I got on the bus a half hour early in Rivas to make sure I got a seat. I didn’t want to stand the whole way back to San Juan del Sur since I’d already done so on my way to Rivas that morning.
But I had no problem waiting as the bus filled to overflowing and finally pulled out of the station, groaning and spewing smoke.
The constant parade of colorful vendors hawking, in sing-song voices, their mysterious wares, and the liver-cure salesman who reminded me of salesmen I’d only before seen in movies of the Old Wild West, made every moment feel like I had snuck onto a Hollywood set.
There was no place on the planet I would rather have been seated. Than waiting on the bus. That day in Rivas.