Cigarettes: part two
"A fire at one end and a fool at the other."
-Kurt Vonnegut
May 15, 2004
May 08, 2004
Nica Pics
Here's some images to fill in some of the blanks.
-Stu
Alejo- Spanish Teacher
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San Ramon's Waterfall
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My Car in Managua
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Full Moon Party
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Pier at Granada
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Presto Coffee: Number One Convicts Choice!
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Shadow Under Tree
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April 19, 2004
America: Where the toilet paper goes in the Toilet
sights and experiences from my first 24 hours back in America Land.
Lines
Control
Traffic Arteries
Apartment Blocks
Beer
Cigarettes
Cartoons
Punk Rock
Cell Phone
Baggage
Dive Dinner
Free Coffee Refills
Cement
Trees
Glass Walls
Big Cars
April 15, 2004
The Last Plate of Gallo Pinto (rice and beans)
Well, I'll try to keep this short and sweet.
Climbed volcano Concepcion. It was very high and very cloudy, but the sulfuric fumes masked my farts really well. The best part, was letting the high altitude winds cool us down, after the sweaty, strenuous hike up. Then laying down on the volcanic cone, and letting the thermo heated ground warm us up again.
Returned to Granada in a boat with more plantains than people. I rode atop some lumpy sacks, and smiled at the silly scene around me: people laying like banana peels, atop and besides mounds of plantains and and fruit sacks. all of us floating about in a wooden boat, packed tighter than Noah's arc.
In Granada I've visited friends. They were there at the beginning of the trip, and they're here at the end. it fits well.
Took a day trip to Laguna de Apollo, a Massive crater lake in another volcano- although this one isn't on an island. The rum was flowing like butter in a movie theater, rich, tasty, and smooth. The wind was up and the water was rough, this gave the two English guys and I a great excuse to tip our canoe, and laugh at our absurdity. We celebrated our absurdity further, by venturing back into the waves with drinks and innertubes. Hammocks and books rounded off the afternoon, and we returned to Granada with the serene state of mind that comes from ridiculously nice experiences.
Today I'm taking care of this and that, tomorrow it's back into the land of credit cards, 1-800 customer service numbers, and election year politics.
chocolate bunny ears,
Stu
April 14, 2004
We're all getting sick, and I know why!
it's the fear and anxiety.
having just spend two thick months in crazy, different places, we're now faced with the challenge of translating our experiences into words and an academic product...
having just spend two thick months in a place where nobody knew us, we are now returning to a place where everyone thinks they know us. how will we explain the changes?
April 11, 2004
On it!
I know it's been awhile, but i've got good reason. I have been rockstaring my project! and yes, "rockstaring" is an verb and an adjective.
besides that quick jump to Rivas, I have been on the coffee farm for over two weeks. interviews and sunsets have flown by, like bugs past the motorcycle of my Rock Star project! well, it might be more of a tricycle-like project, but it's good to leave here feeling like it won't be.
i got sick. yeah, my stomach has been doing some funny things, and it was affecting my whole body. i had to think of something to do. i was so tired of running away from my project and to the doctor for pills, so i decided to self-medicate.
the first night, in Rivas, i went out looking some healthy soup. i wound up eating nachos and taking a shot of whisky instead, but it still helped a bunch.
once i was at the farm, and still not much better, i knew what i had to do. i had to listen to the "hippy" inside me. i had to trace the answer back to my Evergreen roots. So I searched for sage wisdom within my college experiences. I pondered my time with the alterna-living, health conscious, chomsky-more book club going, broke, college students. they would have the answer!
and i had it. Garlic. I went straight away to the closest vegetable stand (1 mile away) and bought 2 healthy heads of garlic. for the next 4 days I made salsa!(with lots of garlic), rice and beans!(with lots of garlic), water!(with lots of garlic), and no new friends(with no surprise).
Luckily, I was hanging out with this crazy Belgian gym teacher, who looked like Mr Clean. He didn't mind the garlic curling out of my pores, and I didn't mind the glare off of his bald head. It was a good time had by all- except those within 10 feet of us.
So, the Hippy inside me blessed my bowels, and I am now well again. Samana Santa ends today, thus ending a week of massive tourist hell, and tomorrow I will climb the larger of the two volcanoes, Concepciףn.
