A balmy summer`s night in Granada, Nicaragua.
Under the trees of the park in front of the cathedral the local ladies had set up their charcoal burners; the aroma drawing passers by to the folding chairs set up by their stands.
On the Calle de Calzada the restaurants had set out the tables in the street for the crowd who wanted Guinness, burgers and chips
The lighted windows were bright at the hotels and restaurants serving the more recherche fare…at recherche prices.
So where was I?
In the police station. Not a patch on the other attractions of Granada and no food on offer either.
The back story is as follows…
Two women friends had been visiting us in Costa Rica: one my age, the other much older.
We had had a lot of fun, starting with the discovery that the lady who had brought me harissa found that the lid of the pot had worked loose in her luggage, giving her an entire wardrobe of clothes with oily orange stains and a pot with very little harissa remaining inside it.
We flogged ourselves round the shops of Escazu, the upmarket suburb of San Jose, without success. My friend liked designer clothes…but not at Escazu prices.
So we took the car to the centre of San Jose to hit the Ropa Americana…the secondhand clothes shops.
Except that not all the contents are secondhand. A lot of the stuff is new…complete with tags…and you can find some real bargains.
My friend shops with precision..she knows her size (in every world measurement known to woman)..she knows what fabrics she likes and she knows her style. As always the staff were very helpful: she would emerge from the changing room saying
I like this…but with some detail on the sleeve.
Immediately a bevy of assistants would fan out into the shop to seek what she wanted and would sometimes find it.
Try getting that service in London – unless you are the sort of woman who is accompanied everywhere by bodyguards paid for by her seventy year old husband.
Our shopping trip was very successful: my friend`s wardrobe was replenished at minimal cost but in maximal style.
Nothing orange though, I noted…
We had taken Danilo with us as we needed the car for the spoils and so went together to the terrace restaurant opposite the Teatro Nacional which had caught my older friend`s eye, with tables set among the borders of coffee plants which separate it from the traffic roaring along Avenida 2.
Service was slow….clear sign of a place which thought that coffee plants in the centre of San Jose were attraction enough to draw customers.
Tired of the nods and becks of the only visible waiter Danilo – keen to have visitors to Costa Rica properly treated – went off in search of assistance.
He returned with a head waiter and two female accolytes who presented menus and waited patiently for our orders.
The ladies wanted a fresh fruit drink to quench the thirst generated by shopping followed by white wine. Danilo…driving..stuck to a fruit drink.
The ladies ordered plates of carpaccio of fish. Danilo ordered grilled fish with rice and beans.
The fruit drinks arrived..and were leisurely consumed.
The table adorned with empty glasses, a furious Danilo set off once again in search of assistance.
The head waiter and acolytes returned, cleared the table and served the wine with a further fruit drink for Danilo.
Where, he asked, is the food? These ladies have been waiting at least twenty minutes! Just how long does it take to open the fridge and slice some fish?
The head waiter eyed him…he had a problem in assessing his status.
Danilo, to show his countryman`s contempt for San Jose, would normally wear an old tee shirt and torn jeans together with wellies. Given that he was escorting visitors he had compromised: clean pressed jeans, newish tee shirt…and shoes.
All the ladies were respectably attired and, in one case, wearing a large diamond pendant on her necklace.
The head waiter had a problem…this unsophisticated chap had in tow three somewhat upmarket ladies…he must have hidden talents!
At once, senor!
The carpaccio of fish was superb…well worth another glass of Chilean white from a head waiter now hovering.
Danilo viewed his fish with disapprobation. It was not grilled…it was poached…
Would we, asked the head waiter, care for coffee?
Before we could speak, Danilo replied that, on current form, we could not wait for the coffee berries to be processed…no, just give us the bill!
The bill eventually arrived..the head waiter somewhat bothered as to whom to present it.
His dilemma was solved by the older friend scooping it in and paying in cash – which Danilo promptly counted and returned the sum in excess of the bill to her purse….
Don`t encourage them….
We adjourned to the cafe of the Teatro Nacional where my friends ordered patisseries and cappuccino while Danilo and I contented ourselves with the latter.
Except that the waiter in the Teatro Nacional had resolved the problem which had bemused the head waiter of the terrace restaurant.
Danilo`s cappuccino came with a heart and cupid`s dart design….
