by Mark N. Spencer    

It was 3:30 a.m. and I had just made it through an evening at the Del Rey Hotel in San José, Costa Rica with the contents of my wallet still intact.
Off to the bus station for a seven hour trip to Granada, Nicaragua. My body was desperately yearning for a few hours sleep but my mind was still racing. The silicon palace I’d just frequented wasn’t the kind of place you’d likely forget in a hurry. First things first… one foot in front of the other Mark, one foot in front of the other.
I got to the bus just as it was about to pull away and dragged myself and my belongings aboard.

by Al Burton

There is a lot of concern in the air regarding a proposed Law for Coasts. The current proposal before the National Assembly is based on the Agrarian Law of 1917, an arcane piece of legislation that stipulates that the State is owner of the land for two kilometers from the high-tide line and for 800 meters from lake shores and the banks of navigable rivers.

That law applied to lands not already titled to private parties by the time it was enacted, thereby establishing a sort of Federal or Crown land zone, as exists in many other countries. Not much attention was ever paid to it. An attempt to revive that law under a new legal framework has caused consternation among tourism developers and shrimp farm operators along the coast, while cattle ranchers in the interior wonder how it will affect their ability to water their livestock.

by James Spencer

Anyone in Nicaragua will find many things to entertain them. One thing I can say, after living here for five years, is that this country is never boring. It is a land of adventure and occasionally sidesplitting humor. Here are a couple short stories just to underline that fact.

The Russians are coming back!

To the Southeast of Granada lie the “Isletas” or small islands. Nestled on the Eastern edge of these islands is ‘El Diamante’, a small marine boatyard where the local ferries are docked and serviced. Until recently, it was also the home of four old Russian hydrofoil boats. These boats were purchased used from the old USSR. The plan was to use them as a means of fast transportation up and down Lake Nicaragua. The problem with old hydrofoils is the same as the problem with old cars - they break down all the time and getting spare parts can be a nightmare.  These boats were a relic from the Sandinista times and when they were running, they would skip over the waves at speeds in excess of 30 miles an hour.

by Carlito Rockola

I’ll get right on it!

I was fishing on the beautiful Rio San Juan at the mouth of the Rio Bartolo enjoying my first success of the trip. The Rio Bartolo Nature Reserves’ park office also sits at the river mouth. As I played and landed a nice, fat snook the park ranger came out on the dock and began yelling animatedly and waving us over.

After releasing the fish, we went over to see what he wanted. “Where’s your license? You need a license to fish the Rio San Juan,” he explained. “You can’t fish without one.”  “Since when”,  I asked my guide, I never heard of this, we fished before without one. “It’s a new law, to pay the rangers’ salaries” Agustin Llanes, my guide and owner of Monte Cristo Resort explained.

by Professor Carlos Schmid

Anyone who spends time speaking with rural folks soon finds that the people of the land have some arcane ideas about unworldly things. One of the most prevalent beliefs is that the countryside is populated by elves, called duendes. A glance at the topographical maps of northern Nicaragua discloses that there are several caves with the name of, “the cave of the elf”, or la cueva del duende. And these little people can be downright nasty. One young matron explains that elves are responsible for the disappearance of small children, who are stolen from mothers who do not adequately watch their children. Another informant explains that elves love to scare people in the middle of the night just for fun.

by Mike Sabine

And the water flows

A man came to my door the other day to announce that my water service, even though the water still flowed when I turned the tap, was cut off. 

 So I gave my loyal housekeeper Flor a hundred córdobas and a copy of the electric bill to identify the landlord’s name which the account was under and off she marched to restore my uninterrupted service. She returned to announce that this account couldn’t be found.

So I rifled through the series of manila envelopes in a Corona Beer box that serve as this publication’s filing system and found the last two water bills I paid. See, I said, same name. No, she pointed out rather exasperatedly, they’re reversed.  Like John Smith and Smith, John. No wonder they couldn’t find it.

by James Spencer

As a writer and journalist I have been told many stories about Nicaragua. I am sure that at least one of them must be true. This is the sad story of mass delusion, not to mention quite a few serious headaches.

Jose Gomez was a young brick-builder. He lived with his wife Anna and eight children in a small shack on the edge of Santa Maria. Jose’s basic tools were a small trowel and a medium sized ball pein hammer. The hammer features prominently in this story, so let me relate how Jose came into possession of this wonderful Sears Craftsman tool. One day as the evening sun was setting low in the sky, Jose left work and was cycling home. Suddenly he glimpsed something bright glinting in the grass at the side of the road. He stopped and there amidst the grass was a beautiful, bright -straight from the factory- Sears Craftsman hammer. Jose couldn’t believe his luck. It was like a gift from heaven.

by Al Burton

Rumor has it that in the 1980s pop star Bono of the Irish band U2 visited Managua. After roaming the streets of this town, he was inspired to write the song sharing the title of this piece.

U2´s song may be the one good thing that has resulted from the quaint manner in which people in Managua issue an address. What could be simpler? Most English-to-Spanish dictionaries present the definition of address as dirección. Directions are what you ask for and directions are what you get.

by Lisa Ball

Most of us at the table are bent on an orgy of casual yet acrobatic sex. The rest of us are trying to partake in a civilized meal but remain spellbound by the activities.

Of course the more unruly amongst us have six legs and compound eyes. The first downpours of the rainy season at the Domitila Wildlife Reserve mean it’s insect party time and everyone’s rocked up for the ride.

I can understand why the insects come. Apart from the obvious seductions of our moonlike lanterns in the darkness, Silvio and Maria Jose Mejia work hard to welcome everyone, from the indigenous boneless frog to me, the spineless extranjera who’s slightly overcome with insects. Indeed it’s not an easy task to combine the needs of the wildlife with the desires of the domesticated tourist. In fact some would go as far as to say that ecotourism is an oxymoron, that columns of tourists tramping through the forest like trash-wielding leaf cutter ants simply cannot be good for a delicate ecosystem. The Mejia’s however are working hard to prove the pessimists wrong.

by Tim Axelsen

So what are the motivations of those of us who pack up and move indefinitely to a land as contrasting as possible to that in which we currently reside? What makes us want to discard a comfortable life and head on down the road to apparent oblivion?

While the impetus of the young might be obvious, the rationale of those of us of a more mature nature are more mystifying. Is it merely a matter of boredom and an over adequacy of cash? It would seem not as many who have the means to travel are content to simply venture to a tourist resort for a couple of weeks a year. Possibly the thought of repeating our youth makes us think we can recapture it. It is not until we jam into planes, scramble in and out of buses, haul ourselves on and off boats and comb foreign streets in an enduring search for good value hotels and restaurants, that we realize there are distinct disadvantages.