Los Testigos de Cerveza

By Bill Metzger

Part 10

Border Disorder

The bus for the border arrived, putting an end to the gringo music and Nuco's Moon Walk exhibition. The travelers bid goodbye to the Sandinistas and boarded the bus, having shared a piece of their culture. In exchange, the Sandinistas had included the travelers in the group they were protecting against Yankee imperialism.

A three kilometer drive along a road dotted with Sandinista Army encampments carried the travelers to the new border station. Because the previous station had been destroyed by the counterrevolutionary "Contras", the overriding concern at the new station was mobility. The Nicaraguan government's socialist policies had stirred up trouble with the world's largest military power, the US, which was funding the war against them, so the Sandinista-led government had simply retrofitted a small RV trailer with an outdoor awning and three shelved windows. Each morning, they would roll out the RV and process the trickle of people entering and leaving their country. At night, they would close the station and withdraw to Somoto, the nearest town of consequence.

"The last time I was here, people said the Contras only come out at night," Nuco said, as the bus approached the port-o-station.

"So this should be a safe, easy procedure," the BigCanadian said.

"Safe, yes," Nuco replied.

The travelers disembarked, were given packets of documents and showed a long line at the RV's first window. "I need a beer," Capn said.

"Don't see any cerveza around here," the BigCanadian said, surveying the port-a-station, which seemed to have been chosen for its lack of ground cover.

After filling out the documents, the group settled in line. Overhead, the sun moved slowly across a cloudless sky, burning deeply into their sun lotion plastered hides. "Relentless," said Medio, after thirty minutes of the blaze.

"And unforgiving," Capn added, finishing the phrase that would become the travelers' theme over the next few days.

The BigCanadian, who had withdrawn into his clothes like a turtle from danger, peered out from under his campesino hat. "El sol is taking its time crossing the sky," he observed. "What do you say we take turns waiting in line." He pointed to a small shade tree, walked over to it and sat down. Capn and Nuco followed suit, leaving Medio in line with the baggage.

At midday, with the solar death rays near their zenith, the windows suddenly shut. "Que paso?" asked Nuco, who was baking in line at the time.

"Almuerzo," said the woman in front of him.

"What's up, Señor?" the BigCanadian called from the shade.

"Lunch."

"How about a little entertainment while we're waiting," the BigCanadian suggested. "Another Moon Walk?"

"Hot," Nuco mumbled.

"Doesn't anyone drink beer with their lunch?" Capn queried.

Lunchtime passed and the windows of the RV remained closed. "Siesta," the woman in front of Nuco explained.

"Siesta," Nuco called out to the shaded trio. "Somebody spell me."

"I wish that sun would take a siesta," the Big Canadian said, glancing up at the fiery Aztec god that had begun to determine the group's every motion.

"Relentless and unforgiving," Medio said, preparing for another shift.

Boxed Out

Two and a half hours later, the windows reopened and the line resumed its slow motion forward. The travelers passed the first and second windows, arriving at the third and final one--they thought.

"Documentos," came a voice from within the trailer. Nuco, who had assumed control over the four sets of papers, handed them through the window.

"Where are you going?" came the voice.

"Nicaragua and Costa Rica."

"How are you traveling?"

"Bus."

"Why are you here?"

"Vacation."

Eyebrows rose. "How long do you plan to stay in Nicaragua?"

"Three days."

A moment later the border agent inside the RV handed the papers back to Nuco, and said, "These are no good. You checked the wrong box." He pointed to a box that apparently had been incorrectly checked.

"I can correct that," Nuco replied, "just change that one mark."

"No," the agent replied. "You must return to the start and fill out the documents again."

Nuco tried to reason with the agent, informing him that they had been at the border over four hours already, but the agent stood firm. After several more minutes of futile argument, Nuco grabbed the bundle of papers and stormed away from the window. "Fuck these assholes!" he swore. "They can take their revolution and shove it! Let's go back to Honduras!" Reaching the spot where the group had disembarked from the border bus, he threw the papers to the ground.

"Ahora, ahora, ahora...let's think this one over," said the BigCanadian, hastily gathering up the scattered documentos.

Capn and Medio weighed in, voicing their reluctance to return to Honduras, and the group decided to redo the entire process. The BigCanadian, after this show of leadership, automatically regained his US citizenship.

Two hours later, the travelers reached the same agent who had rejected their documents. The agent took them, rifled through the piles, then looked sharply at one of the passports.

"?Que pasa?" Nuco snapped, expecting another rejection.

