I could originally sum up our experience in 3 words: frustrating, stressful, and exhausting. But now I can sum it up to one: comical. Had we not dropped our $17.5K on the first day, I would have been tempted to walk away and hoof it for the rest of our stay. There is no denying it. We were disgustingly unprepared for the experience of buying a used car in Nicaragua.
Day 1
Fred returned from surfing at 6:30am Thursday morning anxious to leave home earlier than planned for our 3 hour excursion into Managua. Ready to hit the road at 7:15, we decided to instead count and double count our way through $17K. We then added $500, and eventually another $500, hoping to pay $17.5 max for the car and leaving extra to pay Alex and other possible unknown expenses. We backed out of our gravel driveway 15 minutes late with $18K strapped to our bodies, mostly in denominations of $100. We were equipped with a laptop, some food and drinks, our passports, driver’s licenses, and of course, Eliana. We forgot the map, GPS, and name of the meeting place at home.
Fred thought we were meeting Alex at the International Hotel Metro Centro. Unsure if Metro Centro was part of the name or a location, we were delighted to unintentionally navigate ourselves through a country without street signs directly to the Metro Centro shopping mall. We looked for a hotel that didn’t exist, but one taxi driver was quick to infer the correct hotel and promptly directed us to our meeting spot. Hotel found on time without map, GPS, or exact name.
We walked inside, looked around, and didn’t see anyone who appeared to be waiting for us. I opened Fred’s Macbook Pro hoping to login to his email to retrieve Alex’s phone number, but we were blocked for our lack of an access code. Fred gained access, I found Alex’s phone number, and Fred disappeared to find a phone. While waiting for him to return, I became uncomfortably aware that there were suddenly policemen everywhere. I pulled Eliana close to me and calmly moved us away from the center of the stately room. What the hell is going on?
An African American (African Nicaraguan?) man with wild gray hair, all of which was sticking straight up came walking out of the elevator hallway into the expansive foyer. He was carrying miniature American and Nicaraguan flags in his right hand and he reminded me of someone whose name wouldn’t come to my mind. Cameras were flashing left and right as he spoke a lot of loud nonsense and wondered to the small crowd where his cameraman was. “He’s in the bathroom,” someone blurted, but he continued to question the his audience as if he hadn’t heard. I finally mustered up enough nerve to query the policeman just feet away from me, “Quien esta?” “Don King,” he replied. Just as the small entourage left for the conference room, Fred returned from the office and immediately asked, “Did you see who’s here?”
Alex (Alejandro), a Nicaraguan from Managua who we hired to help us through the car buying process, came highly recommended by two woman living in the expat community next door who I met through a yahoo! group for foreign parents living in Nicaragua. Alex arrived, we made introductions, shook hands, and hopped into his car.
Alex advised us to not buy a new car because they are ridiculously expensive and local mechanics cannot get, nor do they have experience with, their parts. Better to get a popular engine that everyone knows how to fix should the need arise. If we wanted a Toyota, the #1 sold car in Nicaragua, (which we did) a 3L would be preferable.
At the first used car lot we examined two Land Cruiser Prados and one Land Cruiser. Fred and I agreed instantly that the Prado appeared too small for the gazillion surf boards he hoped to take on our trips throughout Central America, so we should look for a Land Cruiser. That would be fine if the Land Cruisers weren’t so darn expensive. Every used Land Cruiser we found was $10K – $20K out of our price range and we were not willing to expand our budget.
Eventually we found a 2001 forest green Land Cruiser whose previous owner was a Nicaraguan politician. It came with an asking price of $18.8K. Confident we could negotiate the price into our budget, we decided to take a look. Within minutes the car turned into a 2000 Land Cruiser, and then upon further investigation by Alex, it rested as a 1999, and we have deception #1. The car was so huge I couldn’t help but think it must be the farthest thing from my little 30 mpg Mercedes C230. The salesman was quick to point out that the center console had an electric cooler for my beer. Looking at him confused with my eyebrows furrowed, he added I could also put coke or water in there. What a relief.
Upon request to use their bathroom, the owner motioned for Fred to go between two large trucks (they might have been semi’s actually) and to continue up the gravel incline. Eliana and I followed behind Alex and Fred until we realized the owner intended for Fred to hide between the trucks and pee on the gravel. Eliana, Alex, and I chuckled and turned around.