After that I will head back to Managua (cough), via Granada (yay!), and possibly to a thermo-heated volcanic lake, too (mmmmm). On the 16th I'll board my flight from Managua to Seattle, via Miami and Chicago and Milwakee and Pheonix and Reno. I should get there 4 days after departing, and 2 weeks before my luggage, but i saved $30 bucks on the flight and one of the airlines has free booze!
that's it.
Stu!
April 03, 2004
ungh
i've got the flu or something. so trying to write, is like trying to bike through sand. and last night, when they were setting off small sticks of dinomite in the street, it was like someone was trying to snowboard in a parking lot, with my head inbetween the two. i guess that was the start of semana santa, but i agreed more with the little kids who were clutching their mothers' legs, crying and confused, "boo to that." but through all that, i was still able to finish my cultural scene project. nice.
i'm of the island for a day because, they don't have a bank on the island and i was almost out of cordobas. i'm gonna catch the next ferry back and just space-out somewhere deep in the hold.
-stu
March 24, 2004
Ometepe: Part Deux
I have returned to my* Island!
Yes, I'm back. Yesterday morning I got some guy with a bike-taxi, to cycle me and my packs four miles, from Rivas to the port town of San Jorge. From there I took the ferry, or rather, a cargo boat that had just unloaded two trucks full of plantains, and was now filling up with people.
I had done this trip before, so I decided I didn't need all of my senses to focus on it. I took the good doctor's orders and applied two heavy doses of The Clash and David Bowie to my ears. I rocked out with the music, and swayed with the fresh water waves.
At some point into the journey I decided I should take advantage of the daylight and snap a few pictures of the island. I exited the upper cabin and followed the railing to the front. There was the island, big, beautiful with a few clouds clinging to the peaks, like toilet paper on a barbed wire fence. The boat was rocking so much in the waves that I had to think of how I wanted to take the shot, low in the waves, or on top of one? I saw my opportunity coming in the form of a huge wave. How else could I photographically show the rocking of the boat?
I went to take my camera out of my backpack, when all of a sudden! the boat smashed into my photographic opportunity and threw it all over me. It wasn't like when your friend splashes you with the hose. It was more like somebody had thrown me through a carwash. The wave dropped so much water on me I actually had time to think, "Cover your backpack! Now, turn around -no! Head to the back -no! Grab the railing. Oh crap, is this water ever going to stop falling on me?" I was wetter than Chris Borger's towel after Kevin Mellon peed on it in the locker room.
Well, chuckling and dripping I returned to the cabin. A pool collected in my shoes as I towelled off my wet clothes. I looked at the smirking faces around me and thought, "I am a dancing bear."
After a while the waves died down, and I was actually able to dry off in the wind. I arrived in Mayogalpa only slightly damp, and got a great start on my project. I've interviewed the Police Chief and the wise Old Man on the corner. I've also got an appointment with the Minister of Agriculture and am pursuing one with a local real-estate agent.
Tomorrow I'm going to rent a bike and get started on my obligatory Island Documentation Kit.
alright then,
Stuart
*Well, it's not really mine, but when I write to my class mates it feels like the right thing to say. Before we left, I occasionally feel like my classmates and I we're talking about our islands like trading cards. We'd even give the specs like, population, size, damage points etc., but it feels a little too possessive when I write that now.
From the bottome of the page I have noticed
some very large titles above me, somewhere in the region of Tonga. Well, as a firm beliver in balance and continuity, I've decided to equalize our webloge entry page with another huge entry title, here it is...
THE GREAT FOOT UPDATE!!!
foot good.
insurance good.
all good.
-Stu
March 22, 2004
bACK IN aCTION!
Am I the only one who finds it hilarious when the "caps lock" is accidentally activated?
Anyways, the foot is all good, and the weather is muggy and dusty, that must mean that I am back in Nicaragua.
Ahhh, it is nice to be back. I spent one dirty day in Managua and headed promptly for Rivas. Rivas is a famous town here in Nicaragua. Rivas is where the East Coast gold diggers swapped their boat for a train, crossed 14 kilometers of the Central American Peninsula, and jumped on another boat, headed for poverty and indentured life in California.
Rivas is also the where William Walker was finally killed in 18--. This guy Walker, was brought in by the Liberal wing of the government (based in Leon) to overthrow the Conservative party (based in Granada). He not only overthrew that party, but the entire government too. He soon declared himself president of Nicaragua, legalized slavery, made English the official language, and was instantly recognized by the US.
