Key ingredients (part one)

Saturday moring I showered, got dressed, and packed my backpack for the trip to Huehuete beach to visit Huehuete Bob and any other Nicaliving members that showed up.

I took the 120 to the UCA, and from there I caught a mico-bus to Diriamba. I checked the time when we left the terminal at the UCA; it was 8:00am.

The trip to Diriamba was memorable because I was sitting next to the window behind the driver. The wind blowing in that window buffeted my face and hair the whole way. By the time I jumped off in the Diriamba market my face felt pealed back my air was standing up and back at about a 45 degree angle.

Because of the wind I wasn´t able to open my eyes very wide or for very long on that trip, but the little I saw was beautiful; I like the drive over El Crucero.

In Diriamba I bought some poweraid at a gas station and then caught a chicken bus that was heading to Casares and el Boquito. They assured me that it would take me down to Hueuete as well when I asked.

The bus wound through the town a little bit and then got on a strait dirt road. We stayed on this same road until we got to the ocean, but that took us about 2.5 hours. I am sure that if I had walked I could have covered the distance faster.

Not only did the bus stop every 10 feet to drop someone off or pick someone up, but we tended to stay stopped for 10 to 20 minutes at a time for no apparent reason. I commented to the woman sitting next to me that we spent more time stopped than we spent moving, and she said, "That´s the way it is."

Once we got to the Ocean we turned right and followed the shore until we reached "El Boquita". There we just turned around and headed back down the coast to the intersection with the road we had come in on, and then we continued along the coast in the opposite direction.

This took us through the city of Casares where we stopped for a bit next to a field where they were playing soccer. As usual we were stopped for much longer than was neccisary so I got to watch part of the game, and even see someone sroce a goal.

From there we found a road the crossed a bridge that took us into Huehuete. The bus dropped me off next to a restaurante in between a marsh lake and the ocean. I think I was the only person that got off the bus there, and then it turned around and drove back out. I checked the time: 12:30.

Friday night I had dropped by a cyber-cafe´ to check the "Huehuete benfit party" post for directions to Bob´s house and discovered that all I needed to do was ask around for "la casa del Gringo", so that´s what I did. At first I was directed to a house with a red wall and a black gate on the beach.

It didn´t look like anyone was there so I asked a neighbor. They told me that the Gringo that lived there wasn´t around just know so I figured it had to be the wrong house. The neighbor directed me to another house that was owned by a Gringo; he wasn´t sure if this Gringo was around now or not.

At that house the person that was being paid to watch the house told me that they weren´t there either, and told me that as far as he knew these were the only two houses owned by Gringos in Huehuete. Not to be detered easily, I headed out onto the beach and walked down around the other side of the first house I had gone to in hopes that I could talk to someone there.

Sure enough, someone called to me from inside the gate on the beach side of that house when I started walking by. It turns out that it was a case of mistaken identity. The guy who called me over was also there watching the property for the owner, but he thought that I was the owner´s son who was supposed to show up unannounced at some point soon.

Luckily when I explained to this man that I was looking for a Gringo that was planning a party he told me that he knew where I needed to go, and he told me that he would take me there. He walked with me all the way to Bob´s house in the blistering hot afternoon sun.

When I got to the correct house I met Huehuete Bob. He told me that two other couples had arrived allready but that they would at a restaurant eating lunch (near where the bus had dropped me off in the first place). I also met a man named George from the Atlantic coast with a strong Bluefields english accent that was there helping Bob with the cooking.

Bob took me out behind his house on the beach side and we sat in these amazingly comfortable old wooden chairs that looked like they were a bunch or random sticks or driftwood that had just been stuck together hapharzardly. He told me that he had bought the entire set of chairs and a couch and a coffe table near Matagalpa along the side of the road for almost nothing.

I took the time sitting there chatting with Bob to cool off and relax a bit after my long and arduous trip out there, and drank the remaining poweraid that I had purchased in Diriamba. Before too long the two couples returned from the restaurant where they ha gorged on fresh fish.

I met a gentleman named Brian and his wife (with strong Canadian accents) and another gentleman named John and his wife. Both couples currently live in San Juan del Sur. Come to find out that John follows my posts. Saludos John!

I spent a good long time getting to know these fine people while they enjoyed the stockpile of Flor de Caña that had been prepared for the party. After a bit another old nicaliving member named George showed up with a group of local friends.

