We wrapped up our 5 day stay with our friends Angie and Osman at the Grand Pacifica and headed on our way to pick up Fred at the Agusto C. Sandino International Airport in Managua. The drive to the airport required just over an hour, but recent rain made sections of the 25 minute dirt road between the Grand Pacifica and Carratera Sur treacherous, so I allowed us an extra 45 minutes in case we got stuck and needed to be pulled out.
I drove slowly through the heavy mud and almost got stuck twice. But thanks to the Prado’s high clearance and 4WD, we made it to Carratera Sur without assistance. I went a little too slow, babying the suspension, and ate up 20 minutes of our buffer.
I turned left onto Carratera Sur, a paved road with a posted max speed of 60kph. Most people go closer to 80 kph, but I wasn’t familiar with this area to know where the police stops were and I really didn’t want a ticket. I heard a short but loud whining sound from the area of the air conditioner once on the paved road. It might have been the belt and I made a mental note to have the car inspected later.
I drove past a police check and breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn’t pulled over. Just a minute later, however, white smoke came billowing through my air vents. While it didn’t smell like a fire, it felt dry and it definitely wasn’t normal. I looked at the hood – no smoke – it was just coming through the air vents, but I panicked anyway that my car was about to explode. This car stuff has gotten ridiculous.
I hoped the smoke would go away, but it didn’t, so I glanced in the rear view mirror, slowed down, glanced ahead, and made a U-Turn. With my heart beating rapidly and adrenaline pumping so hard I could feel it in my skin, I drove up to the two policemen I had just passed, parked on the grass along the wrong side of the road, and stopped about 50 feet in front of them.
I seized my backpack and MacBook Pro and told Eliana without warning, “Grab the dog and get out of the car now.” “Why?” she asked. Before I could sigh that she was once again asking me why, I answered, “The car might be on fire. Get out now.” She wasn’t able to get the dog out quickly, so she instinctively left him behind and got herself out. I reached in through the rear door and grabbed Tahoe.
I explained to the police (in Spanish) that there was white smoke coming through my air vents. I wasn’t sure there was a fire, but maybe there was. Something was wrong. Could they please help me?
The older of the two officers popped the hood and checked the water and the oil while the younger one observed. He asked me for a rag, but I didn’t understand what he wanted so he used a handkerchief to clean the dip stick. He then asked for my keys, got in the car, and turned it on to read the thermostat. Everything was fine. There wasn’t even smoke. They didn’t know what the problem was, but they didn’t think the car was going to explode.
Just then a pristine-looking white Toyota Prado pulled up and stopped 20 feet in front of us. I had just hopped back into the driver’s seat to see if I could make the car spew smoke so the police could see what I was talking about and I wouldn’t feel like an idiot. I hadn’t yet turned on the car when a business man in nicely pressed dark slacks and a beaming white button down shirt came to my door and asked what was the problem. I was a bit flustered and my Spanish was suffering, so he asked where I was from. “Los Estados”, I told him. “Well, I speak some English. Tell me what’s happening.”
He asked to which setting the air was set. I told him it was on low. “OK, this isn’t a problem,” he tried to assure me, “it happens in my car too. When there is a lot of water in the air, there is more condensation in the air conditioning system and it sometimes comes out of the vents.”
“Really? Because it smells like smoke, it’s a thick white, and it’s feels dry.”
“I know, that’s how it is in my car too. Where are you going? To the beach?” (Because I had made a U-turn and was facing away from Managua.)
“No, I’m going to the airport to pick up my husband.”
“Well, I am going to Managua too. Here is my business card. If you have any problems, please call me.” I thanked him profusely for stopping to help me. He smiled and said, “My pleasure. One day it could be my wife and kids. I’d want someone to stop for them too,” and he returned to his car.
I rummaged through my wallet looking for a $5 and tipped the police officers for their help. I turned the car around and looked in my rear view mirror just before driving off. The business man was in his car and on the phone. I hate to say it, after he had been so nice to me, but I wondered if he was setting up some kind of trap. I’m still adjusting to being an outsider and thinking someone somewhere will be out to get me.
10 minutes later the smoke started entering the car again. I noticed the businessman behind me and I pulled over on the side of the road to see if he would pull over. Maybe I could show it to him to make sure we were talking about the same thing.
He pulled over and both he and his son jumped out of the car simultaneously and walked to my passenger-side front door. I rolled down the window and he asked, “Is it happening again?”
“Yes, but now I don’t see it.” It seemed to stop when the car stopped moving. But then I saw a little come out the far right vent and I pointed to it.
“Yes, that’s just the air conditioning. You can take it to your mechanic to look at if you’re uncomfortable, but you’ll make it to Managua and home just fine.” Thankfully, he was right.
We arrived at the airport at 11:30. Fred was scheduled to arrive at 11:20. But at 12:30, he still wasn’t there. I had Eliana and Tahoe with me. My laptop was in the car and I didn’t have the flight information handy. I called Angie and asked her to check my email to see if Fred had written anything. There was one email sent two hours prior stating his plane was delayed at least 45 minutes. I asked Angie to reply to Fred’s email asking him if he was still in the airport. We never heard back.
I called Angie about an hour later for Fred’s flight information. She looked it up via my email account. A taxi driver heard me repeat the flight information to Angie and upon hanging up the phone informed me the flight was delayed until 2:30 but it wasn’t yet confirmed, it could be later.
Eliana, Tahoe, and I entered the airport and ate lunch at Subway, during which time Fred’s arrival time was changed to and confirmed at 4:30. We spent the next three hours buying (and eating) an ice cream cone for 65 cents, adding 15 days to my computer’s modem at the Claro kiosk, eating goldfish in the back of our PriceSmart-filled car, letting Tahoe run around the airport’s grassy area, talking to the family parked next to us, and sitting on the floor of the airport. Five hours was a long time to wait at the airport, but it could have been worse. The family parked next to us had arrived at 9:00 to pick up family flying in from Cuba. Their plane was delayed until 6:00. Our 18 bottles of yogurt were still cool nestled tightly inside our red Trader Joe’s bag with a quickly melting bottle of frozen water. Plus, if we were in the states, Tahoe wouldn’t have been allowed in the airport.
Fred arrived at 4:30 exactly. We watched his plane land and Eliana waited in front of the expansive glass window hoping to see Fred the moment he entered the baggage claim area. We drove away at 5:00 and made the drive we swore 3 months ago we’d never again do in the dark. We encountered a deluge just outside of Managua, but thankfully the rest of the drive was uneventful. We made it home safely before 8:00 and got in bed around 11:00. It made for a long day for all of us, but it didn’t stop Fred from surfing first thing the next morning.