There are many stories about what exactly happened to Walker in Nicaragua. Some say he was chased around, like a street dog that had grabbed the mayors walking cane, by an international army. Others say that the Nicaraguan?s cornered him in Rivas and he was only able to escape with the help of the US Marines. Others say that Costa Rica got involved and shot him as he tried to escape. Although, there is primarily one ending to his story: The English caught him, handed him over to the Hondurans and he was quickly executed. Either way, Rivas was one of his main stays.
So what is Rivas now? After Managua, Rivas is a bench in the shade next to an ice cream vender. Rivas is so chill, "molasses in January" is actually a statement of speed here. People are happy here. Everyone says hi and bikes with benches are the local taxis. From here I can see the smoking peak of Concepcion, and the misty peak of Maderas. Tomorrow, I will venture back to my Island and get my project a rollin'!
later,
Stu
March 18, 2004
Managua VS San Jose
I have been so completely uninspired to write and take pictures here in San Jose, Costa Rica. Although, I did take a whole role in one day.
Every Sunday, the city shuts down Avenida Colon, one of the main streets, for a weekend celebration. The cars and busses are redirected and Colon is taken over by blaring music, state fair-style moon walks for kids, ice cream vendors, and dudes on bikes. They actually set up a bike ramp and a mob of guys on trick bikes attack it with their wheels. I shot a whole roll of these guys. Sometimes they were flying through the air, trying to pull off some tricks, but other times they were crash landing with pain-dropped faces.
This would never happen in Nicaragua. I just can't picture it. The differences between the two countries is staggering. The first time I made the border crossing from Costa Rica to Nicaragua, in 2002, I came up with a comparison. Hopefully, it'll help you get some picture of the differences I'm experiencing.
-If Costa Rica was two-ply toilet paper, then Nicaragua was recycled toilet paper. And if that comparison was true, then the US was a silk cloth, with which someone else was whipping your butt.
Well, that comparison still feels true. Everything here is smoother and easier on my body. For example, I can drink the water.
This time around I couldn't help but to be staggered by the differences again -like five commas and two exclamation points. So, here are a couple more comparisons for ya. I tried to find ones that everyone could relate to.
San Jose is a Lap Top. Managua is an Apple II.
San Jose is the Mall. Managua is the Farmers Market.
Managua is a machete. San Jose is a Leatherman.
San Jose is a diamond for Backpackers and Environmentalists, but Managua is the pearl, still in the clam.
Managua has the raw feel and impact of the Blair Witch Project. San Jose has the overproduced feeling of Blair Witch 2.
San Jose offers the variety and quality of an REI "garage sale." Managua offers the intrigue, and potential discovery of a real Garage Sale.
Managua: small town feel, big city crime.
San Jose: like a combination between Florida and Europe.
Alright, did you get it? What do you think?
-Stu
March 12, 2004
American Embassy
A nice Dutch guy told me a very encouraging story. He was having serious medical problems, like me, and he went to his embassy. The nice people there helped him with everything from communications with his insurance company, to finding a quality, local doctor, and they even explained the situation to doctor before he went. ?Amazing!? I thought, ?I should go to my embassy! What luck!? So, this morning I headed to the American Embassy in San Jose, with high hopes- but not too high.
I won?t go into the utter lack of happenings that failed to happen. Instead I will simple quote from my journal. I wrote this while inside the embassy, awaiting my turn at the window.
?There is a nervous tension inside the fortified walls of the Embassy. I feel as if I am in a maze of thick walls and heavy doors. Down the tunnels of this maze are windows with people in them. Some windows are better than others. They are the ones with American in them. That is how you know you?ve reached the next level of the maze, you get to talk to am American.
?So Far all of my interactions with Embassy workers have been from behind thick glass. Like protections zones, with microphones transporting the only tangible contact between me and the person on the inside. I can see their faces too, but they cannot see mine. They stare through me, as if I am a whisper of a voice they have heard many, many times before.
?Everyone here feels this emptiness. They feel that they are nothing to the people behind the glass. That their problems are nothing to the Ones who are supposed to help them. But we all want to be heard. We all want to be seen. We wait for our chance at the window. If we say the right words, then maybe we?ll advance to the next level of the maze.
?At the top of our wall of Hope is the idea that we?ll be able to talk to someone in person. That we?ll be able to talk to them, from across a table, sitting in chairs, being listened to. But until then, it?s all we can do, to tread through the nervous waves of other people with their own problems. We rush from one empty window to another, as invisible shells with a number.?
In the end I found myself a doctor. I have an appointment tomorrow morning at 11. I am going to, what I believe to be, the best hospital in Central America.
