Brother, Buses and Borders

Mi hermano, David (Dabid) arrived for a two week visit. We had a great time reconnecting and repairing the many minor annoyances which plague any house. Dave is a fixer; when he sees something which needs mechanical intervention, he finds the solution. I, on the other hand, have a somewhat different approach: I notice, I ponder for a few seconds, file and forget. While here, Dave painted the back cover of the toilet which was unfinished wood, repaired a loose piece of the roof which clattered annoyingly in the wind, replaced the plunger in aforementioned bano, installed a missing window pane, attached the hardware for a hammock and increased my toolbox (which consisted of a decorative hammer and a crescent wrench) by adding two sets of pliers, a multi-purpose screwdriver and an electric drill.
His mission, while here, was to find a guitar maker to repair his trusty forty year old axe and investigate the possibility of having a guitar custom made for him. My imperative was to leave Costa Rica for seventy-two hours to meet the requirements of renewing my ninety day visitor's permit. Fortuitously, our mutual goals were realized by a three day journey to Granada, Nicaragua.
A grand journey it was, beginning with a trip to San Jose to purchase a ticket from the Tica Bus company. A few days later, we were waiting for the six-thirty am bus on the highway across from the mall in San Ramon. A nice bus, much like a Greyhound, a smooth ride to the border, clear sailing (almost). A travel tip: when taking ground transportation to a bordering country, try to avoid the early Monday morning option as it seems everyone who ever wanted to cross the border wants to do so as early as possible on a Monday. The line-ups on both sides were interminable: at least and hour on each side for no discernible reason except to keep customs and immigration officers duly employed. Off the bus on the Costa Rican side, across the ramp to the Nicaraguan side, dodging money changers and food vendors, lining up, arriving at a rather forlorn looking table with a rather bored looking official sitting alone, looking at us, nodding, pressing a button which activated an electric current that switched a light from red to green and waving us past the table. The light (on a table, with no gate, just a lone table) somehow made sense to me-not really a comforting sign.
Off again, through the Nicaraguan countryside, the highway following massive Lake Nicaragua to Granada at its tip.
The bus let us and about a dozen others off on a side street; we got ill advised directions to the Parque Central where our hotel was located, we lugged our packs a few blocks the wrong way and finally made it to the Plaza Colon, a great little hotel across the street (calle) from the main park in the centre of town.