It has been a while since I have blogged. Since I last wrote about Guatemala, I have seen much more of Guatemala, zipped right through Honduras and El Salvador, spent quite a bit of time in Nicaragua, and a bit of time in Costa Rica and Panama. I am writing this from San Jose, Costa Rica.
I am resuming the blog from the point where I crossed the border into Nicaragua. I will go back and fill in the rest.Hightlights:
- The border crossing from hell.
- A tarnished colonial jewel.
Summary of Leon, Nicaragua:
I was not terribly impressed by Leon. It seemed sleepy and kinda dumpy. For one of the two "colonial jewels" of Nicaragua, it was pretty tarnished. The whole city could have used a power wash.
Leon had a nice square with a big church next to it. It had a few decent churches, but after being there for a couple of hours, I just thought, "OK, done that, now what?"
Leon did have a laid back feel which I would appreciate more in the coming weeks. No one tried to screw me over while I was there, and I could walk down a street without demands for money.
Still, I cannot say that Leon is a place that is a must-see. It's more like, "If you happen to be in the area, go ahead and stop there."
The Details:
I woke up in Choluteca, Honduras and hopped on a microbus to the Nicaraguan border at Guasaule. I had been looking forward to Nicaragua and had high hopes.
I was the only white person in the van to the border, and the only one that had to go through the immigration process. When I got to the border, at least 3 guys were poking their heads into the van, all for me. The other people in the van went on their way and a bunch of cyclo drivers and money changers swarmed around me like mosquitos.
As I walked to the immigration booths, a cyclo driver kept hounding me the whole way. At the booth, this driver and a money changer would just not go away. The woman at the Honduras booth told me I had to pay $3. I told her I already paid the $3 fee when I entered. She told me there was an exit fee. I knew there was no exit fee, I'm pretty sure she knew that I knew that, but I was the only person standing there so we both knew that there was nothing I could do. If I had not been constantly harrassed by a cyclo driver and a money changer I might have thought to get her name and ask for a receipt (asking her by name to make the point clear.) Of course, there was no receipt. The Nicaraguan border guy was no problem.
The persistent cyclo driver gave me no end of grief. I got on the bus to Leon and stewed. I waited for an hour before the bus left. A couple of European guys got on before we left.
The bus ride to Leon was uneventful. As is more often the case than not, I did not get any change from the bus conductor. I've come to refer to this as "the white tax". The road on the Nicaraguan side of the border was quite a bit rougher than the others I have been on on this trip. Once we reached Chinandega, the first major city, things smoothed out. There were good views of the volcano near Leon. The land was basically flat with the exception of the volcanoes.
At the Leon bus station, I could not get my bearings. It was in the middle of a market and my compass was giving me flakey readings, as usual. (Why the hell do all compasses have that damn bubble in them? It screws everything up.) I asked a couple of people for the direction of the central parque. The first one was just waving his hand in no particular direction and was incomprehensible. The second guy gave me specific directions but seemed to think I was kind of crazy to walk there. It was longer than hoped, but not bad.
I walked to Hotel America, which was in the market section near the square. The neighborhood was loud and the store next door was blasting music into the street. My room had a window at street level and was full of the store's music. It was not much to look at. I took it because I did not want to drag my my bag anymore.
As it turns out, the hotel was fine. When the market died down in the afternoon and the store next door closed, it was quite peaceful.
I ended up eating at the touristy restaurant near the square (I was starving) which was actually quite good, and the plate of the day was reasonably priced. Then I got a pint of ice cream and a some milk at the grocery store and pigged out. I had hardly eaten anything but breakfast for 2 days.
I expected to leave after that first day, but I felt lazy when I woke up, so I stayed a second day and looked arond more.
I ate lunch at Buen Gusto down the street from my hotel. There was a buffet table and a woman behind it. I pointed at the things I wanted, taking a suggestion, and she piled it on the plate. She took it to the cashier. It was about $2. It was very filling and quite tasty--particularly the shredded meat and the veggies with some kind of sour cream sauce.
I walked around and took pictures. I liked Leon better the second day.
I walked to the south end of town and saw a little bridge. I walked there and looked down. It was basically a sewer with grey water and black scum floating on it. I later saw it labeled in Lonely Planet as a river.
That night, as I was lying in bed with my eyes closed, I began seeing these flashes of light out of the corner of my eye every couple of minutes. Great. What now? A detached retina? In the morning as I was lying in bed I discovered what the flashes were: the flourescent light overhead would flash every minute or two.
I think it had been exactly 3 months since I left California. I thought, "It would be nice to be home for a few weeks about now." I never got that burned out in Asia.
In the morning, I walked to the bus station, going through some livestock market street, and hopped on a microbus to Managua.
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