Vamos a Nicaragua

Before we even get on the bus, I´m reminded that this journey, as all bus rides go, will be memorable. The taxi driver chases down the bus, Matthew scrambles out to see if they have any open seats for us since we don´t want to stand knee-knocked for the next 3 hours. We throw our bags below and hop aboard. The guy collecting the money, isn´t allowed to make change, so the driver is driving while pulling bills out of his pocket, looking for change, navigating the wheel. In less than 15 minutes the money collector pulls out a briefcase and with the bravado of a young minister fires of an infomercial on the attributes of natural medicine, tinctures of avocado and lime to reduce blood pressure, the importance of drinking water, etc. culminating in the sale of a few books to bored passengers.

Later we come to a halt on the side of the road. Women circle the bus singing out ¨mangoes¨, ¨coca¨, ¨agua pura¨. They echo back and forth and people are buying up like kids at a candy rack. More folks pack onto the bus, some standing, but not many, for today, we are on a ¨fancy¨ bus that has a bathroom, solely for peeing (which has us both a little worried).

¨Beep, beep, beep, beep¨ hammers out the driver as we truck along honking at bikes crossing our path, the slow chicken bus that we´re passing, the vacas (cows) scattered across the road that are now running with the herd over the asphalt. There´s a different series of beeps that the driver employs when he spots a friend or fellow driver. Those beeps always are a bit softer, shorter, easier to take. But still, one must work the honks and swerves into one´s slumber if you want to attempt to catch any shut eye. We swerve closely avoiding going off the road. Sudden breaks pull from me a quick anxious look through the front window, often revealing an unsuccessful pass calling upon the quick reflexes of all drivers.

In the middle of nowhere, a man steps upon the bus with a huge basket in his arms selling galletas, tortillas, fried pork skin - all the delicacies to tempt one. I´m always wanting the likes of a sundae vendor, but none yet aboard. And then again, after Matthew´s earlier foray with typhoid, we are wimps when it comes to most street vendors, but everyone else buys up. When they´ve eaten or drank their fill, the windows open wider - the plastic, the styrofoam, napkins, all, are tossed out the window crashing on to the earth, the black tar, or carried to the wind. You would think with this frequency that there would be snowdrifts of trash on the sides of the road, but notsomuch. Having been impressioned by the crying Indian commercial of our youth, our mouths still hang open in shock, wanting to say something, whisper something to a young one, phrases run through my head, one´s I think might not sound so offensive. And then you get the stares back as we crush our trash and bury it in our backpacks rather that throwing it to the wind.

Another guy gets on the bus, pays for a ticket and immediately start selling B-12 vitamin injections. People are taken by his compelling story of healing with this medicine, but once he pulls out the syringe, the method of administration, he loses all takers and they hand back the packages. He does make a few sales of a green skin salve, which is purchased by my fellow passenger and then quickly suggested to me that I use some to rub on my face to help my pimples (gifts of pregnancy), which of course, I willingly do and spread around the green stuff.

So, all this was just yesterday. Today, we awoke at 3:00 a.m., got to the bus station at 4 and left on the bus at 5:00 a.m. By 6:30 we were at a bus stop break, getting coffee, using the bathrooms, and then the bus driver tells us to forget boarding the bus. Seems there is a protest happening today. A demonstration of farmers, townspeople taking the main highway to protest mining that is contaminating the environment. So far, we´ve been here 7 hours. Maybe we´ll be able to leave tonight on the bus, but really no idea. Buses, 18 wheelers, are crowded down the highway as far as you can see. Their occupants rest underneath the riggs, their heads supported by an empty coke bottle. But here I sit, after a bit of walking, having found an internet cafe to pass some time and do one thing I´ve learned best in Central America - to just peacefully wait. At least we have plenty of food, and possibly ice cream.