He rose and took the waiter aside.
I could not hear all of the conversation but the gist of it was that if the waiter thought that he, Danilo, was a gigolo he could come outside and accept a bunch of fives while, furthermore, the ladies he was escorting were the wife and friends of his employer and Europeans at that, not some dried out old bats coming down to Costa Rica to pick up young men – here a sweep of the arm over surrounding tables – and could the waiter not tell the difference between real diamonds and costume jewellery.
His coffee was removed and replaced with one with a fleur de lis design…
The wardrobe replenished we did the usual visits…volcano, waterfalls, little towns with quaint churches….but I thought it a shame that they should come to Central America without visiting Granada in Nicaragua, once the port from which the fleets sailed for Spain in the time of Drake, crossing Lake Nicaragua, down the Rio San Juan to the Caribbean and on to Europe.
A Spanish colonial city, burnt in large part by a would be American dictator in the nineteenth century, it is still a gem…
We booked tickets on one of the bus services which travel from San Jose to Managua, calling at Granada….while it is fun when younger to travel on the bus to the frontier and elbow your way in true jumble sale fashion through the queues for customs and immigration, given the age of my older friend discretion was the better part of valour and we took the service where the conductors shepherd their clients through the formalities at the frontier as painlessly as possible.
My friends had the seats immediately behind and above the driver where they had a superb view of the road…and a equally superb view of said driver eating his lunch from a plate on his lap while guiding the bus with two fingers….but we arrived unscathed and found a taxi – well, a young man with a car – to take us to our hotel, a restored colonial style house a few blocks from the centre of Granada.
Setting out to explore the next day it was obvious how much Granada had changed since I first visited it with Leo years ago.
Then we had stayed in a hostel: the bed had had cushions for pillows, slippery polyester sheets and an ensuite shower which consisted of an overhead tap in an enclosure of corrugated plastic sheeting.
Leo had spent most of the first night slapping himself in an attempt to kill the mosquitoes….on emerging the next morning he was greeted with a large brandy offered with the respects of the staff who had mistaken his actions for those of wild sexual passion….
We stayed there for three nights and in that time it was impossible for him to buy a drink…they were lined up on the bar from staff and regular customers as soon as he showed his face. Men came to look at him…
Now, Granada had changed: boutique hotels, chi chi restaurants….we were not objecting as we took wine stops in cool courtyards on our tours of the old streets…but it was no longer the haphazard, casual place that it had been. Professional tourism had arrived and the waiters were chasing away the crowds of little boys who moved from place to place offering sweets and matches for sale, thinking that they annoyed the customers. Given the type of customer, it is probable that they did but I had liked the saucy little devils with their hard sell and their backchat.
On the last day of our trip I took my friends out to Masaya to see somewhere less affected by tourism.
We took the collective mini bus from down by the market and were dropped in the town centre in time for lunch…and what a lunch!
Fresh fruit juices and whole grilled fish with salad does not do justice to the meal…all I can say is that fresh meant fresh….and no, we did not climb up into these tall chairs to enjoy our meal.
We visited the stalls selling ceramics, clothes and leather goods in the old fortified market building:
And then walked up the road to the town market which covered acres under its corrgated iron roofs…
As always, a gentleman offered his services to find the best deals…
As always I accepted, made my own deals and paid him a retainer…he has a living to make.
He was kind enough to bring our shopping bags to the bus stop where we were scooped up by the conductor and instructed to hold tight as the packed bus whirled away.
Quick, said the elderly friend. Take a photograph…this is the first and last time you will see me pole dancing!
In no time young men had given us their seats and we returned to Granada in the late afternoon.
This is where things went wrong.
I wanted to go to the market to buy shoes.For some reaason I can buy my size in Nicaragua but not in Costa Rica.
My friends wanted to take a carriage tour of Granada. I would always willingly forgo this as not all the horses are well cared for, so we agreed that we would meet up at the hotel.
Shoes bought, I had returned to the hotel and was sleeping when the receptionist roused me with the news that my friends had been attacked on the corner of the street.
I hurried down to find that my elderly friend had had her diamond pendant snatched as she walked to the hotel: neighbours had come out of their houses to chase the thief ….but he had escaped, using a bicycle lying in the gutter half a block away….and to care for my friends. Chairs had been brought on to the street…remedies had been applied….
