One of the lovely things about Nicaragua is the friendly face of the police force. Since we arrived four months ago, we haven't once seen a police officer throwing his or her weight around but we've seen plenty of friendly coppers pottering around on bikes, chatting to people on buses or sitting around smoking a fag at big public events. Just like the army and other public institutions, the police force had a complete overhaul after the 1979 Sandinista Revolution. Now they really do seem to be of the people and for the people. In most of the other Latin American countries we've passed through the police has had a history of being a repressive, militant and highly corrupt organisation which is still reflected in the way they interact with the public. In the UK of course, we have a delightfully friendly police force, apart from the occasional racist and the entire traffic police.
The Nicaraguan police are occasionally accused of being ineffective, and they do take small bribes for traffic violations, but on the whole I think people realise that they're a lot better off with a friendly police officer that they can chat to, rather than the violent, abusive, oppressive fascists currently being suffered by their neighbours, the Hondurans.
Legally, motorbike drivers are supposed to wear a helmet, but it turns out that a baseball cap or any form of covering on your head classes as a 'helmet'. There are also no rules about passenger's headgear, you often see mum, dad and child squished onto a motorbike, or bicycle for that matter. As you can see from the chap on the red motorbike, the police on the whole aren't exactly on the ball in enforcing this law.
We had to put a photo of David the policeman on, just because he makes us chuckle. When we left Pearl Lagoon in the Caribbean, he spent a good half hour very seriously and officially recording our details onto a sheet of blank, white paper with a biro. When we returned a few days later on a quick speedboat stop-off, he shook our hands and greeted us like old friends. He asked Rachel again if I was just her friend, and when we announced we were getting married in September, he gave up on her and asked if we had any female friends who would be interested in him. He asked us to take his photo to show them. He ran off to write down the police station number for any interested girls, but sadly while he was gone, our boat departed.
One of the lovely things about Nicaragua is the friendly face of the police force. Since we arrived four months ago, we haven't once seen a police officer throwing his or her weight around but we've seen plenty of friendly coppers pottering around on bikes, chatting to people on buses or sitting around smoking a fag at big public events. Just like the army and other public institutions, the police force had a complete overhaul after the 1979 Sandinista Revolution. Now they really do seem to be of the people and for the people. In most of the other Latin American countries we've passed through the police has had a history of being a repressive, militant and highly corrupt organisation which is still reflected in the way they interact with the public. In the UK of course, we have a delightfully friendly police force, apart from the occasional racist and the entire traffic police.
The Nicaraguan police are occasionally accused of being ineffective, and they do take small bribes for traffic violations, but on the whole I think people realise that they're a lot better off with a friendly police officer that they can chat to, rather than the violent, abusive, oppressive fascists currently being suffered by their neighbours, the Hondurans.
Legally, motorbike drivers are supposed to wear a helmet, but it turns out that a baseball cap or any form of covering on your head classes as a 'helmet'. There are also no rules about passenger's headgear, you often see mum, dad and child squished onto a motorbike, or bicycle for that matter. As you can see from the chap on the red motorbike, the police on the whole aren't exactly on the ball in enforcing this law.
We had to put a photo of David the policeman on, just because he makes us chuckle. When we left Pearl Lagoon in the Caribbean, he spent a good half hour very seriously and officially recording our details onto a sheet of blank, white paper with a biro. When we returned a few days later on a quick speedboat stop-off, he shook our hands and greeted us like old friends. He asked Rachel again if I was just her friend, and when we announced we were getting married in September, he gave up on her and asked if we had any female friends who would be interested in him. He asked us to take his photo to show them. He ran off to write down the police station number for any interested girls, but sadly while he was gone, our boat departed.
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