The Horse

I bet you though he was gone, replaced by those carriages that don´t need him. To that I say neigh. At least in Nicargua, the horse is here to stay.

You see him on the street, harnessed to a disused rear end of a Japanese pickup. He´s got blinders on, so he can´t see the long line of honking cars drawing up behind him. Not that he cares. On these narrow streets, it doesn´t matter what you´ve got under the hood -- you´re moving at one horse power.

Gas prices do not phase him. Instability in the Middle East, you say? He didn´t know they grew his oats there. Greenhouse gases? What´s he care. Hauling junk this close to the Equator has already put him at death´s door.

From the rural routes to the city streets, the horse remains king of Nicaraguan roads. They saunter by day, retiring to God only knows where at night. And when they get too long in the tooth, they end up adding a bit of protien to the diet. Try cooking an Impala. You´ll see why mustang is prefered here.