This is from the beginning of my diary on my Nicaragua trip when I was living in Costa Rica, in the Fall of 1987.
Hick was the word. That is what I was and what I felt like yesterday, as we rolled into San Jose. There I was, rubber boots , covered in mud, my banana stained red pants, holding a 28″ machete. Hoes pierced through my body from all sides from Tico glares.
Well this is my journal of the land to the North, which I have been advised not to be mentioned by name, lest they confiscate my writings. If they only knew the depths of absurdity, or mediocrity, that lies within these pages. Perhaps my only reader will be some wretched translator sitting in the capital city, pondering over the aimless and scattered thoughts my pen leaves. What do you make of these writings, o wiseman, if you can even decipher these illegible words? Are they of you and the way you think? Certainly not! Are they antithetical? I will quickly take the fifth on that one, which is MY right. Well, buenos, pues, entonces.
Wow!! It is now 20:11 and Sara and I have had our first taste of the land. First was our four kilometer walk through the windy, barren no-man’s land between the south and the north. We were alone, except the semis that kept passing us. We were the only gringos in sight. Finally changing our money, and now millionaires, we stood. We had to change sixty dollars at twelve thousand to the dollar. We still ended up with seven hundred and twenty thousand bucks each. Our smallest bill was twenty thousand and had to pay the bus one thousand. We had to sit there and wait quite a while for the bus.
It was four thirty and didn’t know where we were going. So we sat and waited. There were a few locals waiting also. We were the only tourists. A tame monkey kept running around making mischief. He was playing catch-me-if-you-can with a pissed off cow.
Finally the bus came and we saw the most incredible sunset ever. Yes, ever. To the west the clouds lit up over the pasture lands and cornfields. To the east volcanos Concepcion and Madera lit up orange, and the trees were trippy in the evening glow.
The bus ended it’s route in Rivas, and we decided to stay, for it was late. So we have this room for ten thousand a night.
We went tout to take a walk but never made it out the door. The guys who were taking the info from our passports jumped on us verbally. One was a true revolutionary and the other was a social democrat. They started a powerful dialogue and we were off. They certainly aren’t like the Ticos. These guys were saying that they fought and are willing to die for the pueblo.
The bus ended its