Nightmare Crossing into Nicaragua

(Part 5 of the Volcano Trail series.)

Another long travel day to cross into Nicaragua. As we neared the border at Las Manos, this local on board our bus whipped out his calculator and offered his services in changing our lempiras into cordobas. Pretty crafty move, as he got a jump on the other money changers waiting at the border and who were left wondering why no one had further need for currency exchange.

Somewhat extortionist fees at this border - $7 to exit Honduras and another $7 to enter Nicaragua. Of course this being Latin America (read: a hotbed of graft and corruption), the official rates were not visibly posted anywhere, and we just relied on the figures quoted by the officials manning the border offices. The tout who insisted on leading the way to the immigration office (like we couldn’t find it ourselves) apparently got $2 from each transaction, with the connivance of the authorities of course. What a pathetic state of affairs. N. got held up for 160 lempiras ($10) based on his idiocy, while M. insisted on paying only $5 – the “official” rate net of the tout's cut.

At the Nicaraguan office, I could see the official thumbing through every page of my passport, in a futile search for a tourist visa. Finding none, he informed me that I needed one and thus would not be allowed entry – which I objected to, having done the research beforehand and knowing fully well that the Philippine passport alone was sufficient to gain entry – after a few minutes going back and forth, our tour leader C. jumped in and forcefully declared that I was not required to procure one since I was a green card holder. Although this logic was faulty, I kept silent and hoped the tactic would work. This made him blink and think twice. I could see his brain working overtime, processing this bit of information, debating inside himself if he should let me enter or not – finally he asked for a copy of my passport and green card, which I readily supplied and I was in!!! What an relief! I raged at the official's appalling ignorance of his country’s rules but calmed down a few minutes later. After all those days enduring cramped public buses, thankfully we had a spacious private van which met us at the border and which brought us all the way to Granada by nightfall – my initial impression of the city was that it was quite vibrant, and there was a festive atmosphere that comes only at Christmas time.

The owners of Hospedaje Cocibolca (ironically, the most dismal of all lodging on the trip) graciously invited its guests to a Christmas Eve dinner – the homemade pork was absolutely superb, and along with the strong flor de cana rum, made for a festive night indeed. Before that, we had our Kris Kringle (Secret Santa) activity – everyone wondered who gave N. his present, and I’m sure no one suspected it was me (being quite a enigmatic personality, according to M.). The most imaginative gift was for tour leader C. though, basically a list of coupon "vouchers" entitling her (“the bearer”) to different things – a day without lifting her enormous backpack, a massage (this caused much hilarity as the gender of the gift-giver was still unknown), and a “stress free border crossing” (pretty sure I have something to do with that). We just sat outside the hotel talking, and taking in the celebration – fireworks everywhere! Just like in Manila. Feliz Navidad!