The hotel staff were superb in helpng to calm and care for my friends…but the owner (French) was only concerned to insist that it was not the fault of the hotel. Clearly it was not…but some concern for her guests would have been welcome.
Finally the desk clerk got to the nub of the matter.Never mind if the thieves could be caught…my friend needed a police statement for her insurance company…
He called (and paid for) a taxi to take us to the police station on the other side of town.
The Granada police station reminded me of English police stations in the sixties…clean, yes….sophisticated…no.
Unlike English police stations, however, this one had been baking in the heat all day and it certainly did not run to air conditioning.
We waited on a bench in the entrance while some young men emerged from an office in handcuffs and were taken away in a van.
A police officer emerged in their wake and asked if any of us could speak Spanish.
I put up my hand…and that was that…
The problem was that I was not an accredited translator in Nicaragua so while I could describe what my friends had seen my translation would have no value in law….the police chief who turned up confirmed this and then with a wink said…but all they want is a statement for their insurance and for that you don`t have to be accredited.
I was turned over to a gentleman who took down my friends` statements and thought that that was that, but he called his boss as my friends had described how a young lad had jumped up alongside the driver shortly after they had left the park and had chatted to them in English, asking them where they were staying then had jumped off later before the driver dropped them off on the road leading to the hotel saying that he was not permitted to drive up to it.
A set up.
The boss explained that he had a very shrewd idea of who the culprits might be…but by that time the pendant would be in other hands…sold for next to nothing to a fence to buy drugs….and unless my friends were willing to wait to see an official translator and attend both an identity parade and appear in court there would be little point in arresting the malefactors.
Drugs! We have to combat it or it will be the ruin of our society!
While we were waiting for the statements to be typed up the paddy waggon brought in two young people.
They had been arrested disembarking from the ferry from the Rio San Juan to Granada having been found to be in possession of marijuana.
Nicaragua does not tolerate drugs or drug use: the rules are clear…..
However, the Granada police know that a significent number of the visitors to Granada use drugs. Appearances in the criminal courts do not help the business community, so other measures are taken…
A preliminary interview revealed that neither had a word of Spanish. Their passports showed that the young lady was from New Zealand and her male companion from France.
The official translators would have to be called but, in the meantime, could I assist the police with their enquiries?
Cold drinks would be provided for my friends if they were willing to stay…
Indeed they were, feeling that they were inside one of the police dramas they both love, and cold drinks were accordingly brought: cola in a plastic bag with a straw tied into the knot closing the bag. Different…but it was a drink and it was cold.
The boss explained to me that the idea was to frighten the wits out of the young couple and then put them on a bus for somewhere…anywhere..out of Granada. The official translators would have to make out the formal papers relating to their apprehension, but could I assist in explaining what was going to happen.
I started on the young lady, explaining what the police intended to do and asked her if her companion understood.
Oh no…he doesn`t speak English.
Well, can you explain to him?
Oh no…I don`t speak French.
I explained this to the boss whose ruddy countenance turned purple.
I suppose the only language they have in common is hash!
I explained that I could speak French as well as English and he breathed again.
I addressed the young man in his own tongue.
He explained that he thought it very unjust as he was only carrying marijuana for his own use.
But did you know it was ilegal to do so in Nicaragua?
Oh yes, but it was legal in the Netherlands…
Right, so much for the logical French mind.
I explained what the police wanted to happen again and he pouted.
It was getting late. He had booked a hotel in Granada.
The police chief wanted to know which, obviously thinking of mounting a raid.
He didn`t remember.He had the name on his mobile `phone…which did not work as he did not have a local SIM card and the police station had no wifi.
Anyway he did not want to get on a bus to be sent into the void…
I tried explaining that in the circumstances it might be a good idea to do so as otherwise the police chief might decide…business community or no business comunity…to throw the book at him.
I want the French consul.
The boss was going purple again as this was translated and asked me to explain that were the consul to be called the young man would certainly be in for an overnight stay in the hands of the police as there was no way the said consul was likely to shift himself before a late hour of the following morning.
I don`t want the French consul.
Our documents were ready…but the boss had to take a `phone call.
The official translators refused to come until morning.
Could I explain to the young couple that they would have to remain in police custody overnight?
I did so….
