I nearly got robbed last night in Granada, after breaking two of my golden rules of travelling: 1) don't walk about places I don't know in the dark and 2) don't talk to anyone with more tattoos than teeth.
It happened around 8pm. Although it was already dark, the streets of Granada were still alive with the fiesta celebrations of the afternoon Feria in the town. The rain had stopped, and I decided to venture back out of my hotel to find some dinner and take my first look at the towns malecon (beach promenade).
I was walking down the busy main street looking for some traditional food to buy amongst the market stalls selling hot dogs and hamburgers for the (far too) many American's in Granada, when I found myself having to correct a group of guys that had mistakenly called me a Gringo.
- 'Soy Escoces.' I shook my head indignantly at them, which as it turned out, was enough for them to shake my hand and pat me on the back and act as if we were life-long friends.
- 'Hay desmasiado Estadosunidense en Granada.' the apparent leader of the four smiled back at me with gleaming teeth of gold - there are too many Americans in Granada. Which was of course all he needed to say for me to shake him by the hand and pat him on the back, and indeed almost enough for me to ask him when his mothers birthday was so I could send her flowers: in my opinion, there are indeed too many Gringo´s in Granada, Nicaragua´s most visited colonial town.
His name was Ju_____. I can only remember the first two letters of his name now, probably because I was too busy staring at the tattoos on his arms at the time.
We continued walking down towards the Promenade for a couple of minutes, Ju______ chatting cheerfully with me as I smiled back and walked with my hands in my pockets to ensure my wallet and camera didn't accidentally fall out during all the back-patting and hand-shaking and pretend playing of Scottish bagpipes.
Suddenly, three policemen waving truncheons appeared out of nowhere. They asked me if I was with Ju______ and his three amigos, and I explained that we had in fact met minutes earlier. The policemen did not seem surprised. As my four new friends were told to sit down on the pavement kerb, one of the policemen informed me that Ju____ had his friends had been overhead hatching sinister plans to rob me further up the street, just before we met.
Resisting the urge to reply 'No Shit Sherlock' to the policeman, I instead checked my camera and wallet were still within the
white knuckled grip of my left and right hands in my pockets, then shook my head and said - 'No quiero problemas.' I don't want any problems. - 'Y no tengo problemas con ellos.' I added, motioning towards my four friends remonstrating their innocence on the kerb: I don't have any problems with them.
The policemen shook their heads and shrugged, and my friends on the kerb gleamed their golden teeth, but I think it was the right thing to do. I will be in
Granada for another couple of days, and the last thing I need is bad
feeling with the local pickpockets on top of the bad feelings that a
local hotelier already has with me for sitting on her table.
Later on, I actually bumped into Ju______ in the street as I was eating my dinner, and although hands were shaken and apologies issued by him for the local police force's impudent mistake in suggesting that he and his friends had anything other than honorable intentions in walking me down to the malecon, I personally thought Ju_____ took our friendship a little to far by then asking for a bite of my corn on the cob.