Suerte,
Stu
Sushi Rica...
... or some call it Costa Rica. It's the rich neighbor on Nicaragua's southern boarder. It is also where I am currently located.
Yesterday I sat through the 10 hour bus ride between the capitals of Managua and San Jose. As we drove through the Nicaraguan country side, I said a temporary good-bye to the stalled construction projects, dust-choked road sides, burning piles of trash, vast expanses of forest, and the friendliest people I've had the chance to eat tacos with. After crossing the patchwork border, we headed into the beautiful, dry forested hills of Nortern Costa Rica.
Once in San Jose, I banned together with a Dutch and Norwegian guy. If there's one thing San Jose does right, it's youth hostels. Free internet, free coffee, clean sheets, and for the first time in my voyage, warm water showers.
The Norwegian and I headed out for some food, but it was almost 10 and most of the restaurants were already closed. We soon found ourselves at a Japanese restaurant eating some delicious sushi, and I found myself in a different world. I was surrounded by mirrored walls, new furniture, shinning dishes, and a huge flat screen TV broadcasting CNN espagnol.
Yep, it?s different, but that's why I'm here. The medical facilities here should be much better than in Nicaragua. In the Central American economy, Costa Rica ranks first and Nicaragua, is second to last. So, I am off to find the American Embassy. After an encouraging story from the Dutch guy, I believe they'll be able to help me find the foot doctor that I need.
More later.
-StuFoot
March 08, 2004
Bleht!
Here I am, back in smoggy, dirty, horrendous-history-harnessed Managua. But I?ll get to that later. Let?s talk about the Island.
It was great. I was finally on my Islands and could get my project started! I spent one night in the sleepy port town of Altagracia, and headed to Finca Magdalena, the organic, shade grown, cooperative farm at the center of my study.
At the farm I wasted no time. I delivered a message to a local from a BOSIA member (Bainbridge-Ometepe Sister Island Assoication) in Seattle, I met a couple of the Co-op?s workers, and I met a great, elderly man named Bernabe.
With the help of BOSIA, Bernabe has been to Seattle two times. All I had to do was mention Bainbridge Island and his eyes filled with more twinkles than they knew what to do with. He was instantly interested in my project and said that he would introduce me to the Cooperative?s leaders on Monday (today). From there, they would make a decision as to how I could help them, and then I could really get started.
I asked about the German woman I met there two years ago. One of the workers at the Co-op told me that she had left to return back to her country the morning I had arrived. I gal-derned my tardy luck and decided that I could work without her. But then I saw her the next day... bad communication I guess.
Also two years ago, I met a guy who was starting a permaculture farm next door to the Co-op. I found out that he was still there and that his farm was thriving! A woman I met told me all about the farm and their projects. She was a sweet lady and a certifiable permaculture head case. I managed to procure her email address for some US-based answers to my permaculture questions.
I was having great luck. So good in fact, that I decided I should hike Volcano Maderas, conviently located in the Co-op?s back yard. Up the Volcano I went with ginger speed, and air fresher than an Irish Spring comercial. At the top of the volcano was a lake. Two years ago I had had been to that lake, but I left it without ever swimming in it. When I returned to that beautiful body of water, nestled between lush, green slopes of a fertile volcano crater, I knew just what to do. I stripped down to my boxers and jumped in. The lake was sweeter than a bath filled with Mountain Dew.
The best part was when I stopped swimming in the middle of the lake and pictured myself from above, like they do in movies sometimes. I slowly zoomed out. I was tredding water in the middle of a perfectly calm lake, on the top of a vibrantly green volcano, on a twin-peaked volcanic island, in the middle of a huge lake, in the middle of Nicaragua, in the middle of Central America, in the middle of the American Hemisphere.
damn, that was nice.
I also managed to find the aformentioned Island party. After hiking down the volcano and showering, I met up with some fellow travelers and we headed out. After wandering around in the moonlight for a while, we found the right path and climbed up to the party. It turned out to be a Full Moon Party. There was a dj, fire spinning, cheap rum and about 100 people all gettin? down under a moon bigger and whitter than Chris Farley?s late derrier.
Unfortunately the party was mostly foreigners. I guess it wasn?t really an Ometepe kind of party... Most of the locals who did turn up were just wasted, middle-aged men with no respect for women.