We arranged to take the car for a spin. Its powerful engine gently rocked the car not only as it sat idle, but also as it drove. There were 5 sunglass compartments spanning the top from the front seat to the 2nd row where I sat. The worn tan leather seating was comfortable and there was definitely enough room for a gazillion surf boards. We drove it to Alex’s mechanic so he could take a look – which – contrary to Nicaraguan custom, he inspected immediately. Good car, good condition, asking price was appropriate, only minor repairs needed. Fred sat in the third row on our way back to negotiate. While discussing our offer price, he blurted out, “There’s blood back here.” Alex and I both shocked, replied, “What??” “There’s dried blood back here. A lot of it.”
What races through your mind when you are living in a third world country saturated with corrupt politicians whom you know will kill opposition without hesitation? Exactly. Right about now we’re thinking someone was either offed in there, or at the very least, was killed elsewhere and transported in the back seat. OMG.
We mentioned the blood to the salesmen and they reacted as if we were nuts. Alex showed them the large stain on the floor next to the back door and they insisted it was “la tierra” – the dirt. Fred retorted without hesitation, “No, es sangre.” They bantered back and forth while Alex opened the right side rear door and pulled down the second row seat to show them the drips of blood on its back. The owner descended from the building overlooking the bathroom gravel, and when told about the blood, answered without hesitation that he had previously transported a dead lamb in the car. That’s all.
That’s all my ass. This was a used car lot with pick up trucks. He could choose any car on this lot to transport a dead animal and he expected us to believe that he chose a leather interior Toyota Land Cruiser with a fabric floorboard over a metal framed pick up truck? We now had deception #2 and wondered what else we didn’t know about the car and what trouble we might unknowingly step into if we bought the car.
Time for lunch at Pizza Hut. Eliana, outfitted in her pink, white, and black Roxy dress, was delighted to see they had an outdoor play structure. With my black bikini top, occasionally also known as her bra, protruding from underneath her dress, she asked to play on the platforms and slide. I sat outside dripping in sweat while she played, waiting for our food.
Sufficiently replenished, our search continued until 4:00 when we reached our final destination, the Toyota dealership. They had a 2004 Toyota Prado, completely Nicafied with a plethora of after market upgrades; heavily tinted windows (including the front windshield), a jewelry-style silver colored gas cap, interior faux wood paneling, alarm system, anti-theft gearshift lock, and a bizarre locking system. We were sure this ghetto car would reduce our police stops by at least 75%. Not only did it scream “Nicaragua!”, the windows were so dark the police wouldn’t see the gringos driving it. The asking price was $18.8. We took it for a spin and we liked it.
I suggested offering $17.2. Fred left with Alex to make an offer and the salesman claimed $18.2 was the lowest they would go. Fred instructed Alex to offer $17.6, but instead Alex offered $17.5, explaining to the salesman that we were paying in cash. Did we have to go get the cash he wondered, or did we have it with us? Alex assured him we had the cash on us, and the salesman took the offer. Sold for $17.5K. I still wonder what would have happened if they offered $17.2.
It was 4:30 and the bank was closed. This was an issue since we could not simply pay the dealership, we had to drive to the bank with the salesman and deposit the money into the dealership’s account. The bank refused to let us enter the bank, but did allow us to pay at the outside window which usually only allows petty cash deposits. Standing in the bank lobby, completely stressed but trying to look poised, we counted through our money setting aside only what we needed. Then, with Fred holding various groupings of money, including one in his hand held under his shirt, we walked outside and stood in line. Once in line, I positioned myself in front of Fred and slightly to his right to block on-comers from seeing that he was trying to hide a large sum of money. I reminded myself to stay calm and breathe, this situation would pass. We were slightly comforted by Alex reminding us that we were in a highly guarded area with visible guards carrying loaded guns.
Fred dropped an envelope of money through the slot at the teller’s window along with the slip of paper containing the dealership’s bank account number. She counted quickly, and Fred dropped another envelope, and another, and another, while we briefly chuckled at the ridiculousness of the situation. With the exception of one $100 that was torn in half and taped back together (bank issued, by the way) that we had to exchange with a different $100 in my bag, all the bills were approved and we were set to go.
The car needed a new oil change along with a few other minor maintenance items and would need to be picked up a different day (wouldn’t it make more sense to do this ahead of time?). We signed paperwork stating Alex could pick up the car on Friday and we would drive down Saturday to pick it up from Alex.
