Dealing with Bossy Women

Dealing with bossy women

I’m staying at a Spanish colonial home with a lush green garden in the middle. It’s the only place in town that offers air conditioning, which is a much-needed commodity in a ridiculously hot country like Nicaragua. The house is owned by a single mom in her thirties and her mother; a short curly-haired lady with oval glasses.

Upon arrival, the daughter greets us in the doorway with an unsolicited bear hug announcement: “Welcome to the family and your new home!” while looking at me straight in the eye for about three seconds. I’m instantly skeptic. Not because I think it’s a hidious thing to say or anything, but that piercing look gave me a severely bad chill.

“I think she’s strange” I tell Thomas, but he just shrugs his shoulders and replies: “I think she seemed nice.”

A day goes by before I notice that the air con is turned off when we get back to our room. As many hostels do this manually, I’m not surprised or upset about it. I am however slightly annoyed by the fact that my diary seems to have been moved, but I let it pass (all my entries are in Danish anyways).

Whenever we’re on our way out, she’s very eager to talk to us both and know about our plans. The key sentence here being: to know about our plans. “Where are you going” “who are you meeting?” “when will you be back?” When we return, it’s the same all over again: “where have you been?” “what did you eat?” and it just keeps going. Thomas starts noticing her aggressive approach, but simply ignores her interrogation and we head to our room – only to find my diary misplaced. Again.

On day two, we decided to move on to Granada, so I asked her if she knew of any cheap transportation (Granada is three hours away). “Sure, Miriam. Let me find out,” she replies and returns a few minutes later: “We can take you for US$90.”

Are you kidding me? We’re in Nicaragua. Everything is insanely cheap here, and you want US$90 for a three-hour trip?! Forget it.

I then head to the public computer of the house and find a minibus to Granada for US$12 (from Lazybones Hostel), which I book instantly. I return to my room, but realize that I’ve forgotten my backpack at the computer, so I walk back and find… her. Sitting at the computer. On Lazybones Hostels website. Under “trips to Granada”.

AHA! I knew it. She is spying on us! 

I can’t help but make a snotty remark when I soundlessly sneak up behind her and ask with a sharp raised voice: “OH, are you also going to Granada? What a coinsident.” Her eyes are fiery, when I give her the same piercing look as she greeted me with.

No reply.

I rest my case.

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