My time there was phenominal, but there was always something bugging me. I am having problems with my right foot. A problem that was supposed to be healed before I left on this trip has come back. I?m not sure how urgent it is, but I had to find out. Ometepe, like most of the country, has little to offer in the way of doctors and hospitals. So, I decided to face the problem head-on and go to Managua. From here I will be in contact with my podiatrist in the States, and if need be, I will be looking for medical attention.
On the bright side, I can check my email a bunch and eat pizza!
Don?t worry about me. I?ll be fine.
March 05, 2004
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhllltagracia
I left Granada yesterday afternoon on a ferry headed for Altagracia, the second largest town on Isla de Ometepe. The ride is said to be about 4 hours long, but it could have just been a dream. I was in and out of consciousness the whole time. When I did look about, the shore never seemed to move, only the island loomed closer. Laying there in the fresh breeze of the open deck, and the warm glow from a soft afternoon sun, it felt as if the carbon dioxide of Granada?s streets slowly seeped it?s way out of my head, and slid it?s way down into the washing waves below.
As I stared out for some time at the beautifuly sweet sea about me, I decided that I was not really traveling through any specific time of day. The sky above sang the cheer of daylight blue, while the waves below lullabied the cuddling purple of night. The horizon haromnied a smooth blurring of both, as it melted into gold behind pastel mountains.
After spending two weeks in Granada, crashing my way through a Spanish school and the local social scene, I have finally arrived on my island. The air here is the sweetest I?ve had in this whole journey. The lack of traffic here makes the streets more inviting to pedestrians than even the sidewalks were in Granada. Even the rice here is better. The individual grains, lightly oiled and perfectly cooked, promise a splendor of flavor unheard of in the simple dish.
I believe I am going to Finca Magdalena today, to start the main part of my project, but I?m going to see about breakfast first.
March 04, 2004
Leaving Granada
Well today I head for Isla de Ometepe. After two weeks in Granada, living on the northern shore of Lake Cocibolca, I will finally head into the water and onto my island. It's hard to imaging that I will be able to make the kind of connections there, as quickly and as solidly as I did here. The past two weeks have been sweeter than a the Witch's house (Hansel and Grettle). It seems as if my friends and I have found an excuse to celebrate at least every other night...
So, I'm off to see what the island has to offer. I've heard about a large party (a.k.a. cultural scene) Saturday night in the jungle somewhere, and I believe that in True Academic Spirit, I should check it out.
More later, from the other side.
February 28, 2004
My Birthday, the End (5)
[if you've just clicked opened this blog from the islands syndicate page you should know that this is part 5 of one writing. starting at the bottom of today's entries might make more sense]
last night i went out with my friends for my birthday. it was more fun than velcro sushi night in miami- which i’ve never been to, but you can imagine how fun it would be, right? we started our night at La Fabrica, a bar in an old-school colonial building with a lofty three story courtyard and old, unpolished wooden furniture. it’s the kind of “old” that bar owners and set designers in new york wish they could produce. the kind that feels like you’re comfortably living in the wooden veins of time, with a used, silver-polishing rag in one hand, and a crystal tumbler of fine whisky in the other. plus the two-for-one Flor de Cana rocks more than mic jager's hammock!
from there we went to Cafe Nuit. the funny thing about Cafe Nuit is that the locals started calling it Cafe Nuevo. the first time i tried to find this place, i was very confused by all the different names it has aquired. it turns out that this cafe and i were simply the victim of language translation. nuit means night in french, but it’s pronounced “nu” by most people here. from word of mouth, cafe nu (nuit) soon became to be known as cafe New, as if it were an english name. then, people who wanted to speak the local language started asking for cafe new in spanish, Cafe Nuevo. So, Cafe Nuit (night) became Cafe Nuevo (new) and i was very lost. hahahahaha! so funny. or as the people here would say, jajajajajaja! the not-so funny part about Cafe Nuit is the size of a check one can rack up there after a night with friends.
alright, i really have to go now. i’ve got a triple-decker birthday cake to jump out of.
bye, Stu
prostitution (4)
two days ago, as i searched for a new place to sleep, i met a woman who rents rooms to foreigners. we wound up having a two and a half hour conversation on Nicaragua’s problems. it turns out, prostitution is one of the problems. it turns out that this problem is very present here in granada. it turns out that this problem is very present in the lives of people i know. it turns out, some of my friends have sold sex to foreigners. it turns that one of my friends was encouraging me to have sex with her 16 year old sister in order to get some powerful US cash from me. it turned out that this fact smacked my view of reality, and my friends, like a sledge hammer to the liberty bell. my mind spent the whole rest of the day ringing with confusion and pain, while my persona resonated pure asshole to those around me.
