I wake up really early on Saturday morning. I need to take the ferry back to La Ceiba and then the bus to the Honduran capital, Tegucigalpa. From there, the bus to Nicaragua and then Costa Rica.
The ferry ride back is much smoother than the one when I was coming to Roatán, so no incident to report there. Same goes for the bus ride – just too hot. I manage to sleep most of time anyway.
And here I am – back to another Central American capital. None of them is known by their beauty. Like in Guatemala City, the slums growing up the hills welcome you on arrival. The bus terminal and market area is quite dodgy but not too bad of an option if you just need to crash for a night of sleep in between buses, according to the travel guidebook. I agree – with both aspects of the advice.
I choose a hostel just across the street. Not luxurious at all, but it seems ok. It even has a computer with internet for guests. Ups, it doesn’t work when I try it later! I’m going out for a snack, when a middle age couple comes in. No bags in their hands – their hands are busy holding each other. They’re Honduran, like the other 4 people I could see in the guest book. They ask for a room. Clearly they’re not spending the all night here, and leave soon afterwards. I didn’t check the exact time, but it was apparently enough for them to do whatever they came here to do…
Nice. I seem to be staying at a place where couples come for a couple of hours of sex. I need to send a feedback review to the travel guidebook. Yes I do.
I’ve dinner at a place close by. Confirmation: the area is dodgy indeed.
I forget about it all with a good night of sleep. A too long one – I wake up late and need to rush to the bus station. I miss the 6.00 am bus because… it was a 5.30am bus after all. Nice. This means I will have to stay in Nicaragua’s capital, Managua, as the next bus at 9.30am won’t get me there in time for the connection to Costa Rica.
Change in plans: I’ll spend a couple of days in Nicaragua and go my way down at a somehow slower pace.
So, the 9.30am bus to Managua I get. The bus is not too bad – it even has a TV where they show some movies! The problem is the selection – John Rambo kind of thing – and the volume, as you spend the 9 hour ride with sounds of poorly choreographed fights and gunshot exchanges by your ears.
At the border they charge you a few dollars for not even putting a stamp in the passport. “You don’t need one when crossing from Honduras to Nicaragua”. So, what are the dollars for? Just for looking at my beautiful picture?
To Managua we go. We arrive at the bus station around 4pm and I want to get a taxi to a local bus station, where I’ll get a bus to Granada, a small lovely colonial town just 1h away. I’ll spend the night there as I decided to stay way from big capitals if I can.
Rightly so. As I’m about to enter the taxi someone throws an orange-sized rubber ball filled with sand that goes slightly over my and the taxi driver’s heads. It hits the wall behind us with a big noise. A few blokes laugh. They seem to be all taxi drivers, and the one who threw the ball is easily identifiable – unlike the others, he’s huge (bodybuilder type) and he’s making threatening gestures. Not sure if for me or my taxi driver.
When my taxi driver asks me to seat in the front, besides him, I understand he’s doing that to give him some protection – the other guys wouldn’t throw anything else so clearly at a tourist, when everyone else is already looking. So he thinks, and so I hope. And so it happens. Without further incidents we get to the local bus station, where I take my ride to Granada.
I think I got what happened. As I was leaving the bus I was approached by a few taxi drivers who asked me too-high-to-be-true fares for the 15 minutes ride. I turn them down, and start negotiating with the man who eventually took me – for half the initial price. The taxi drivers around us are clearly upset with him by the fact he might have ruined everyone else’s business, as there are two other tourists around who may do the same. (unjustified concern: I knew already that couple would stay the night in the hotel by the bus station and would take no taxi that day…)
The ball throwing thing was apparently to “punish” him for that.
What if the damn ball would have hit me? I’m damn sure it would have hurt. Big time: it was hard.
In case I didn’t know it before, and, believe me, I did, the further away from big capital cities, the better. Small is good…
By the way, Granada is small and charming. Its colonial restored buildings remind me of Antigua – the proximity of the Lake Nicaragua and a volcano compose the picture. Not as touristy as Antigua – yet – but almost.
But hey, it’s small.
Granada, Nicaragua
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