“Please let my bag appear, please let my bag appear.” This was my mantra after landing in Managua, Nicaragua at 8pm, waiting patiently as everyone else picked up their luggage at the carousel. My anxiety was slowly rising with each passing suitcase that wasn’t my backpack. When it finally showed up I actually said, “Hey backpack!” out loud as if it was a pet dog that returned home. I couldn’t help it, I was so relieved.
Okay step 1 was successful. Now I had to find my airport pick-up organized through the spanish language school I was attending for the next 10 days. All I knew was the name Alex, and that he would be holding a sign with butterflies on it. I managed to locate him through the throng of family members pressed up against the glass at the arrivals terminal. If you’ve flown to MGA you know what I’m talking about. Thanks to the language barrier I walked right up to the wrong car and tried to open the door – which seemed to entertain Alex and his friend to no end. (Also proving that doing stupid things transcends the need for words – which I’m realizing is the basis for Mr. Bean’s entire career.)
What I didn’t expect is that Alex obviously loved the Fast and Furious and his car showed it – covered in decals with a subwoofer that took up most of the trunk space. Thankfully my pack was only 40 litres, or we may have had a problem. The three of us hopped in and took to the road, while for a split-second the thought of This is legit right?, passed through my head.
Alex and his friend were great, they tried to make small talk in Spanish but 4 months without practicing plus a day of travel killed any chance of a meaningful sentence. They let me be silent and stare out the window, which was all I wanted to do. An hour later we pulled up in front of my home stay. (The language school was a bit of a splurge at $280/week USD, but I wanted a structured beginning to my trip. The cheapest combination of options were language classes with volunteering and living with a local family, instead of day trips and staying at the hotel.)
I knew I was staying with someone named Fernando. I had pictured a middle-aged man, and his wife, and maybe a couple of kids. That was not the Fernando I got. When I first saw him I thought maybe he was the adult child of who I’d actually be staying with. I followed him to the house and met his wife Fatima. I later found out that they thought I was about 18 years old. When I told them I was 27, they started laughing – I was older than both of them! Fatima is 23 and Fernando is 26.
They showed me the bathroom and my room, complete with a fleece blanket with the image of two dolphins jumping in unison, and a mosquito net. To be honest, I was happy and relieved for the second time that night. I can do this, I thought.
Here we go.