today, one day after my birthday and two days after finding this out, i do feel a bit older. i can almost feel the line that has been etched into my face. lessons like these leave long lasting impressions. i am dealing with it better now though. i have apologized to those that i offended in my weakened, confused, and angry state. i understand that prostitution is everywhere, and now I can see that when there is a constant influx of relatively rich tourists, there will be a sex market for them. i can also understand the sort of opportunity that half-an-hour and sixty dollars is for people who earn less than five dollars a day- if they have a job.
hosted living (3)
i spent a week of my time here living with a host family, but i moved out yesterday- back into the “Cheers”-like atmosphere of the Bearded Monkey. i thought living with a family would be better for my spanish and getting into the local culture, but in reality i just wanted to leave all the time. there was a river of trash behind the house that, along with the omnipresent noise of three televisions, and the business-like way i was treated, depressed me. so here i am back at the Bearded Monkey, a bastion of traveler comforts among the hard walls of this Colonial City.
Chef Stu! (2)
on tuesday i was invited to be the guest chef at Cafe Chavalos. the Cafe is run by a woman named Dona Tabor, an ex-peace corps volunteer who decided to stay in Nicaragua after her assignment was finished. she has been working here for eight years and has built relationships with many of the street kids. some of these kids, now teenagers, work in her Cafe. the business has yet to net a profit, but that doesn’t bother Dona. it’s main purpose, besides serving one of the best 5 course meals in Granada, is to teach these kids a trade. they learn to speak english, serve food, cook international cuisine, and to work together. Jamaica Kincaid may say that they are simply learning to be lower-class, but for many of these kids, it’s a hell of a lot better than their previous trades: glue addicts, gang leaders, shoe polishers.
so i was “guest chef” at this Cafe. i think “chef” is a pretty sweet title for someone who simply taught these guys how to make hamburgers, but i wasn’t going to argue. the Cafe sounds like a bastion of hope and enlightenment, but what i liked best about it is that it was just like any other restaurant. us cooks were in the back swearing at random, talking dirty to the food as we put it together in a beautiful display, and making fun of the customers from our comfortable kitchen bunker. everyone was happy and the people of Granada are now about 30 hamburgers richer. i will possibly return to the Cafe next tuesday to teach ‘em how to make a grilled fish dish- either that or a jell-o mold, I’m not sure.
jell-o mold of fun (1)
for some reason the metaphor of fruit-filled jell-O molds keeps coming into my head when i think of describing my time here. i think it's because so many of my experiences have been so sweet, and that there are so many layers of life here, and that they all seem suspended in a brightly colored substance that i can't really believe exists.
as the sunburn from last sunday's beach excursion peels itself off my back, the spark in my eye from this week’s experiences reflects back at me from the computer screen. these experiences require a more time, but i have to start shopping for tonight’s fiesta- my birthday party. i will write a few words about them that i hope will carry significance like ants carry carrots.
[well if you look at the rest of this blog you will see that i didn’t just write a few words. in fact i’ve been here in this chair for some time now and have produced two, full pages of single spaced stories. but i know that a long blog entrys can be daunting, and that you might feel like it’s too long to read, or that it’s hard to follow, or that stu just won’t shut up. SO, i’ve broken down this garguantua-blog into bite sized pieces that, hopefully, focus one more-or-less one subject. lemme know what you think of the new style.]
4 and 3 and 2 and one,
Stu
February 24, 2004
Random Entries from my Islands Notebook
The Dry Season
I'm afraid to open my mouth when I'm walking down the street. I never know when it'll be stuffed with a billow of exhaust, a swept-up dust cloud, or a purple cloud from a burning trash pile.
Health
A girl I met told me that three of her friends have gotten Dengue Fever here in Granada. Entonces, dodging mosquitoes, meeting people.
The feel of Noon down Calle Atravista
After a while the heavy-sweet smell of exhaust becomes just a part of the sticking mid-day heat.
February 23, 2004
thick like pancakes
Hello! Hello!
It's amazing how thick the days are here... everyday is like a week. I learn more, I meet new people, I have crazy new experiences, and by the end I'm pretty confused and tired. For example, yesterday.
