Arrival in Managua

The Short Version:
Christa and I arrived safely in Managua. The flights were fine, as was getting to the Hotel Las Mercedes. We had dinner accompanied by a kitten that meowed until we fed it, then ate an astonishing amount of food. Tomorrow at 9 AM, Marcos is picking us up to take us to San Juan del Sur. I'll write more when we get to San Juan.

The Long Version:
Stepping off the plane in Managua, a wave of muggy air tinged with a hint of sulfur hit me. Clear of the jet way, we passed tall glass windows looking onto shops and travelers in the airport’s surprisingly modern terminal. I thought the airport would be less developed, my first expectation to be corrected. Mentally, I had been preparing myself for the absolute least developed airport I could imagine. I did this I think because I expected to be taken aback by the poverty. Knowing the average Nicaraguan was much poorer than the average Mexican, I tried to picture conditions much worse than those I had seen while traveling in Mexico. I was genuinely surprised at how off base my preconception was, at least as far as the airport was concerned.

Fear of swine flu showed on the face of every airport employee: they all wore surgical masks. Every arriving passenger was required to stand in front of an infrared camera to assess body temperature, a measure designed to detect fever in sufferers of swine flu. I registered 34C and lit up redder, hotter than anyone who went before me. I worried for a moment that I might be stopped, but the guard motioned for me to pass.

A few days before I left, Nicaragua identified its first case of swine flu. Previously untouched while neighboring countries succumbed, a little boy whose father traveled to [the US?] ignited the country with hysteria. I received this notice from the US State Department by way of a newsletter I signed up for regarding travel advisories to Nicaragua. Fortunately, the email about the first case of H1N1A was the only one I received.

Going through customs in Nicaragua was extremely easy. I presented my passport, a declaration of merchandise valued over $100 (of which I had none), and description of previous travel (again because of H1N1A). I paid five dollars for a tourist visa and was allowed to pass. Standing in line took longer than presenting my documents.

My luggage calmly circled the carousel, a stark contrast from the mob of people that waited outside. Taxi drivers, hotel representatives, and loitered at the airport’s wide, automatic double doors, narrowing them to a passage barely enough for a single person to exit.

Christa and I made our way through the crowd, and located the Hotel las Mercedes across the street from the airport. Between the hotel and us stood a poorly lit parking lot and busy main road. The air was heavy with exhaust from the many vans and taxis waiting to whisk away travelers. Christa and I crossed the parking lot in the wake of some Germans who boarded a van. We then passed a policewoman, who probably had no idea how happy we were to see her. In this parking lot, the ubiquitous shouts of “Taxi! Taxi, chicos!” began. With Christa in tow, I initially responded with a couple of “No’s,” then I simply put my head down and looked at no one.

At this point, the only thing between las Mercedes and us was the highway. Six lanes wide with an island in the middle and not too much traffic, I felt pretty good about getting to the other side despite our unwieldy luggage. Christa, however, did not seem so sure. We started and stopped a couple of times before she saw a sufficient break in the cars, but we made it first to the island and then to the sweet parking lot of the Hotel las Mercedes.

Checking in was fine and a bellman showed us to our room. Christa and I then found the restaurant and shared a chicken sandwich and an order of fried cheese and plantains, a commonplace Nicaraguan dish. A kitten shared our dinner, meowing for more food until it ate an astonishing amount. After killing a few mosquitoes in our room and jacking up the AC, we went to bed early.