"Larry!" the agent said, then smiled gleefully and pointed to Capn's passport picture. "Larry!" he repeated and held up the passport. "!Los Tres Chiflados! Los Tres Chiflados!" The agent laughed. "Larry!" He began stamping the papers and passports.

"What's he saying?" Capn asked, as the papers were handed back to the group.

"He says we're The Three Stooges and you look like Larry," Nuco explained.

Medio peered over Capn's shoulder. His compañero's passport sported a balding, wild-haired photo resembling one of America's funniest comedy characters. "He's right."

"And he's letting us into his country," the BigAmerican said, relieved.

"Yeah, but the fucking asshole can't count."

Transportation Woes

Having crossed the border, The Four Stooges assumed their difficulties would ease. But Sandinista-led Free Nicaragua was suffering from a proxy war and a US imposed embargo. Given the country's past as a banana republic, the embargo had a tremendous effect on its economic system. Most importantly for the travelers, a shortage of auto parts and the Contra led destruction of Nicaragua's only petroleum refinery had created an acute transportation problem. The lack of working vehicles and the gasoline needed to run them was a national crisis. Crowded buses were common in Central America, but until now the travelers had been able to purchase tickets to guarantee them seats. In Nicaragua, wherever a bus or train was scheduled to depart, a line of people double that vehicle's carrying capacity waited to board it. At the new border, there was no ticket office, no reservations, no time schedule, just a long line of people waiting patiently in the fading afternoon sun. Again, the travelers stepped into line to wait.

"When does the next bus come?" Nuco asked the man in front of him.

"Soon," the man responded.

"I hope everyone fits," Nuco said. The man smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

When the bus finally arrived, its driver encountered a line of nearly one hundred people. Wanting to avoid a mad, disorganized rush, the driver pulled up to the queue and opened the door. The bus was a mid-sized Japanese model, with a single entrance located in the middle. It had a recommended capacity of forty. Everyone stood up and the line of package and animal laden Nicaraguans speckled with foreigners began to file in. The travelers, having mischecked the proper boxes during their first border crossing attempt, were the last four people in line.

"We're never going to fit on this bus," Capn observed.

"It's the last bus to leave the border today," Nuco said.

"Oh boy, the Contras would love to capture us!" the BigAmerican said with uneasy enthusiasm.

Despite the group's pessimism, the line of people leading into the bus kept shrinking until it was their turn to board. Capn, Medio and the BigAmerican weaved through the tightly packed mass of humanity, stepped carefully over a couple farm animals, and lodged themselves in the middle of the bus. Nuco jammed his oversized suitcase into a chance opening and stopped at the entrance, standing on the first step and letting one foot dangle outside the bus. He grabbed the back of the seat in front of him for stability. A patrol of Sandinistas joined Nuco, latching on to the windows and the roof rack outside. The overladen bus tilted heavily.

Once everyone had boarded, the bus driver returned to his seat and pushed shut the dead bolt riveted to the outside of his door. It wasn't until then that the driver recognized his mistake; everyone had gotten on the bus before he turned around, so he now had to execute a 180 degree turn on the two lane road. He managed to stay on the highway until the last turn, but as he pulled away, the two right wheels dropped over the curb and the bus started to tip over.

Several people inside screamed. Nuco and the soldiers jumped off. Instead of breaking into a dead run away from what looked like an unfolding nightmare, however, the evacuees stood next to the bus and held it upright.

The support, combined with the loss of weight caused by their bailing out, helped right the bus, and the overburdened vehicle regained its position on the road. The evacuees reboarded on the run. The bus tilted wildly again, but the danger of the initial flip over had diminished and the bus trundled down the highway into Nicaragua, its tires scraping against the tops of the wheel wells with each small bump.

Next issue: Drinking cerveza like machos, border post paranoia, and stuck in the street without rooms.

Not long ago--about ten years--four travelers set forth on a voyage south of the border. While none of the voyagers journeyed to Central America for the same reasons, each held two common loves: travel and beer. Good beer, or so they thought in those heady days launching the craft beer revolution. The following series will tell the story of how those individuals--Nuco, Medio, Capn, and the BigGuy--evolved into one of the most well traveled, irreverent bands of craft beer lovers on earth, los Testigos de Cerveza. Copyright 1997, Great Lakes Brewing News. No material herein may be reprinted without permission of the Great Lakes Brewing News Distributed On the W3 For personal, non-commercial enjoyment and use only. Cheers!