The Spanish lessons I am taking here in Granada, before going off to Isla de Ometepe, are sweeter than Girl Scouts that want you to buy stuff! At the school I have four different professors, one for Verbs, one for Pronunciation, one for Conversation, and one for Grammar. Now, "professor" might sound a bit intimidating, but really they're all kick-ass folk around my age. It was my grammar prof who invited my to the lake yesterday.
Whenever I wake up here, my head always takes a while to solidify. Most of my immediate moments of conscious thought are filled with simple words, "ugh" (meaning: do I really have to get out of bed), "ow" (the sun has come in through the open roof and smacked me in the eyeballs) and "?What am I stepping in?" (my host family has a puppy- very cute, kinda stinky). Well, yesterday my host Mom woke me up, at the requested time, and provided a hearty breakfast of bananas, pineapple, watermelon, rice, eggs, fried plantains, orange juice, and agua purificada. These fantastic day-starters do a great job of kicking my system into action, blood starts flowing, my brain starts working.
With this kick start I packed my bag and headed off to the house of my Grammar Professor, Jelliot. For some of you, to hear that I really enjoy my grammar classes, would be some what of a shock. You'd probably say things like, "Stu, your grammar is atrocious," "Stu, you still owe me five dollars," or "Stu, you know grammar like the back of your head!" and it's true. I'm terrible at grammar in any language, and I don't think it's fun, but that's just how cool Jelliot is. She is one of the coolest people I've ever met, with a personality that transcends boarders. She is a 22 year old Nicaraguan from Granada, who is just as pregnant as my brother's girlfriend. This is a great connection, because I feel like I can see what is happening in Peter's (my little brother) life when I look at Jelliot. It makes the thousands of miles from him not seem so far.
Once at Jelliot's house I met her boyfriend, her sister, her sister's friend, two other friends, and her younger brother. We were headed to the beach, but first we needed supplies. Off we headed, like a line of ants into the crowded streets of Sunday Market. From various venders, stationed at wooden stalls that were assembled about as well as a 3rd Grader's diorama project, we procured oranges, limes, onions, tortillas, cheese, tamales, bananas and lettuce. From the grocery store, whose crowded, shifting isles remind me of the traffic around the Arc de Triumf in slow-motion, we bought rum, soda, cola, and chips.
Assembled again in front of the house, clinging to any shade we could find from the already blazing sun, we found a Camionetta (pickup truck) to take us to the the Laguna. The Laguna was a calm spot, separated from Lake Cocibolca's massive body by small forested islands, forming a horseshoe-shaped area of tranquil water and softly swaying trees. At the water front there was two small, stone docks, with palm-thatched, open-walled shelters for cover, a swimming area between docks, and long boats outside.
We found a spot at the end of one dock and started setting out the food. The next 5 hours were filled with more fun than Grandma's triple-decker Jell-O mold is filled with fruit. We drank, we ate, we did trick jumps into the water and had competitions to see who could jump the farthest. We did nothing and stared into the the lush blue-green surroundings. We told jokes and they taught me Spanish, good words, bad words, and loaded phrases. They brought me into their group with more ease than the finger of the World's best proctologist. (I know, that was gross).
There was also a group of young kids swimming there, children of a Evangelic Women's group I think. They loved the frisbee I brought, and had an amazing natural ease with it. With Spanish more broken than The Mongol Empire, I taught them how to play 500. They caught on right away and were soon diving and catching like the best Ultimate Frisbee player.
Then all of a sudden it became "Kids attack Stu Time." I mean, I think I brought it on myself as I tossed them around like little turtles as we competed in 500, but the next hour was like that scene from Gulliver's Travels where all the little people attack him and tie him to the ground. It was great! They all had different strategies. Some would lure me to the shore, where they could get away before I dragged them in by their ankles. Some would wait until I was engaged with another and them surprise attack me from behind, climbing up my back until I pulled them over my head and bombed them into the water. Splash fights abound, and I practiced my deadly accurate spray- able to hit any 7 year old hiding by the wall from 15 feet away!
On the ride home the sun was at that Magic hour of setting, where blue and gold melt into each other, it's beauty highlighted the glow that was emanating from each of us, as we sat there mostly silent. Back at Jelliot's house we said our goodbyes and melted like ice cream back into different parts of the city.
When I got back to my Host Family's house, I was greeted by loud latin dance music, dinner and huge glass of rum- It was my Host Mom's birthday and she was certain I was going to join in the festivities. I won't get into it, but rest assured it was a good night.
Time for class.
