Monday, February 1, 2010 -- HOME AGAIN HOME AGAIN . . .

At 1:30 am, I leaped out of bed, panicked because I heard a motor boat and thought we’d overslept. Later I learned that this and several other boats I’d heard were motoring from El Castillo and nearby villages to Boca de Sábalos to the funeral of a renowned villager.

We got up for good at 5 am when the security guard knocked. Jess took a quick cold shower but I simply dressed, brushed my hair and teeth and gathered up the remaining things. The security guard then walked us down the trail and to the dock. It was tough leaving such an idyllic spot.

Yaro met us at the dock and gave us a plastic bag containing two hard-boiled eggs and four peeled oranges. We talked while we waited for our boat, and he told us that he had been a Sandinista major in the revolution, stationed at this spot on the river. He liked the area so well that when he got out of the military, he returned and bought the land that the resort now sits on. But, he did not immediately start a resort. His first use of the land was to capture reptiles, snakes, and spiders and ship them to pet shops around the world. The Lodge came after. In 2003 he helped found San Juan Rio Relief, a foundation of Americans and Nicaraguans who work closely with Nicaragua’s Ministry of Health to provide free medical supplies and services to communities along the Rio San Juan. Every four months, he and Boca de Sábalos host doctors from around the world donate their services. A dental clinic was next scheduled.

Our fast boat was supposed to arrive at 5:30 am but did not pick us up until 6:10. Yaro assured us that this fast boat would get to San Carlos in time for our 8:20 flight, and he was right. This boat, though roofed, was more like a motor boat. It sped up the river picking up a handful of people in Boca de Sabalos and two in San Rosa—one with a large, heavy box containing what appeared to be electronic equipment—and then did not stop again until we arrived at the San Carlos dock at about 6:45. It was a cold and windy ride.

Yaro had arranged for Luis, our original taxi driver, to meet us at the dock. We climbed into his neat little red taxi and he dropped us off at a café (also arranged by Yaro) for breakfast. The place had no bathrooms, no milk, and served only instant Nescafe, however, so we hopped back into the cab and instructed Luis to take us to the airport. We would wait there. But when we got to the tiny airport, it was still closed.

Luis then spent the next 45 minutes driving to seemingly every café in San Carlos, stopping before each, and calling out the window “Café con leche?” The response was always “No.” Nicaraguans do not drink their coffee with milk. Finally we stopped before one newsstand and saw a woman pouring milk into a pitcher. Jess bought a small bag of milk and two small hard rolls. Then Luis drove us back to a kiosk by the dock where we finally managed to have our coffee. I ate the two small hard rolls; Jess ate both hard-boiled eggs. We’d left the oranges at the café.

Then Luis dropped us off at the tiny airport with its short dirt runway for our 8:20 flight. By this time, it was open, but no one was there. The La Costeña plane finally came at 10:30. We were running on “Nica time” for sure. I am writing this as we cross Lake Nicaragua in the clouds.

San Carlos Airport Sign

San Carlos Airport just open

Airport waiting room

Airport snackbar

Caretaker's house; finally I can show the way the showers are outdoors and wrapped in low (for me) black plastic

Incoming flight

Taxiing to the door

When we got to the Managua Airport, I stood in line for an eon behind a group of surfers with their boards before I could check my bag. (It cost each of them $125 per board to check their surfboards—a steeper price than taking a bike aboard.) While I was waiting in line, Jess set up her flight and had decided what she would do with her connection time. She was going to the Best Western across the street to read and laze poolside all afternoon. She later reported that for a mere $6, she had been given all the privileges of a regular hotel guest and had enjoyed her time poolside immensely.

After I had finally checked in and gotten rid of my heavy backpack, we had our last Nica lunch of rice and beans and chicken and I bought some beautiful stamps for Jeff at the airport P.O. Then we said our goodbyes, and I went into the secure area to wait for my flight.

Both of us were nervous about getting through customs with our seedpods. My flight was boarding just as I got to the gate. But just as I got to the gate, I saw the seed jewelry that I’d been looking for, so I hastily bought two seedpod necklaces—one for Jess and one for Lucy— both with ojo del venado pendants. 

When we took off from Managua, I noticed the concrete gun bunkers all along the runway for the first time. On the plane, I was given a customs form to declare what I was bringing into the U.S. Seeds were on the no-no list. My backpack was filled with seedpods and the ojo del venado seeds. I marked that I had no seeds to declare and then crossed that out and marked that I did have seeds to declare. When I got to customs they questioned me, and I showed them the two necklaces with their seeds. They passed me through without further ado. Guess I had just graduated to smuggler.

Long tedious wait in Houston, from which I called Jeff and Lucy to tell them that I had arrived and to assure them that I would stay in a hotel in OKC if the weather was too bad to pick me up. Then I was finally back in OKC, in my sandals, in the snow. Jeff and Lucy braved the weather and picked me up. We arrived back in Stillwater around midnight, my transition from jungle to snow complete.

I arrived home with 400 cordobas still in my wallet—about $20. Nicaraguan currency cannot be converted to dollars, so I guess there’s nothing for it but a return trip to Nicaragua.