George brought a friend of his, a 18 year old girl named Maria and Maria´s sister who looked to be about 4 or 5 months pregnant. The final girl came because she was a friend of Maria´s, and she brought her husband, a local lobster fisherman named Arlen (or possibly Allen, but everyone pronounced it "Arlen).

George did his best to get everyone introduced and involved inthe conversation. When we found out that Arlen didn´t speak english we all switched to spanish to include him. After Arlen was offered his first cup of rum he loosed up and started downing more cups than any other three people. However, the three girls (and I incidently) didn´t drink a drop.

Bluefields George grilled up some chicken, some fish, and some sheep/goat meat that they called "peliguey" that was realy good. He served the girls first. They accepted the food but seemed uncomfortable as they started eating. The other George explained that they were used to serving the menfolk first, so it seemed odd to them to eat first (great old Gringo custom).

After we ate we went all changed into our suits and headed down to the water. The tide was in and the waves were coming in strong and even. It was fun to get down in the water chest high and throw myself into the waves. Eventually a huge wave came in and washed me back up onto shore, so I just walked over to a huge chuck of dirftwood and sat down to watch those still in the water.

The local chicas we just standing about knee high in the water in a clump eyeing the ocean nervously. Most of the other guys were doing what I had been doing, throwing themselves against the oncoming waves, but Arlen had figured out had to surf the waves by putting my boy rigid and jumping up onto the backside of the wave.

I saw him successfully ride in on a couple of waves. I also saw him get rolled by a couple of waves, but the style points were well worth the failures. I sat there for a long while after everyone else headed back up to the house enjoying the sound of the surf and the view. Huehuete beach is beautiful.

When I went back up to the house George held a hose over my head for me to wash off all of the salt and sand. He kept suggesting that Bob install a shower on the outside of his house. I think George went inside to shower once, but when he came back outside he told everyone that the hose did a better job. I found George to be an amazingly entertaining individual.

Come to find out that Bob and George and even Bluefields George live (or lived, now Bob intends to live fulltime in Huehuete) close to were I live in Managua. That´s one of the reasons why I wanted to come to this thing. Friends are almost allways closer than you think.

As time past Arlen started to get more and more toasted. His eyes got pink, he got much loader, and his blinking became erratic. At one point he invited me over to sit next to me in order to talk to me about George´s friend Maria. As she and I were the only single (and not pregnant) people at this event he had decided to try to get us together.

At the time I didn´t have any idea how old Maria was, and she was quite attractive, so I played along. I had chatted with her earlier while they were taking pictures of themselves with a digital camera and I think Arlen noticed my intrest. Anyway, Arlen told me that he had to go drop off the girls and invited me to come along for some quality time with Maria.

George seemed concerned about Arlen driving the girls anywhere in his condition, and he knew that I hadn´t been drinking so he on board with the idea of me going along. Bob lent me his truck and Maria and her sister got in with me. Arlen had driven to Bob´s house in his own truck, so he and his wife got in his truck.

The idea was that he would lead the way to his house in Casares, and there he would drop off his wife and his truck, and then he would get in Bob´s truck with me to be my guide back after I had dropped off the girls as I didn´t know the area. The best laid plans of mice and men. . .

I have no idea how Arlen managed to get to his house in Casares without crashing into anything (cows, people, trees, oncoming traffic, me) but somehow he did. At his place in Casares he stopped to drink a couple of beers before he would get in Bob´s truck so that we could get on our way. Maria and her sister were freaking out because they had promised their parents that they would get back early, and it was allready late.

Once he got into the truck and we got under way he started to change. He started shouting out order like, " change to 3rd, nor to 4th, now to 5th, faster!" and if I didn´t comply or tried to explain to his that I wasn´t as familiar with these raods as he was he because verbally abusive and started trying to force my hand to change gears.

He is the worst backseat driver, ever. As if this wasn´t enough every time he saaw someone that he knew along the road he would take the keys out of the ignition (forcing me to stop along the side of the road with my hazard lights on) and jump out of the truck to go talk to them and usually drink some more beer.

A task that shouldn´t have taken more that 30 minutes stretched into hours. We had left Bob´s house at about 6:00 and before I knew it, it was dark outside, than it was 7:00, than 8:00, than 9:00. . .

Before Arlen got too bad we managed to drop off Maria´s sister (who aparently lives in a different house than Maria) but Maria was stuck with me in the truck for hours. She told me that her mom was gonna kill her because she had promised to get home early. She aldo told me that she tended to get sick easily when she got wet, some combination of asthma and "catarro", so she had promised to one bath in the ocean for a half and hour and then come home quickly to change into some dry clothes.

