Thursday night's alright for fighting...

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
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Trip End Ongoing


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Flag of Nicaragua  ,
Thursday, December 15, 2011

You're not going to believe this.  I don't believe it myself.  Let's have a look at my track record down here so far; 'previously; in Stuart's life'... lost the girl, wallet stolen, glasses taken from face, new card stuck in Managua.  That brings us up to date.  Now lets add 'bar brawl.'

The day was uneventful, save that it was meant to be my last one here.  Towards the end of a very nice evening, I was buying a round of drinks for my friends in local watering hole, when I was approached by a strange individual.

"I warned you"  He repeats.  A few times.  In broken English.  I've never seen this character in my life.  I stammer an apology that I don't understand him and I have no idea what he's talking about.  He backs away, keeping his index finger on me, scowling.  I think nothing more of it, lift my four drinks from the bar, and then cross the room to where my friends reside.

As I walk past my new pal, he's dipped his hand into his drink, and flicked it over my face.  "That's not cool dude" I glare, and he's moved out from behind his mate with his fists clenched, chest pumped.  I'm going to get smacked here and I've got four rum and cokes in my hands!  Don't spill the Flor De Cana!  I turn away, and reach my friends table as quickly as possible. 

Now it's lucky I'm with two big lads.  One is my friend Mitch, a Canadian who happens to have a background in kick boxing.  The other is an American, Kevin; who is simply a man mountain.  I'm pretty well backed up if I'm going to get jumped.  I've said to the guys that something is about to go down and I need some help.  Mitch has been on his feet straight away, in spite of the interests of his pretty female companion.  Kevin on the other hand, continues to fire into the girl that I like, and he doesn't lift a finger.

The next thing we know, we're in a fist fight with five or six locals.  The original two are joined by other guys who just want the chance to pop a couple of gringos.  I feel a fist slam into the side of my head which pushes me down the steps.  I don't even look where it's come from, and make a bee line for my original aggressor, who is about to set on Mitch.  For the second time in two weeks, I smash someone in the face. 

I've mentioned previously that I don't condone fighting, however I won't lie; when that punch landed it felt pretty damn good.  I lit his mouth up, and in all honesty; I'd do it again.  I tried to do it again, but the problem was, someone was already raining punches down on the back of my head and I'm thrown to the floor.  The feet in front of me become my next target, and I squeeze them together, pushing my weight forward.  The tackle is effective and I'm in the better position.  A right and a left later, I feel myself being pulled out and away from the blows.  Some older locals have jumped in to save...this lot from me and Mitch...

Mitch tells me after he was taking on three of these wankers outside, getting hit from all sides.  He's got the lumps and bruises to show it, but you should have seen the other guys...

The gate to the bar is closed, our attackers poking through, baying for blood.  We're told they're going to get their mates with guns and come and kill us.  It's a tight spot.  Mitch's girl is risking much by being outside; actually screaming in their faces.  We pull her in and discuss options.

Now this is when a shady individual known as Franzi approaches.  I've met him before, introduced to me by a young lady I went for a drink with.  He was a nice guy.  Only in front of a pretty girl it seems.  "F**k you" he drawls.  The slow and deliberate accent doesn't put me at ease.  He's blacker than night, with a skin head and glaring eyes.  Shaken, I try to manage a response, explaining I don't understand what's happened or why he's suddenly turned nasty.  Apparently I owe him fifty US dollars for a coke deal, and if he doesn't get it now, these guys are going to kill us...

Fifty US for a coke deal?  That's news to me.  I politely tell him that I don't carry such money on my person and I walk away, back to my friends.  He follows over, then in the midst of further conversation a spaced out girl interrupts, saying she doesn't care what's going on she just wants more drugs.  I look at her in disgust.  This is what it has come to.

With the girls in ear shot, Franzi turns all nicey, nicey.  He's going to get a cab for us and asks if we are all friends together.  Mitch and I say yes, the two girls say yes...and then there's Kevin.  Remember Kevin?  The massive guy I was counting on who did f**k all to help us?  The guy who sleazed on the girl I liked all night?  He says he doesn't know us.

Excuse my French here dear readers; but what a fucking wanker.  Consider yourself named and shamed you cowardly prick.

Franzi makes off down the street to fetch a cab, which I have no intention of getting in.  Mitch is anxious to get out, and he suggests we bolt up the beach and back to the hostel.  He's pushing for it, while someone tries to phone the police.  Apparently they're all asleep.

Eventually it looks like our options have run out and I agree to the sprint.  The beach isn't exactly the place to be at this time of night either, but so long as those guys stay at the doors, we should be able to slip away and be some distance ahead before anyone notices.  I'm reluctant to make a big scene of us running, and quietly lead Mitch down onto the sand before we bolt.  The plan is to get some other guys and send them back for the girls.

'Move your arms faster than your legs'.  Advice I was given a long time ago when trying to improve my sprint speed.  I'm throwing them forward, not looking back, Mitch at my shoulder.  I reach my peak and I can safely say it's fastest I've ever run.  I wish I was like that in the 1993 200 metres sports day final when I came last.  I was only a little disappointed someone wasn't timing me.  I thought about going back and asking someone to do it, but I think that would be a little bit silly.

We make it to the hostel and Mitch rallies the troops.  Before anyone can go anywhere, the girls have safely made it up the road as they appear on the corner.  It looks like we've got away with it; at least for the time being.  It's best to turn in soon however, as tomorrow we need to get the f**k out of Dodge.

There's blood on my shirt. 

It's isn't mine.

Incidentally Kevin went home with the girl and I went home with a sore face.  Go figure.

Oh and I can run faster than Mitch.

Get it up ye.











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