Looking over our new car before we left, I saw for the first time the silver “Jesus” sign on the back door. I can only assume I missed it due to car shopping overload. Fred told me not to worry. “It doesn’t really say Jesus down here, it says Hay Seus.”
Fred, Eliana, and I started our drive home at dusk in our rented white, late model Landcuiser at 6:00pm. By 7:00pm, it felt like we were driving in pitch dark. We had almost 3 hours of sharing back country roads with people, cows, oxen, horses, busses, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, and semi’s without street lights in the dark of the night.
Day 2
We were pulled over at a local police check roughly an hour after leaving our home. Able to see through our clear windows, the officer saw Eliana sitting on the front bench of the truck and explained it was illegal for children under 7 to a) sit in the front row seat and b) sit without a “special seat”. He tried to take Fred’s license, issue us a ticket, and insist Eliana sit in the back of the Landcruiser which only had benches without seat belts. Just as Fred offered to pay him off with a few dollars, I explained in Spanish that this was not our car. We were only driving it to Managua to pick up our car which we had just purchased and we needed his license for the transaction. I motioned to Eliana’s “silla especial” in the back section (which, by the way, no Nicaraguans use), explaining there were no seat belts in the back and it was dangerous for our daughter to sit back there. The officer, not knowing what else to site us with, gave Fred his license back, did not issue him a ticket, and we continued on our way.
We waited at our meeting spot, and waited, and waited some more. Forty minutes passed by and we began to worry something was wrong. I decided now would be a great time to purchase a Nicaraguan mobile phone, so I ran inside to the nearest Claro kiosk, bought a $25 phone and put $15 worth of minutes on it. I ran back outside to see if Alex had arrived, and he had not. Sufficiently concerned that Alex was never going to return with our car, Eliana and I quickly returned inside the mall to a wifi hotspot, opened up my laptop, logged into Fred’s email, found Alex’s phone number, and called him. “Are you there?” he asked. “For about an hour,” I thought to myself. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes… I realized the break lights and left blinker don’t work so I took it to my mechanic this morning.” Our car rolled into the parking lot 5 minutes later.
The dealership agreed to fix of the malfunctions the following week on a day of our choice. Knowing we were returning on Monday to register the car with the National Police, we decided to stay the night in Managua and have the car fixed on Tuesday. We drove back to the country, another 3 hour drive in the dark, only this time we had heavily tinted window and we could hardly see. This was a drive we swore we would not do again.
Day 3
We left home Monday morning for a two-day trip to Managua to finish up loose ends. We pulled in to Alex’s office around 10:30 and began filling requirements for the National Police in order to register the car in our name. Fred and one of Alex’s employees disappeared for 1.5 hours depositing money at a nearby bank to pay for the new registration and associated fees while Alex headed in a different direction to pay for our $80 annual car insurance and receive an insurance card with our name on it. Eliana and I sat in Alex’s office with nothing to do.
Once everyone returned, we drove to a government authorized auto shop to have the car smogged and the engine inspected. We broke for lunch around 1:15 and continued to the National Police Department at 2:00. We stood in line, turned in our papers, and waited to be called. They called our name quickly, inspected our papers, and instructed us to wait again until someone could inspect our car to insure the information in our documents matched our car’s serial number. Once all documents were approved and matched to our car, Alex and Fred drove to the next section of the station to get our new license plates. Upon arrival they were informed that not enough time remained before closing and we would have to return the next day. Typical, I thought. Thankfully we were already planning to stay the night.
Day 4
The mantra for the day was divide and conquer, so Eliana and I waited at the car dealership while Fred and Alex went to get the new license plates, which amazingly took almost 4 hours. We then dropped off our license plate information with the insurance company at the mall before grabbing a quick bite at the food court so our second and correctly updated insurance card could be completed without waiting.
At 3:00 on day 4, we left Managua and headed home with our new car, later named Slim Shady, hoping to not buy another car for a really, really long time.
Eliana and Russ model Fred’s solution to fit more boards in the car…A strap running through the 3 rows of “oh shit” handles. It holds 3 boards with fins removed inside their board bags. Boards on top of the car scream “foreigner!” and are guaranteed to get you pulled over so we keep all boards inside.