The New Zealander was phlegmatic about it, the Frenchman hopeful of better quarters than a bench in a police station.
Are they sending us to a hotel?
Yes, indeed they are. The Hotel de Police.
57 thoughts on “A Night in Nicaragua”
Quite an adventure for everyone.
Not quite your guided tour, to be sure. The miracle was that the insurance company actually paid up!
Well, I needed a long cold drink after this!Wonderfully entertaining.But I do have a serious question – could Danilo be cloned or 3D printed, please?
If only I could! You could not wish for anyone so helpful, so capable…and so non PC!
Great post! We hope to visit soon!
You must! Nicaragua is just superb!
Dear me, my coffee has gone cold – you had me so distracted! Beats the hell out of our boring life up here in the mountains hoeing the veggies and photographing the dragonflies!
I rather like a bit of “boredom” of that sort….I am supposed to be retired, after all…and I don`t go to Nicaragua every week.
It is a beautiful country though: we had planned to take a trip up to the north once Leo was over his latest illness…but fate intervened in that he fell, fractured his leg in four places and is now waiting for fracture blisters to heal before having an op…
Best laid plans going agly again…
I’m sorry your friend was attacked as it must have spoiled an otherwise fun and interesting trip. It’s great the insurance company paid out though.
xxx Huge Hugs Helen xx
It was quite a shock for her…the chap ran from behind , grabbed the pendant and pulled. Luckily she did not fall. She is jolly resilient though as befits one who trained as an SRN in the days when matrons were matrons…
You could have knocked me down with a feather when she told me that the insurers had paid up! Must get the name of the company!
That’s quite the story!
Mind you, such are the times we live in, I wouldn’t even wear a gold necklace to go to town in Montpellier, especially on the tram for an evening event.
I hope the young couple were suitably frightened and realise that ‘far from home’ does not mean ‘far from the law’.
Do you know it hadn`t crossed my mind that there would be a problem….I suppose the carriage rides are just the thing to allow crooks to prey on the tourists, though.
I don`t think that anything would penetrate the skull of the young man….except perhaps a night in the Hotel de Police!
I especially liked Danilo’s conversation with the waiter from the second café 🙂 And didn’t see the robbery or the young people at the end coming.
I got the gist of it, but I think I must have missed some of the linguistic curlicues as Danilo became somewhat animated.
I knew of the men who come to Costa Rica in search of tarts but until Danilo`s arm swept over the customers in the cafe had not realised that there were women who came in search of flesh as well….
You appear to be turning into one of those Agatha Christie detectives who find crime wherever they go!
A separate book is required, ‘Crime in Central America.’
The police appear better than what I would expect in such countries. Maybe I read the wrong papers…
I loved the frenchman saying ‘Drugs are legal in Netherlands.’
So glad it all worked out and Danilo is indeed a great find.
We could not keep going here as we do without Danilo…he is a very nice man as well as being very capable…and he is certainly not PC!
The police were super: they were as helpful as possible even to the point of sending out for the drinks in the plastic bags!
I think that life in France is a good preparation for life in Central America…you are already used to the old Spanish practices before you even arrive.
Hilarious. It brings back memories. Central America has moved considerably upmarket since I traveled there, though I see the culture is just the same. For the most part it looks like your friends are having a lovely visit. Lucky them.
I think I preferred it when things were a bit scruffy….but as our friends like to sit in shady gardens drinking wine it was probably as well that things had gone a bit upmarket.
They enjoyed themselves and luckily missed Leo`s latest health disaster.
Well that last part is worrying. I hope he has at least more-or-less recovered from it.
He is home…receiving treatment daily for the fracture blisters but goes back to the main hospital next week for a progress report. No operation until the skin has renewed itself.
Still, could have been worse. I had a compound fracture while in France which was not pinned..still have problems with it to this day…
Sounds like medical care has improved, too. Good to know. Recovery will take a while no matter the quality of care but at least he seems to be in good hands.
The public hospitals are superb….far better care than in France.And the food is super!
I do miss the food. And how smart of Costa Ricans to put their money into health care, rather than military spending.
Not a paradise…but not bad!
Wow, you do have some interesting adventures in life. Sorry for your friend though I’m glad the insurance came through, and Danilo is a saint! PS: I haven’t found any stuffed potatoes but did get some mash. Thanks for the suggestion.
