This World Traveler

Hangin' with the Worldbeaters

My friends think I'm a bit of an adventure traveler. However, the more places I see, I don't know that this is actually the case. Quick to eschew the hotel for the hostel and generally seeking the less worn path. I'm not pioneer, but I'm not exactly Hawaiian shirt and fanny pack material either. At least I don't think so anyway. But after meeting some really well worn travelers, I don't know how sure I am of that anymore.

Lounging in a dank, poorly lit spot in Granada, I ran into a group of people who can legitimately called worldbeaters. Every single one of them has been on the road for months. One of them has just a week left before heading home to New Jersey... but it turns out that this is just for the holidays. In January, she's planning on living in Dubai for some time. We talk about our travel, and I sheepishly admit that I can only squeeze out a week on the road at a time. "Oh well..." the response comes, "at least that's something." When the state of the dorm rooms comes up, I mention that I upgraded to a private room. "Oh, well I'm sure if I only had a week, I'd do the same."

What the hell? Was that derision? Jealousy? Or were they looking down their nose at me for taking less shitty accommodations than them? Honestly, I'm not really sure. From memories of my months in Europe a few years ago, I know that a short budget means being long on patience and politeness... otherwise the meaner you get, the quicker your wallet empties. At least with one or two of the people I'm talking to at this hostel, there does seem to be this passive-aggressiveness to their tone, but I let it wash away though. The conversation is the best I've had since I left the states and they seemed otherwise nice enough.

The next day, we're all headed to San Juan del Sur, a little beach village on the Pacific Coast. Dreading the infamous chicken buses, I had plans to take the direct shuttle that a travel agency offers for $20. The van never showed up though, and the agency didn't even open. Which left me the option of a chicken bus. We ended up on the same chicken bus to Rivas, there are no direct routes to the beach from Granada. Although these buses aren't exactly comfortable, I wasn't as scared of that as I was figuring out how to get out of the market in Rivas and into San Juan.

After two hours of being compressed by about 30 Nicaraguans in a school bus meant for half as many kids as there were adults aboard, I got my bag from the roof of the expreso and I get hit with culture shock. There is nothing touristy about the Rivas market. There is very little to help you, and without a knowledge of Spanish, panic started to take over. Fortunately, the people I got to know, saved my ass and got me in a collectivo with a few other Nicas to get me down to San Juan del Sur.

It's funny how things change. I came into Nicaragua thinking that there would be very little that I couldn't handle, I quickly realize that there's a long way for me to go. These travelers who I first got intimidated by, became fast traveling friends - and I was quite sad to leave them when my week ended and I was off to the real world. It has only been a couple days and I miss them already.

Pictures: Mural on the side of the Northern Coridor Highway in Managua, cattle drive seen on the highway from Managua to Granada.

Labels: buses, culture shock, nicaragua, transportation, travel