I had my first "crossing the border" experience. We just got back from Nicaragua today. It was NOT enjoyable to cross the border. There was a huge, huge, HUGE line of semi-trucks lined up way back from where you cross through to the other country. We paid two people to help us get through: Sergio (to get us out of and into Costa Rica) and Excel (to get us out of and into Nicaragua). There are quite a few people waiting to help you at both borders--people think of any way they can to make money here, and there are people who carry around colones (Costa Rican money) and cordobas (Nicaraguan money) to exchange it with you for a fee. I think that's crazy. Who wants to carry around that much cash? It's just asking to be mugged!
The lines were not as long in Nicaragua, but that was because you had a lot more nonsense to do. In Costa Rica, Sergio had bribes worked out with the police and/or had friends with those in charge, so he cut us right to the front of the lines.
Dad: "I feel cheap."
Over the border:
Hannah: "I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since two yesterday."
Mom: "And why is that?"
Hannah: "Because... I'm hungry!"
We could see moss growing on the telephone poles, and there's these nasty vines growing on the trees among the dead grass. I thought that Nicaragua was going to be pretty much exactly like Costa Rica, but it isn't at all.
This was an interesting answer about "third world" and "underdeveloped nations." According to this person, Costa Rica is a "developing country" and Nicaragua is categorized as a "less developed nation" while Haiti is the only one Latin America country categorized as "least developed." http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20090926195324AAWOYRS
There's a big difference between "developing" and "less developed." I guess that some people would technically categorize Costa Rica as a third world country, but I felt like Nicaragua was a lot different. A lot poorer. A much sadder place. When we were at the border crossing place.
Seashell Turtle
There was a barefoot Nicaraguan boy kicking a water-bottle in the dirt. There were women with baskets of trinkets: gum, foods-I-didn't-recognize. Most of them had mini white aprons with colorfully embroidered lace. They were watching the boy kicking the water-bottle. A while later I saw him again when we had to get out of the car for some reason or other.
A lady come up to me saying something and shaking a packet of gum at me as though it was a beggars cup. She was practically lamenting while she tried to sell to you... I thought it was an odd technique. I had to say "No gracias" a couple times before she gave up, and that little, barefoot boy was back again. He was a typical Nicaraguan with beautiful, dark shade of skin (Costa Rican's skin is generally lighter--I've even seen a few blond Costa Ricans) and black eyes and hair. I think he was probably nine or ten. He came toward me with a home-made seashell turtle in his hand. "No gracias," I said, but he still held it out with a worried, sad expression that I felt was unusual for a little boy, especially after I'd seen him laughing before.
"Un dolor," he said.
"Un dolor?" I said pulling out one of my dollar bills. That was something I actually had. I didn't have any Cordobas. "That's ok?" (They actually us "ok," at least in Costa Rica).
He nodded and put the turtle back into his cardboard box with the other glued and painted sea-shell sculptures. I felt awkward, so I picked up the turtle he had shown me. I don't know why, but I feel like I can't look at things while the salesperson is looking at me. It's makes me feel like there's pressure to buy now, but I wished I had had the time to look at some of the other things he'd made: there was a seashell lady, but I didn't see much of it, because as soon as he had my dollar--he ran. I don't know why he was so afraid of me. Maybe he thought I would try to speak English to him.
I thought Nicaragua would be a lot like Costa Rica, but the few days I spent there I think it's not. There's more trash. There's even trash floating in the ocean. And our first night at the beach, we saw a dead pelican and Matt almost stepped on it (no, this story doesn't end with the Pelican's death, look for Part II of my Nicaraguan Adventure) and there was a statue of Christ lit up with a green light and I thought it was a statue of liberty wanna-be (didn't have my glasses on). It was hotter--why? I'm not sure. Because we were closer to the equator? No idea.
There were home-made well and outhouses, Mom said she saw cardboard homes, and there was a lot of dead grass, and even large sections of black grass where it had been burned. Lots of people drive you around in bicycle rickshaws and lots of people have carts driven by oxen and horses. I thought, if any place deserved those name, those areas of Nicaragua could certainly be called "Desolation." And what surprised me is that we were in the touristy areas--probably one of the richer areas of the country. (Note: this is the dry season, and I'm sure it's very beautiful when the grass is alive and the trees are greener).
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