Glad the potatoes worked…they brought me through many a renovation with non-functioning kitchen.
The theft was a nasty shock…but at least she was not hurt…a fall at her age is far from desirable.
Danilo is super…he is the ideal companion when shopping too: he walks round a supermarket with me commenting loudly on the prices and his view of the utility of whatever item I have been looking at which tends to reduce the spend considerably.
Pheeuw! What a life you do lead, Helen. Everything seems so tame all of a sudden. But it took me back to terrifying occasions when Larry was arrested in Zambia and when we broke our axle in the middle of nowhere there and and and…
It’s oh so nice to go travelling, but it’s so much safer, oh it’s so much safer to stay home (debatable I know but I had to do the song reference thing).
But where’s the fun (or the blog posts!) in that? I must put Nicaragua on my list … Fortunately I have no diamonds 😉
I draw the line at being arrested anywhere in Africa…..and at breaking down in either Africa or Australia…..terrifying seems a decidedly appropriate word for those situations!
We just had a fairly mundane nasty in comparison with those experiences…
If ever you have the chance to go to Nicaragua then take it. Lovely country, especially in the north, and super people (mugger excepted).
I will probably not now be able to go hunting for the original capital of the old Spanish province, now a huddle of houses with a church and unrecognisable as the town sacked by Henry Morgan….or go looking for petroglyphs…but someone should and will have a great time doing so.
Petroglyphs? Hmmm. You never know…
Going up to the border with Honduras a chap we met while sitting in a park told us about…and then took us to…a site where a cliff face was full of said….
I can find no mention of it in the tourist guides.
Well, you never know. ‘Archaeoman’ likes nothing better than long treks to see things that may or may not be there!
What a fabulous post I was mesmerised. If it had been a book I would have been up all night until I got to the end.
I am delighted that the insurance paid out, but it was sad that it happened at all.
Guess you could get a paid job as a translator if you ever needed to 🙂
Hope all is well and Leo is behaving as he should while waiting for his return visit to Hospital!!
Take care and do not over do things. Diane
Behaving as he should…well, up to a point, Lord Copper! His leg is healing well and he goes back for a check up next Wednesday: there is a faint possibility that they will take him in for the op at that point, but I suspect they will wait a bit longer to avoid the risk of infection so it might be a few more weeks until the pins go in.
Pity the poor soul who pays for my translations! I am always awestruck by the ability of those who can do simultaneous translations…my brain would have seized up at the first sentence.
When all this is over I think I will need a holiday!
A holiday and a half I would think!!
That would be bliss!
That’s one of the sad intersections with travel these days, the enjoyment and beauty of visiting places becomes interrupted with poverty (and otherwise)stricken crime and destitute. I love that patio restaurant, our kind of place. Give Leo and the pooches a hug from me. And if Leo doesn’t want it from a strange cyber lady, then tell him it’s from my dogs Bella & Max. 😉
Yes, a pity that the drug trade produces these effects….
I like Spanish colonial architecture…one of the nice things about Granada is the in the evenings people bring their chairs out on the wide pavements to gossip and as ou pass you have glimpses of the sumptuous interiors…all columns and patios..
Being Leo he would like all three hugs! Many thanks!
Ha ha ha! I loved the story about Leo slapping the mosquitoes. So funny!
Such a shame that all over the world places are losing their characters as they are ‘updated’ to cater for the discerning tourists and could be anywhere in the world. I prefer those places, if you can still find them, where you really feel you are somewhere foreign and unpredictable and there’s always the chance of something awful happening.
What a shame your trip was interrupted by the thief, although, looking on the bright side, it did provide material for an excellent tale, your friend was unhurt, and the insurance paid out.
Yes, all`s well that ends well….
I so agree with what you say about places off the beaten track…it is why I like the village in Spain where the house is so very much. I shall miss going there. Not that anything awful is likely to happen unless you are come nose to nose with a bull, or the wigwam of flaming sticks erected outside the church falls on you as you dance under it…
Please send this to s publisher as a first chapter in Helen’s adventures. It will be a best seller. ( and a great film – Helen Mirren as you)
More like Margaret Rutherford!
Ha! That actually made me laugh!
Not such good box office…but more appropriate!
