Trip to Jiquilillo

The beach at Jiquilillo

July 19^th is the anniversary of the Revolution and there was a huge celebratory rally in Managua.  The US embassy advised expats to be cautious in Managua for the weekend and Peace Corps banned Managua for us, due to violence that occurred after this event last year.  Because the anniversary fell on a Sunday, Monday was the legal holiday so we had a long weekend and we decided to go to a small coastal fishing village called Jiquilillo (pronounced Hee-kee-lee-yo) on the Pacific about a 1½ hour bus ride from Chinandega. Several other Peace Corps volunteers from our area had left late Friday afternoon to hike a volcano Saturday morning with the plan to meet us in Jiquilillo Saturday afternoon.

We packed up our stuff, closed up our casita, made sure our neighbors, Peace Corps and our counterparts were aware of our plans and made the walk through the crowded market to the bus stop.   There are 5 buses a day to Jiquilillo and we planned to leave on the 11:30. In true gringo style we arrived at the small market (mercardito) from which the buses depart about a half hour early so we had ample time to take in the scene:

·      Women in their colorful lacy aprons with deep hidden pockets for their cash selling fruit, vegetables and other edibles that they were cooking on charcoal grills or gas burners;

·      Venders wandering around selling water in plastic bags, natural juices and sodas;

·      More venders with food in bowls on their heads;

·      Buses departing for other towns being loaded for the journey.

Watching the buses was most entertaining.  These are hand-me-down US school buses that have been altered for the use of public transportation in Central America (seat belts removed, luggage racks put in and enough framing on the roof for allow luggage to be “securely” deposited there for the journey).  There is a ladder on the outside of the bus and all manner of things are either carried up the ladder or thrown up to the man on the roof who secures the items in place (large bags of bananas and other produce, bicycles, boxes, etc).  It is quite a dance.  While the roof is being loaded, people are entering the bus and it rapidly fills to the point of standing room only.  This does not stop the venders from working their way from one end of the bus to the other selling everything from fried chicken to peanuts to vitamins.  They enter the front, squeeze their way through the crowds, occasionally making a sale or two and exit out the rear door. Many continue to solicit their products outside and sell a few things through the open windows.  The bus motor starts, the men on the roof quickly get down, the last passengers board the crowded bus, the venders get off and continue trying to make one last sale through the windows, the conductor (called cobrador here in Nicaragua and aydante in Honduras) yells for one last possible passenger and as the bus pulls away jumps on just in time.  Miraculously, the buses seem to leave on time.

 

Typical market scene

Check out the frilly apron.  

Kids hang out in the market with their moms

This man is selling something sweet.  He asked me take his picture.

Waitng on top for more things to be added.

The man on top just caught that box from the man below.  See the woman selling food through the window and the taxi tricycle on the right.

Skinny dogs hoping to find something to eat are part of the market

We cross the street to wait for our bus to arrive and before too long it shows up. The journey starts in Chinandega so we figure we will be entering an empty bus and will have no problem sitting together.  As the bus pulls up, we realize there are about a half a dozen kids in the bus reaching out the window for bags and groceries of people waiting for the bus.  We are clueless to what this is all about and as we enter the bus, we see that almost every seat is now reserved with a bag of tomatoes or peppers or beans or whatever!  We luckily each find a seat but not together.  The kids disappear and whether they got paid for this reservation service or not is unclear.  Our bus fills to standing room only and the venders come squeezing through.  They are selling water, juices, sodas, fried chicken, tomatoes, watermelon, home decorating items (painted suns for example), bananas, vitamins, bread, pastries (savory with chicken and sweet with pineapple), pizza, fried spicy tortillas, watches, necklaces, ice cream, candy, toys, chewing gum and other baked goods.  As we pull out of town, I realize that my view inside the bus in an orange Levi’s label about 8 inches from my face belonging to the man standing in the aisle near me. 

Within 10 minutes we are pulling into the next town and more venders make their way into the bus adding tamales, empanadas and tortillas to the list of options.  We arrive at the Rancho Esperanza in Jiquilillo about an hour before our friends.  It is a funky, low-key, low budget back packers hotel right on the Pacific with more hammocks than beds and a crew of interesting international guests.  We swim, relax, shower often in our enclosed outdoor shower, relax some more, walk, talk to the other guests, play some games and have a lovely time.  In comparison to the trip there, the ride home was uneventful and because it was a holiday on Monday, even the reliably hectic and busy market was quiet.  It felt good to be home with another collection of experiences and memories to savor and share. 

Our group in Jiquilillo waiting for dinner

Rancho Esperanza