At once point Arlen became convinced that he needed to drive the rest of the way back. I told him that Bob had intrusted the truck to me and that there was no way in hell he was gonna drive it, so he walked away with the keys and told us, "Well than you are gonna wake up here." I belived him. I figured that he was too far gone to be reasoned with and that in all likelyhood I wasn´t gonna make it back that night.

Maria´s house was only about a kilometer away at that point down the road, but she was afriad to walk it alone, and I couldn´t leave the truck, so we were both stuck. The situation wasn´t all bad. Maria was good company, and if Arlen hadn´t gone wacko on us I probably would never have had a chance to get to know her as well as I did.

Luckily (or in retrospect perhaps unluckily) for us the people in every place that we stopped wanted to help us get on our way with Arlen because they all told us that he was a horrilbe drunk and that they didn´t want him anywhere close by while he was that way, so eventually we got moving again and I was able to drop Maria off.

Her mother (Marta) was waiting on the side of the road when we pulled up, and she was pissed. She was nice enough to me but she was furious that her daughter had been anywhere near Arlen that night (lucky me). As we continued on our way we stopped again at one of Arlen´s many wives homes to visit one of his many children.

Most of the places that we had stopped at that night had been the houses of his women and children, and I was introduced to them all like I was a trained monkey. The last son that he introdiced me to he had me get out of the truck and walk down to the house to talk to him. He said, "This is a Gringo that has come all this way to talk to you."

I wasn´t sure wether I wanted to feel anything positive towards Arlen just then after what he had put me through, but it was hard not to. His love for his son, and his pride as a father beamed from him.

He led me to a bar in Casares after that near where we had dropped of his truck earlier on that evening. He got out and had another beer and tried to get me to join him. I had allready explained to him countless times that I didn´t drink, but it seemed that his powers of retention has abandoned him.

After he understood that I wasn´t going to join him for a drink he told me that we was going to stay there (and as he still had the keys and would give them too me, so whould I). I pled with him to take me back. I told him, "If you really want to be here than after you show me the way to Bob´s house George will drive you back." When he finally agreed he told me, "If they don´t take me back after, I´m going to kill you."

Now, usually I don´t put up with that kind of treatment from anyone. Either I distance myself from the person or if pushed long enough, I attack. It took evey ounce of control that I had not to pound this punk into a bloody pulp on the side of the round, but I was kind of trapped.

I couldn´t render him unconcious or ditch him because without him I couldn´t return Bob´s truck so I just took a deep breath and pressed on. Plus, "Gringo attacks local fisherman" wouldn´t have worked out to well for me as a headline.

Arlen led me over the bridge into Huehuete and about half the way down the road I met Bob coming the opposite direction on his motorcycle. He could easily see the frustration on my face, by I just asked him to guide me back to his place where I would explain everything.

Bob had driven out there looking for his truck, because he hadn´t realized that I was the one driving it. He figured that Arlen had stolen it. He led me back to his house where I figured my adventures would at long last be over (it was about 10:00).

Once again Arlen took the keys from the ignition once we were parked, but this time I didn´t contest it. I figured it was no longer my responsibility. Bluefield George and Bob both seemed interested to know why I had an overcast countenance. Once I got back around the house and sat down I started to untense and explain what had happened.

Arlen, meanwhile, was helping himslef to some more Flor de Caña and walking around the table between all of us. Bob still had his motorcycle keys in his hand and Arlen grabbed them from him. At this point bob didn´t realize that Arlen was a mean drunk, he just thought that he was messing around. So, he tried to trade Arlen a bottle of rum for the keys, and at long last Arlen handed over the truck keys.

I noticed that Brian and John and their wives had departed allready. Only Bob, George, George, Arlen, and I were left. Once Bob had understood enough of what Arlen had put me through he woke George (who had fallen asleep in one of those wonderfull wooden chairs) and told him that he needed him to kick his friends butt.

Once George had fully woken up (this took awhile) he also asked about what had happened out on the road. Alren didn´t spend much time seated. He would get up and wander away toward the side of the house or towards the beach from time to time. It was during one of these times that I learned that my adventure wan´t over yet when Bob announced that Arlen had only returned the truck keys, not his motorcycle keys.

Due to time constaints I´m gonna leave this story half finished. To be continued. . .

Saludos!