As your tale began, Max and I were concerned that you were in jail in Nicaragua and we were prepping a suitcase full of low denomination notes to secure your freedom. Of course we should have trusted that you were on the side of truth and justice. What a wild ride! I think you have the makings of an entire series based on the Foreign Ladies’ Wine Drinking & Shopping Club.
I knew I could rely on you and Max to come to the rescue!
Go anywhere with those two ladies and you have adventure!
The older one used to accompany her husband on an annual coast to coast U.S.A. Harley Davidson rally with a group of other old age pensioners from the U.K.
On a stop in the Nevada desert she took her helmet off…the sun hit and and felled her. As she recounts, she came to with her husband poking her with his boot saying `Get up, you are embarrassing me…`
Such is the company I keep…
One of the many aspects of your posts I so enjoy is learning that not all the world’s dim bulbs live in the USA, or, more particularly, on any particular stretch of road I’m trying to navigate. Sometimes one does forget that idiocy respects neither nationality, class, religion nor ethnicity, although it does seem to weigh heavy on the young and vain.
There seem to be any number of TOC H lights about…..the worst thing is that they breed more TOC H lights.
I am still wondering if there was something I missed bout marijuana being legal in the Netherlands which somehow made it legal in Nicaragua even if you were aware that it wasn`t…..
Oh, you weren’t aware of the international reciprocal treaty whereby any marijuana purchased lawfully is legal any other place it’s taken, no matter what the actual laws of that country? Just ask any 20-something who’s smoked too much pot, he’ll provide details.
Obviously I now need a twenty year old stoned out of its mind research assistant…
… who can quote made-up international law to you.
Following the current Nicaragua v Costa Rica shenanigans at The Hague it seems there are lawyers who profess to understand public international law who are capable of doing the same….
I would be shocked to learn that they were all stoned out of their minds…unless it was on booze.
Vintage Devries! The mugging is most unfortunate, the insurance company paying out most unusual and in between and before you have the richest tapestry of tales woven deftly together. I thoroughly enjoyed the read!
Nothing like visitors to enliven your life.
Gosh, quite a saga! It’s a shame when places that were charmingly casual and a bit rough-and-ready are tarted up into slick tourist destinations and all the charm disappears. Parts of Northern Ireland are going the same way.
It’s strange how in some restaurants the service is prompt and impeccable, while in others you have to winkle the staff out of their hiding places so you can order the next course or some more wine. And you never know in advance which it’s going to be.
Getting involved with the police is always a complicated and frustrating business. Plenty of red tape and official procedures but seldom any tangible results like actually catching the criminals. In fact I gather some British police forces don’t even bother to investigate burglaries any more as they have more important things to deal with.
Friends in London tell me that if you are burgled all you get is a reference number! They have no idea what the police actually do…but investigating burglaries seems to be off the list.
Beautiful writing, Helen, I’ve missed reading your posts and I’m glad to be back. I hope that the insurance company stepped up and reimbursed. Theft is awful, and in the situation you describe, your friends must have been in shock. In November, PF and his colleague had all his stuff stolen from their hotel room in Mayotte whilst they were working on the terrasse – right down to their shoes and passports. The thieves then coolly hemlped themselves to the car keys and left in it, with the stolen belongings. The (French) hotel owners were odious, and we are still fighting to get reimbursed.
As for the improvised interpreting job, well done! You could sign up to be paid for doing it. I interpreted for the French police once, I admit that seeing a tupperware box full of individually wrapped cocaine than had been coaxed out of two Nigerians’ intestinal tracts just after breakfast was not the most pleasant of experiences.
What a horrible experience in Mayotte!
My friends were shocked, but they are resilient, luckily…and having their very own police drama cheered them up.
I was stunned that the insurance paid up….
I am far too aware of my limitations to be an official translator though I did act as intermediary for the Gendarmerie quite a few times…when France still workd on Systeme D and nobody gave a hoot.
I quite enjoyed the Nicaraguan job…a policeman would whisper in my ear what he wanted me to tell the youngsters…just in case they had only pretended not to understand Spanish, I suppose…I would get the response and would then adjourn to his office to tell him what it was…
He then would come out and eye them severely and the whispering would begin again…
Then we had playacting – as rehearsed in his office – where he came out with handcuffs for them and only reluctantly put them away…
Great fun if you don`t weaken!