Later,
Stu
February 18, 2004
Borders
My first impressions from my second trip to Nicaragua, is that there are no borders here. I’m not talking about the borders of Costa Rica to the South and Honduras to the North, but of every day life. As I was cruising down one of Managua’s main drags, in the taxi from the airport to the hotel, I noticed that the sides of the road were not like back at home. For example, I saw a woman selling a few, fantastic, hand carved, wooden bed frames for sale right next to the road.
This was of course a glimpse at the road side, a place that perpetually included front yards, yard sales, mechanic shops, restaurants, and uncomfortable pedestrians, all enveloped in a cloud of dust and smog. When I say road side I don’t mean the space behind a curb, and a boulevard, and a sidewalk, I mean the Side of the Road. If one were to pull onto what one generally considers the shoulder, one would most likely find themselves in Another’s front yard, being barked at by dogs and covered in the perpetual billows of smog that just adds to the Day's dry heat.
Later, after checking into the hotel I went to a restaurant. At the restaurant I asked for the bathroom, and after following the directions I found myself walking through a living room… I thought, “Funny, there’s no difference in the home and the restaurant” as I realized that the area where I was eating was really the living room.
That was yesterday. Today I jumped around Managua, taking in the history I had just read about, first-hand. The old city of Managua, the one that was destroyed by an enormous earthquake, has not been demolished as rebuilt, instead the poor have claimed it, and the new city has been built around it. So it still exists, it is as much a part of Managua as any other part. The borders between Old and New are blurred until it can be seen as one.
No borders, no boundaries I thought. That’s it! My first real insight into Nicaraguan life. Everything just co-exists in one amorphous blob.
But then I thought more about it. I thought about my trip to the upscale, upper-class mall, between historical sites of course. I had to get out of the midday heat of 95 degrees and I knew there would be air conditioning there. At the mall there were definitely borders. On the sliding doors there is a sign that says in Spanish, “Please do not bring your guns inside.” I’m not sure who exactly that excludes, but it is definitely a defining line, a border.
When I was in the delicious air conditioning, I noticed that nobody trying to sell me Chiclets or cigarettes, or any of the other things that the poor families have their 7 year-olds sell in public places. I also noticed that there wasn’t any 40 year-old woman selling fried plantains or freshly cut fruit, like the average street corner or random house everywhere else in Managua… “This was different, poor people are not allowed in here, they are not even allowed on the premises- a term that smacks of aristocraticness.” I thought.
Damn, there goes my theory. I have realized that there are borders in the Nicaragua day-to-day, lots of them, it just took me a little time to identify them, but wait! Redemption! If I don’t have a theory, what do I have… a freshly American Perspective!!!
So, what does my theory say about my freshly American Perspective, it says that I am used to lines and borders. I am used to orders and defined spaces. Can you identify borders, definitions, and established order in your day-to-day? How about these: Trash Cans, Paper recycling, Plastic recycling, Glass recycling; student housing, retirement homes, homeless shelters; walk, don’t walk, jay-walking ticket; exit only lane, carpool lane, fast lane; city, suburb, national forest; 1040, 1040A, 1040EZ, and on and on. These are some of the borders that, as an American, I live within everyday. These normally opaque borders became instantly visible when I immersed myself in this Nica-culture.
One of the best things about traveling is that it gives us perspective on where we’re from- and of course there’s the rum!
-Stuventerous
Managua, Nicaragua
here.
good.
more later.
-Stu
February 06, 2004
My Dad's House
Minnesota in Winter.
February 05, 2004
stress
on the day-to-day i'm not too worried about this trip, and all the pre-trip planning, but Noelle tells me that I am grinding my teeth at night... i might do this all the time, but i'm not sure.
i Am looking forward to waking up on a sunny tropical morning, the fresh breeze of rejuvinating morning air mixing with the sun's energetic heat, rolling in through the open window, over my scruffy head, over my sleeping bag, over my feet that are sleeping at the other end, and filling the room and my lungs with the tranquility of tropical mornings.
maybe then i won't grind my teeth when i'm not looking.
Who's the Boob?
February 03, 2004
cigarettes
?Cigarettes are sorta like a reminder of your mortality, each puff is like a moment, a passing thought. You know, you smoke, the smoke disappears. It reminds you that to live is also to die, somehow??
-Jim Jarmusch
as a random rambling smoke
shop patron about to smoke
his last cigarette.
Blue in the Face
February 02, 2004
am i a boob?
i feel about as comfortable putting a journal on-line, as Janet Jackson feels about putting her boob on national TV. coinsidence?
