After seeing G___ off, I found a telex waiting for me at the hotel. The manufacturer, having supplied a prototype, required various modifications. Could I please fly to Miami and check in to the airport hotel. (Not a question.) A package of large electronic parts would be arriving from Munich. Do not mention that these are for Nicaragua. Ronald Reagan won’t like it. Pretend you are importing them into the USA, pay the tax, and then take them back to Managua.
After checking in — ah, a developed country again — I freshened up, as Americans call the process of removing superficial decay, and asked the concierge to call me a cab.
“Where do you want to go?”
“A pool bar where I can get a good meal.”
“Ah. I’ll call Gary. He knows all the places.”
Gary arrived in his Yellow Cab in minutes. “I know this great place in the Grove. Here’s my card, call me when you get through. Especially don’t get into a Cuban cab.”
We began passing through a ghetto. Distinctly concerned I said, “I wouldn’t want to break down here.”
“That’s why I carry this.” He produced a Colt .45 pistol, a huge thing, and handed it to me.
I pretended to examine it. “Seems like a lot of gun.”
“I have this too.” He pulled up his trousers/pants to reveal a .38 revolver. “And in the door pocket I have a machete.”
I began to wonder if Miami might be even more dangerous than Managua.
Gary had two bandoliers of black plastic 35mm film cans. I already had massive culture shock going on so I was unsurprised when he told me that each can held different drugs.
* * *
The Radio Catolica team met me in their Kubelwagen, and we rolled up to the transmitter site, where I offloaded the modification parts. The watchman seemed an amiable sort, so I tried out my Spanish on him. Without success. I couldn’t comprehend at all. As we drove away, I remarked on my poor Spanish and the team laughed. “We couldn’t understand him either, Ingeniero, he was completely borracho!” (drunk).
* * *
I think it’s time for a little political background here. Ronald Reagan had declared war against Communists everywhere. In July 1979 Somoza had been overthrown and the FSLN, Frente Sandinista Liberacion Nacional, took over.
During my time there, Reagan was funding terror raids into northern Nicaragua by the ‘contras’ and driving any distance involved negotiating checkpoints manned by teenage FSLN militia armed with AKs. I was aware of some geopolitical issues — I could hardly fail to be — but ignorant of others.
During my first visit I lapped up the government propaganda. I was told how Somoza’s family ran all the major industries. I was shown the active volcano — you can walk up to the edge and look in. Don’t fall… and told how Somoza had political prisoners thrown into the caldera. It glows red.
I was told there were no schools in Somoza’s time. And while I was seeing and being told these things, John Pilger, a left-wing news personality, was reporting in a similar way in the British media. So I felt comfortable with my opinions.
I installed the modifications and put the new transmitter on-air. The customer signed for it. That evening I wanted to celebrate and since there was almost no food in town, that meant either the McDonalds or the Intercontinental Hotel.
Everywhere in town, besides the endless “¡No pasaran!”, signs said: “No hay arroz, no hay carne, no hay pan, hay ron.” There’s no rice, there’s no meat, there’s no bread, there is rum.”
I headed to the Intercontinental and had a decent dinner and then waited in vain outside for a taxi. After nearly an hour, a yellow American “land boat” lurched into view with a taxi sign on the roof. Besides the driver, there was a passenger and a guy in the back. Ah — a “pesero” as they used to call them in Mexico.
I climbed in. “Do you know the xxx hotel?” in my best Spanish.
“Si si señor.”
After a mile the car turned into an earthquake-devastated area of town.
“Señor,” I explained to the driver that he was heading in the wrong direction.
The guy next to me laughed and pulled out a pistol. “No, señor, you got into the wrong taxi.”