"Chica blanca!! Chica blanca!!"
"Amigos!! Quieras un taxi, la buse es 4 horas!"
After we lugged our backpacks, surfboards and food for a week through the city of Rivas, the last thing I wanted to encounter were taxi drivers. Since we stood out in the crowd like peacocks, the taxi drivers swarmed us like flies at the bus terminal.
The bus terminal in Rivas seems to be a hub for many of the other places in Nicaragua. Looking at the old U.S. International school buses painted brightly, covered in a thin layer of dust and outfitted with safari roof racks, they don the bus routes in fancy calligraphy. Managua. San Jaun. Grenada.
Since the bus terminal is a main hub, the Rivas open air market spills into the terminal along with street vendors selling toys, jewelry and baked goods. As the taxi drivers hound us, it seems that everyone with in eyesight is enjoying the circus taking place. Some of the street vendors take a break to watch and sit around us. Sitting down, one of the street vendors looks at me and gave me a look as if to say "I'm sorry."
The taxi drivers giving up on us, eventually left to find another potential prospect. After about fifteen minutes of waiting a man comes over and helps us get to our bus. Walking over we hand the bus attendant our luggage and he throws our backpacks and boards onto the roof racks with a loud thud.
Chet looking at me says, "how much you want to bet our boards are going to be damaged?"
"I don't even want to think about it."
Climbing into the crowded bus, we were lucky enough to get seats. Squeezing into the well worn green vinyl seats, I try to make myself comfortable as my knees dig into the seat in front of me. I considered myself lucky as many of the seats had three to a seat. As the bus filled up, it was standing room only - it was more tightly packed than a dance club.
While the bus was waiting to depart, vendors flooded into the bus to try and sell their goods to last minute buyers. Since the bus was so tightly packed money and goods were fire lined back and forth between buyers and sellers.
Fully loaded with people and goods, the bus stirred to life as we putted out of the terminal. Packed with buses trying to both leave and enter the terminal, we snaked our way along out to the main road.
Hitting a pot hole caused the bus to rock making it clip the bus next to us. As if it were a common occurrence our bus continued on it's way only to stop for more people. More and more packed, the more and more sweaty everyone became.
A long hour and a half down the gravel road, the bus stops as the glass Coca Cola bottles beneath our feet continue to clatter across the floor. The people around us murmur that this our destination. Funneling out of the bus, the attendant that has been sitting on the roof unloads our boards and bags. The bus driver with his gold fillings, white t-bucket hot rod shirt and gold chained necklace fixed with a cross pendant points to our next vehicle coming down the dusty road.
A van so sad looking that it looks as if it were going to lose parts with every pothole that it hit. Loading our luggage onto the racks, I pause to admire our chariot. No license plate, side panels so warped outwards the back hatch doesn't close, the tires are billowing off the rims from the weight of everything on and in the vehicle.
Strolling around to look at the other side, there are 15 people in the van the size of a dodge caravan. Not seeing any room, Chet pokes his head out from inside and says, "there might be room on the roof..."
Looking up at the five people on the roof with all of the luggage, I look back and say "I guess so."
Climbing up the makeshift ladder, I sit down on a rice sack and make myself comfortable. The engine emitting crying noises drags us down the road while black smoke rich with the smell of oil is spewing out of the exhaust pipe.
Lurching to a stop, we are told to hop off and we are handed our luggage. The van taking off at a snails pace down the road leaves us wondering where we are supposed to go. Finding a sign, someone says "it says down that way."
I ask Chet with a sly smile, "you want to carry the boards this time."
He gives me a look that says no but I guess so.
With everything on our backs or under our arms, we begin walking down the hot dusty road. Too hot to continue on, we pause underneath a tree with the little shade it has to offer.
"Where is this place."
"I don't know."
"I guess let's continue on, we'll find out."
Picking up our stuff we turn around and see an old Jeep wagon pull up. Dusty, rusty, velvet interior, cattle guard on the front, Mexico plates, surfboards in the back, and two blond women in the front.
Through their Australian accents, "You guys need a ride or something."
"Yeah, that would be awesome! You guys are heroes!"
"Throw your stuff in the back! There's two seats in the back and one in the front."
Chet and Karen hopping in the back seats, one of the girls moves to the jump seat as I hop in the front next to them.
The one in the jump seat says to me, "sorry my seats a bit sweaty."
"Doesn't matter to me and beats walking, you guys come from Mexico?"
"Yeah, we bought our Jeep in Puerto and have been driving down Central America the last seven months!"
"No way, you guys are hardcore."
Pulling up to our destination we unload our stuff in front of the hostel. Sitting down in the shade, I look their Jeep over.
"Have you guys had any car troubles driving down here."
"No not at all, we ran out of petrol one time so we went surfing and waited for someone to show up."
"How did you guys go about licensing?"
"Someone at the border foraged some stuff in Mexico and wrote us a letter. We haven't had any trouble at all with the border crossings."
As I continued to check their rig out, they headed inside the hostel. Glad to finally be at our destination after two days of travel, I took a seat back in the shade and relaxed.
Here are some more photos over the last few days.
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