The day began with breakfast at a little market. We picked up some veggies to save for lunch, walked around town and went back to the hotel to rent bicycles. The hotel's bicycles had all seen better days, but we eventually settled on two we thought we could make do with for an afternoon. The man who rented us the bikes pointed out several beaches on a map that didn't look too far away. We packed our knapsacks and rode out of town on a little dirt road.
San Juan del Sur is a small city, used to visitors, but not overrun by them. There are a number of language schools, and even a Subway restaurant (the only western chain I saw outside of Managua). Someone told us that there was hope more jobs would be created when cruise ships began docking at the city's port a few years ago. As it turns out, passengers are usually bussed by the cruise provider further inland to Granada or Masaya. That's not to say the town isn't changing. There are modern housing developments springing up in the hillsides surrounding town filled with northern retirees looking for cheap real estate.
Beneath the glass-walled houses atop the cliffs are dusty old neighborhoods home to more typical Nicaraguan dwellings. Biking through one of these neighborhoods we stopped at a convenience store for water. A group of friends was loitering in the store, and among them was a man in a wheel chair, with no arms. Of all the amputees I saw on this trip, he made me feel the most discomfort. The missing limbs were a reminder of Nicaragua's anguished past. Was it a land mine that got him? Fighting for the Sandanistas..or the Contras? Whatever the case, he sat there watching me, limbless, as I paid for a bottle of purified water and jumped back on my bike.
Speaking of bodily injury, I ended up with a scar on my hand that day inflicted not by human folly but a mischievous monkey. Riding our bikes, I was having a ball. My bike was functioning and I had sunglasses protecting my eyes from the dust that a strong wind was blowing up off the road. Tim, on the other hand, had a bike that was refusing to shift gears and had no glasses to protect him from the dust. So we stopped at a little road-side store, hoping to borrow a tool to adjust Tim's bike. The monkey got me the moment I walked in the door.
Slow motion replay: First, I feel my sunglasses inexplicably disappear from my face. Next, I see the woman in the store look up and start to yell something in Spanish. Instinctively, I reach up. And before I can blink, my hand is in the mouth of this monkey who swings back out the door and around the corner of the shop, where it was chained up outside. My sunglasses were ok - the monkey threw them on the ground when the store owner came after him with a broom. My hand, however, was left with a puncture wound which the shop keeper promptly washed out with rubbing alcohol and bandaged.
We never got Tim's bike fixed. After the monkey incident we made our way to the beach, which was beautiful, but, given our predicament, we stuck our toes in the water and turned around. Tim abandoned his bike and hitched a ride in the back of a truck. I refused to let a monkey bite ruin my afternoon, so I biked back into town, and found a drugstore. After fumbling through some Spanish ("mono... mono mordisco!") I found out that there was a clinic in town. So I biked to the clinic and experienced Nicaraguan health care.
The clinic was small and busy. However, with the help of my phrasebook, I was able to explain that I'd been bitten by a monkey and request attention. One nurse nodded at another and they both laughed. I had been hoping for medical attention. Luckily the one nurse was kind enough to clean and bandage the wound again. After some more failed attempts at communication, I found out I could come back the next day if I wanted to see a doctor.
So, having done what I could, I met up with Tim again in the late afternoon and we biked out to a place where there were supposed to be petroglyphs. We never found the petroglyphs. But it was a nice bike ride. Dinner was delicious that night. Could it be that fearing for your health gives food a little extra kick?
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