12 June 2008 - WE WANT YOU! Wait, actually we don’t.

Chapter Two

My ultimate destination was to be the colonial town of Leon in northern Nicaragua, where I’d been promised volunteer work for 2 months with an organisation called Quetzaltrekkers. But in order to get there, I needed to switch buses at the infamous capital of Nicaragua, Managua. Because I got the late bus, I’d have to find somewhere to sleep there for the night. Managua is a city which has the reputation of being quite dangerous, something which the Nicaraguan man beside me was determined to convince me of. “La ciudad, es muy peligroso, hay muchos bandidos y ladrones…” (The city is very dangerous, there are lots of thieves). As he was telling me this, though, he was smiling. At first it seemed a little strange that he would take pride in his capital city being a gang-ridden rat’s nest, but I later realised this must be the ‘machismo’ that my Lonely Planet (what else…?) had been telling me about. With not much else to do and my alternative being to try to learn bad Spanish from the increasingly scary man beside me, I took out my faithful LP to do some reading up on Managua. It pretty much confirmed what my machismo friend had told me Managua is freaking dangerous. The border crossing went without incident, the bus company sorted most things out and the waiting line for visas was short and sweet.

Back on the bus everyone had decided it would be fun to play musical chairs while I was getting my visa and let me sit down the very back of the bus. There I met two friendly Americans (believe me, there are some out there, most of whom seem to be travelling in Central America) who advised me that Managua was not all that bad. They recommended a hostel which they had stayed in before which was in a relatively safe part of town and near the bus stop I needed to get to the following morning. Saying our goodbyes, still in shock from meeting these strange, helpful Americans, I got straight into a taxi and gave him the name of the hostel. A well-built man, moustached and brimming with bravado and machismo, he rather aggressively assured me “No problem my friend, I know where is, no problem, 20 dollars amigo, no problem!” Hearing what I thought sounded suspiciously like gun fire from the nearby barrio, I gladly handed over the 20 dollars. 15 minutes later, though, his haughtiness had turned to hesitation. “Are you sure you know where it is?” I asked cautiously. “Si, por supuesto, no problema, no problema, five minutes no problema!” Ten minutes later he pulled into a run down looking house. “Espere aquí por ahorita amigo…” (Wait here for a while). The neighbourhood looked like it was taken straight from the pages of the book “Where Backpackers Die 2- Ghettos and Barrios”. I was threatening to completely lose control of all bodily functions. He walked into the house and was gone for what seemed to be an eternity. Just out of curiosity, I checked the doors. Locked. “You’ve been in worse situations Darren, come on, relax, he’s just here to ask directions.” Light crept out from the doorway onto the patio as it opened halfway, my taxi man walked out, joined by two other men. Both men approached either side of the back of the car as menacingly as possible. They opened the doors and sat either side of me. One of them produced a knife. I thought to myself, “Well Darren old chum, you had a good run, at least you didn’t die a boring death…” Then he said something ominously sinister into my ear. “Hey man, you hungry?” “Oh just get it over with you murderous bastard!” I thought, as he produced an orange from his jacket pocket. An important lesson was to be learned from this experience Nicaraguans often carry oranges in their pockets. But even more importantly, never judge a book by its cover. We cut up the orange and shared it between the four of us (it really was the King Kong of oranges). The orange cutting man then explained to me in almost perfect English that they were all brothers, and they were giving my taxi man directions to the hostel. When we arrived at the hostel I thanked them for the orange, exchanged emails with Mario (the knife wielder), booked a bed without fuss, and tried to sleep. The emphasis on tried. It’s hard to doze off when the nightclub next door is pumping reggaeton through your bedroom window.

The next morning I hailed a taxi straight to the bus stop. Unlike the bus stop in San Jose, this one had no roof. Or walls. But I got a good vibe from the place when I was offered a free drink of water by a friendly woman with her daughter before boarding the bus. I had the 11-seater to myself, giving me plenty of space to kick back and enjoy the scenery. As I rested my head and tried to catch up on badly needed sleep, I was once again disrupted, this time by a knock on my window. It was the woman who gave me the ‘free’ water looking for her water money. I wasn’t in the mood to argue and gave her the money, thinking that was the end of it. Two minutes later, she was back at my window trying to sell me a multitude of gadgets and goods, including a pair of ridiculous looking sunglasses and a child’s toy lizard. Why she thought I might be interested in purchasing any of these novelties I have no idea. I dismissed her politely, only to be bothered again, this time by her daughter. A pair of silly sunglasses I could have worn for a joke, a toy lizard I could have I guess played with on the bus for the next hour until it began to bore me. But when the daughter showed me a collection of pirate DVDs I just had to laugh. What on gods green earth was I supposed to do with a DVD on a bus? No problem selling them outside a supermarket or a shopping street or a hostel, but on a bus? This was my rather tame introduction to the insanity of the public bus in Central America. Anyway, she clearly didn’t know why this strange man was laughing, and decided that the best course of action would be to proceed to explain the plot of each DVD in great detail. This just made me laugh even more hysterically. Frightened now, she fled back to her mother. Note: A great way to get rid of pesky sellers is to laugh at them. They get confused and scared and run away.

The ride to Leon was uneventful and uninteresting. The exact opposite could be said of Leon itself. Fabulous colonial buildings are scattered all over the town. Street kids play games on the roads, blissfully unaware of the traffic as if it doesn’t exist. Unfortunately, they are extremely aware of any white people passing by in fact I reckon they have a built-in radar system that can pick up on any tourists within a two square mile radius. At first it’s impossible to ignore these children, but eventually you have to find a way. Giving them money just encourages them to beg, and just adds to the woes of society there. If you have to give them something, make sure it’s food. If you give them money, the likelihood is it goes straight to the parents or on cigarettes. If they refuse the food, then they don’t need the money. A great way to keep them at bay is to carry a couple of bags of sweets to give to the younger kids and a couple of cigarette packs for the older ones.

The best spot to be in Leon is the road with the hostel/restaurant/live music bar, Via Via. Run by Belgians, this place is extremely popular with backpackers so make sure you book in advance, even in low season. I made the mistake of not doing so, but wherever you stay in Leon you’re guaranteed to have a wild time. Right across the road from Via Via is Bigfoot Hostel. I found a bed here, which at the time cost just $5 a night. They also have a small bar, a cheap café next door and a small bathing pool you have to share with a group of small tortoises. After arguing with your fellow hostel dwellers whether they are tortoises or turtles, you can check out many of the activities Bigfoot can organise for you, including a day of volcano boarding (It’s exactly what it sounds like…)! Leon has a lot of sights on offer for a town of its size, from the Iglesia de La Recoleccion, a beautifully decorated colonial church, to the site of the assassination of Nicaraguan dictator Anastasio Somoza García. For a good night out head first to Via Via, where the fiesta starts early (you’ll hear the music!), and from there just head with the crowds.

Once I booked into Bigfoot Hostel, I set off for the Quetzaltrekkers headquarters. I arrived at the HQ full of excitement and anticipation. “Hey my name’s Darren, I was talking to you guys over the internet about volunteering here,” “I hope you still need me!” I added in jest. The answer was no, actually the didn’t need me. In fact they had more volunteers there than customers. I had just travelled almost half way around the world to be told I wasn’t needed. Speechless I left and returned to the hostel. “Ah beer, you’ll never let me down, will you,” I asked myself rhetorically, as I made myself comfortable at the hostel bar. And I drank. And I drank some more. And I drank until I forgot why I came to Leon in the first place.