Getting out of Dodge

And on the third day, we left. Eventually. After breakfast at Kathy's, an encounter with parrots and packing, we decided to go to the mercado in Granada, and found that although laid out somewhat differently that the one in Masaya, the spirit of the place was just about the same. Some things were purchased, a very slick pick-pocket managed to unzip a pouch on Jane's purse and got absolutely nothing of worth, and the taxi mentioned a few entries below drove Lay Mey and Geoff and I all over town before we corrected his belief that we wanted the Hospital Colcibolca. We scrap cars that are in twice as good shape back home as that cab. We were returning to get our luggage and then meet Jane and David at the park where our taxi driver who brought us from the border would show up.

Simple, no? Well yes, except that none of us had any cordobas after paying off the cab, so we rushed back on foot overladen with everything (trying to make up time for the inadvertant scenic tour of Granada), and Geoff sat in the park with a big pile of luggage, and I took some magazines to Jimmy Three Fingers'. And then we waited for Jane and David and Lay Mey, who had returned to the mercado, and then I waited while Geoff went, and then Jane and Geoff and David came back, and then Geoff and David went to buy the previously descibed calzone -and then the taxi showed up early while we didn't have everyone.

And then Lay Mey came back... do you notice a trend here?.. and we waited. No calzone is ready before its time and all are very much worth the wait. Jane and I bought some drinks and ice in plastic bags from a vendor and didn't die from intestinal diseases. We got in the cab, and got to work on the food and we were in the countryside before one tenth of it was gone. This was either a long or short time, depending. Eventually I could eat no more.

Without warning, the cab developed a serious case of the staggers, probably due to water in the gas. We had an anxious few minutes before the engine had enough power to get the car back up over 15 miles per hour. After a while, the taxi driver stopped and bought a package of cigarettes, explaining that he had talked to the cops and found that this was what they wanted to not notice him driving past. And eventually, we slowed down at a checkpoint and the hand-off was neatly done, and we continued on our way. The driver was happy, were were happy, the cops were happy...it is probably best, however that this does not catch on at home, as I can't see anyone there being satisfied with mere cigarettes.

Back at the border, the beggar cluster was bigger than before, but thoroughly thinned out by passport checkpoint into the crossing proper. There were people trying to sell us for two dollars the forms that the officials would give us for free, but we ignored them and went directly to the spots we needed to, watched each other's baggage like hawks and declined politely all the vendors. With everything stamped, we went through three more checkpoints, dodging around puddles and huge semi-trailers and buses, and then got the car. We drove a couple of hundred feet and parked at the Costa Rica building, where someone tried to sell us forms that we could get for free inside. More stamps, and we were back.

But not done with roadside passport checks. There were four more of them along the road home from the border.