente Sandinista de Liberacion Nacional) celebration. People are in the streets sporting solidarity t-shirts, waving rhum in the air, buying and selling fried plantain chips, and drinking 'tona' the beer of Nicaragua. We decided to head back to the hostel once a song with "NO Gringo, NO Gringo" came on the speakers. We later learn that we are not Gringos but in fact
chele, a term derived from the bastardization of the spanish word for milk: Leche. Roberto, our host at the hostel, says only americans are gringos; all other white people are
chele, meaning pasty or white. Managua is shortlived as the girls head to the isle of Ometepe and the boys roll out to Grenada!
 |
| Roberto explaining "chele" |
Grenada is some kinda beautiful compared to Managua. We stay in a beautiful hostel with a pool that we dip in four times a day; Nicaragua is hot. The houses all have pleasing colonial colour pallettes. The streets are crowded and busy, reminiscent of Italy crossed with a little Morocco. Taxis beep constantly; bikes and mopeds weave through people, buses, and trucks. That night, at the hostel, we end up drinking rum with some americans. After the hostel session, Stephen and I, Vamos to a karaoke bar for a little Nicaraguan singing. Stephen proper mans up and sings 'Under the bridge' by RHCP. His performance is met with applause and lots of picture taking. I end up making Nicaraguan friends back outside the hostel, later on a drunk American from Louisiana threatens to break my face in. The Nicaraguans jump to my defence, they shout: "Alto Policia." The American retreated quickly; no need to threaten anyone with central american prisons twice.
 |
| Cokes to bribe guards |
 |
| Granada |
