Packing Heat on a Sunny Day at the Pool

A few weeks ago in a post about first graders dancing like strippers , I casually mentioned that I had taken a ride on the back of a motorcycle being driven by a man toting a pistol in his waistband. Obviously, I survived this episode, but for the briefest of moments that night, I was sure that I had done the last stupid thing I would ever do as a traveler.

It was a hot day, one of the hottest I experienced the entire time I was in Nicaragua. The kind that depletes your very soul of energy. Rivulets of sweat were my fashion accessories, and I could barely string a nice sentence together-I was grumpy because I was hot and I was hot because the temperature exceeded inferno- like levels.

Complete happiness

That does it, I decided.  I'm going to the pool. 113 cordoba ($5) or not, I will  gladly pay for the luxury of not swimming in my own sweat.  Anneriet (roommate) had the same idea and off we went towards Hotel Granada, our steps a bit lighter in anticipation.

Upon arriving at the oasis of blue, we were convinced that we had arrived in paradise. The crystal chlorine water beckoned and it took all of two seconds to dive into it. It was only slightly more refreshing than, say,  bath water, but anything is cooler than a desert, right?

We proceeded to thoroughly enjoy ourselves over the next few hours-reading, napping, people-watching, swimming, splashing around and generally living the dream. It was fantastic.

Then we made friends, and our day became much more interesting.

Fabiola and Walter were splashing around on the other end of the pool, and when I eventually made my way down there,  Fabiola began speaking to me in Spanish, asking me what I thought of Nicaragua, where was I from, and what was I doing in her country? We all began chatting back and forth, racing each other to the center of the pool, telling jokes, and just generally having a grand ole' time. Walter hadn't said much up until then, but I just assumed he was the quiet one in the relationship. At one point Fabiola announced she was famoso, (famous) glanced at Walter,  and then laughed a deep belly laugh and we couldn't help but join her. But when she mentioned it again, we began to wonder...."hmm...is she?" So we asked. Fabiola laughed again and told us to ask Walter. Walter confirmed, telling us that he was her "guadespalda."

Bodyguard.

Say whaaaaaaat?

This day at the pool just got way more intriguing.

Apparently, Fabiola is a cousin to the chief of police in Nicaragua. Due to people having vendettas against him, corruption issues, and lord knows what else, all family members are under 24 hour police protection.

I didn't know whether to feel extremely safe, or like the bullseye on a target.

It was right about then that we noticed it was getting dark and because of a recent spate of robberies a few of our  fellow volunteers had unfortunately experienced, we decided to do the smart thing and head home.

But why? questioned Fabiola. We will take you where you need to go!

Well of COURSE we can get a ride home with police!

And do you like pizza? came the next question.

Well of COURSE we want to eat pizza with her and the police! 

So that is what we decided to do. How to get there though? Well, as it turns out, Fabiola and Walter had arrived by motorcycle, which will transport only only two at a time. Time to call in reinforcements. A quick phone call later, Fabiola informed us that one of her other bodyguards was on his way.

Well of COURSE he is!

She began divvying up drivers to riders, placing me with the new bodyguard and Anneriet with Walter. She would stay behind and wait for one of them to return for her. Wouldn't that mean she was left alone? Wait a minute. I thought she needed a bodyguard at all times?  And that is when a stab of fear invaded my heart. Isn't that how they do it in the movies? They separate the friends, take them to a wooded area, and that is the last anyone ever sees of the friends? Oh dear me. What have I gotten myself into now? Surely this violates one of the rules my mother charged me with before I left. And I don't even have to wonder what my husband would be saying right now.  I glance at Anneriet to see if I can detect any fear. Nope, not a shred. Just me then. Great. I run through escape scenarios in my head, ranging from announcing that "ummm... no thanks, you're very nice, but I actually hate pizza and it's against my religion to eat it" to conveniently falling off the motorbike en route to the woods.  Siiigh. How do I get myself into these situations?

 Giddy with a touch of terror

Oh, and of COURSE there is a pistol (somewhat, but not really, discreetly) tucked into the other bodyguard's waistband. The one with whom I will be riding to the Last Supper dinner. No holster, nothing official looking. Just a pistol tucked into his nice plaid shorts. Here goes nothin.'

On the way out of the hotel, we pass by a piano and Fabiola decides we need a concert. First Anneriet plays a little tune for us. Then it's my turn and I play an old church hymn, one that was sang at my wedding. Then it's Fabiola's turn.

She plays the same exact hymn, but with all the scale and finesse of a concerto masterpiece. I mean, the woman is practically Beethoven. Seriously. She finishes with all the flair of an encore and then tells us she used to be a church pianist.   I am instantly relieved. She can't possibly be in cahoots with murderers if she can play "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" on a moments notice, right?

I feel better after the impromptu concert, but I will feel much better when we are all happily eating pizza.

Which we all were, in short order, post-concert. Fabiola, one uniformed bodyguard, one plainclothes, and the two of us. And everybody in Telepizza seemed to know her and want to talk to her and spend a minute with her. Fabiola really was famoso.  With that infectious laugh, deep smile, and a generous heart, how could she be anything but famous? That episode is one of my best memories of the whole trip. New friends, a random encounter , a good story, and a shared meal. We never ran into Fabiola again, but I wish we had. I consider her a friend. 

What about you? Ever find yourself in a potentially questionable situation that ends up being a favorite memory?

Fabiola and her fans