We dreaded the drive to Managua, the place where driver's licenses confiscated on the roads of Nicaragua go to die -- at least those belonging to foreigners/extranjeros.  

People we asked said, "don't even bother". You'll stand in line all day and still never get that license back.  

 We couldn't find anyone who'd gone there to get their license. Vacationers don't  waste the time; they fly home and apply for a replacement; Every expat we consulted -- all of whom have had this experience -- kissed their licenses goodbye.  They had plenty of advice for how to avoid turning over a license, none of which we could use.  With five international borders to cross by the end of February and a 45-day waiting period for the State of Texas to mail us a duplicate, we'd run out of options.

We steeled ourselves for what we expected to be a frustrating bureaucratic nightmare, figuring at worst, we'd come home empty handed with a good story to tell. 

To avoid police roadblocks on the two and a half hour drive to Managua from San Juan del Sur, we hit the road by 6:15 AM, astonished that El Centro Transito Nacional actually appeared on googlemaps. (It's true: Managua really has no street signs or numbers, so to find a location clearly marked AND next to a main landmark...)

Here's the entrance: 

THE TRANSIT INFORMATION/MI AMOR LADY

Once you enter the courtyard of the National Transit Headquarters, you'll see that while the Information Booth is empty, there's a well-coiffed, helpful woman to greet you. Everyone in Nicaragua has a lanyard with a badge, an outfit and a clipboard;  for all we knew, she had simply staked out this position, minus any official status.

She directs you to the blue door where drivers who've lost their licenses go. I have to admit, it lifted our spirits to be called "Mi Amor". 

DRIVERS LICENSE GRAVEYARD

Once inside we found four counters organized by last name. Amazingly, there were no lines. Before we could settle into an empty bench, we were routed to the P-Z station.

(No photos. We didn't want to push our luck.)

The guy at the counter was not about to help us figure out anything. No small talk. Nothing. He inspecting Tejano's passport,

"State/Estado?" 

We were confused: Did he mean which state in Nicaragua? In the U.S.? When we said "Texas" he pulled out a foot long stack of traffic tickets with drivers licenses attached, all of them from Texans who'd given up on ever seeing their photo I.D.'s again.

 "Where's the Ticket/La Multa?" 

We assumed he meant the receipt we'ed been handed when we paid our fine at the bank in  Masaya.  Not good enough. He wanted the ticket we'd handed over at the bank. 

BLESS THAT BANK SECURITY GUARD! 

Thank God for the bank security guard where we'd paid our tickets. "You'd better keep a copy, " he'd told me. Miz tech whiz, I'd taken this picture from my cellphone, which I now whipped out and handed to our friendly man in Managua. Watching him sort through that six inch pile of licenses, we could hardly breathe. It felt like our lives were in his hands. The very last one,,,, was El Tejano's! It turns out the only way to retrieve your licence is to have the number in the right hand corner. Make a copy before you go to the bank to pay your fine!!!!

FREE AT LAST! You saw the mugshot of Tejano in front of the Retrieve Your License Office. Here's a photo, too, of the not at all useful receipt we'd received. It shows we paid our fine -- about $8.24 -- which nobody really seemed to care about.