Sixth Book: Ralph Lee Woodward, Jr.´s ¨Central America: A Nation Divided¨

Motivated by a desire to understand more completely the history of Central America, I picked up Kamilla´s copy of Ralph Lee Woodward, Jr.´s ¨Central America: A Nation Divided.¨ This single volume sums up the history of region in an accessible, if rather dry, format.

Beginning with the indigenous people and their first encounter with the Spanish, Woodward traces the heritage of Spanish colonialism, the turmoil and civil wars that accompanied independence, the rise of coffee and banana, and the oligarchs that profited from these commodities, finally closing with the social revolutions of the 20th centuries that challenged these power structures. He presents Central America as a region with the potential for unity and prosperity, but a place marred by ongoing poverty, violence, and division.

Woodward does a fine job of noting how foreign influences (notably Britain and the U.S.) repeatedly intervened to ensure governments that backed their commercial interests. He explains how foreign governments and corporations used their influence to alter the course of events--stealing elections, eliminating threats, and repressing the local people. He also does a good job of sketching out the internal divisions and conflicts present in these states between Liberals and Conservatives, and how these rivalries emerged and morphed over time.

Unfortunately, the book becomes a bit confusing during Woodward´s dissection of 20th century socialist movements: He focuses too much on the names of the presidents elected and the factions vying in the political arena so that he obscures many of the larger social trends ongoing during this time. And I found a significant part of this analysis troubling because he glosses over the repression and violence of right wing dictatorships without emphasizing the full nature of the abuses of these regimes.

¨Central America: A Nation Divided¨ is indeed a book worth reading, as it is full of information for a curious reader. In particular, he considers the concept of Central American unity and places the idea in a historical context. But it is also a rather slow-going account, and thus most appropriate for those with a sustained interest in the subject matter.

(Next up: Truman Capote´s ¨In Cold Blood¨)

Of Ticos and Nicas

Citizens of Nicaragua (Nicas) and Costa Rica (Ticos) don´t really like each other that much. These neighboring countries share many cultural similarities but resentment runs high.

Costa Rica´s peaceful history stands in direct contrast to the violence that´s periodically marred Nicaragua, and partially due of these differences, Costa Rica (meaning ¨the rich coast¨) has developed much more prosperously. As a result, many Nicas have sought work in Costa Rica, often illegally. Ticos contend that these immigrants stress the country´s social security and safety net. At the same time, they also need Nicas to perform many low-paying jobs, such as harvesting coffee. Exports of coffee and bananas, along with tourism from the United States, sustains the Costa Rican economy.

Ticos are a gentle and tolerant people, but they have concerns about the way Nicaragua is impacting their country. Specifically, they have concerns over the extension of CAFTA, the free-trade agreement on which Costa Rica will vote on later this year. They also are watching with trepidation the moves Daniel Ortega, Nicaragua´s newly elected President, and his ties to Venezuelan Hugo Chavez. A good percentage of Costa Rica´s oil and commerce comes from Venezuela.

During both the Revolution and the Contra War, rebel groups used Costa Rica as one of the bases for invading Nicaragua. When the Sandinista movement toppled the Somoza dictatorship, they enjoyed solidarity with the Costa Rican people. In 1987, Costa Rican President Oscar Arias won a Nobel Peace Prize for his part in ending the civil wars that plagued the isthmus.

But today in Costa Rica there is a wariness founded in economic concerns. Despite Costa Rica´s relatively high level of development, the country has many social problems and high levels of foreign debt. Tourism and commodity imports are notoriously fickle industries, and recently Ticos have struggled with a downturn in their economic fortunes and standard of living. Overall, they see Nicas as imposing on their country. For their part, Nicas in both countries harbor resentment for the way they are treated: like criminals or second-class citizens.

Having lived in Nicaragua for four months and having only visited Costa Rica for ten days, I inevitably saw Costa Rica through Nicaraguan eyes. I was interested in the labor conditions and Tico attitudes towards their neighbors. Many of my friends warned me that I may not enjoy my time because the country is so touristy and much more expensive. Yet despite my loyalty to Nicaragua, I found myself charmed by Costa Rica: It is simply a beautiful country, green and biologically diverse and interesting to explore. The people are friendly and open, more so than Nicaragua, I believe, perhaps because they have more (and better) experiences with foreigners.

For me what all this is really is a fascinating study in what it means to live side-by-side one another and what people will do to survive. None of these issues are going away, so it is necessary to find a way to compromise, to co-exist. Ticos and Nicas share many things, and they have a joint responsibility to create a peaceful and prosperous region.

Arenal

After Monteverde, we drove to the Arenal region. There we stayed in Mountain Paradise Hotel, which looks directly onto the volcano from a green hillside. And because the hotel is newly opened, we had its facilities and swimming pool all to ourselves.

Activities while in the area included swimming in the natural hot springs, whitewater rafting on the Rio Sarapiqui, a canopy tour at the Arenal Hanging Gardens, and viewing lava flows on the volcano by night. It was nice just to relax with my family by the pool, read a book in the sunshine, eat traditional Costa Rican cuisine, and play cards with my sister.

The best feature of our time there, however, was the stunning view of the volcano. Volcan Arenal is perfectly conical and the most active volcano in the Western Hemisphere. From the doorway to our bungalow, we could look out directly at this looming monster, constantly emitting large puffs into the air like a chain smoker.

The War Goes On. Stop It Now.

Everyday I find myself thinking about it at some point. But today is Memorial Day 2007, and it seems appropriate to write something.

The war in Iraq is in its fourth year and President Bush has noted, stubbornly and repeatedly, that he will not end it. More American soldiers and Iraqis are dying, and the situation has only worsened over time. Too much suffering has occurred needlessly, and it´s an illusion to believe that the situation will somehow it will magically ameliorate itself in the future. The American people have turned against this war, and the Iraqi people certainly don´t want us there. Yet we are still sending soldiers to die.

I´ve been fortunate to spend the last four years of my life studying, working, and traveling, meeting people and seeking to understand this world in diverse ways. It makes me sad that so many young American men and women in the military, just my age, have not had the same chance. They are fighting and dying for lies, and that is a tragedy and a crime.

Looking forward, one thing is clear: This war won't end unless the American people demand that it end.

It´s time -- past time, in fact -- to stop this war now.

Monteverde

Our first stop in Costa Rica was Monteverde, the famed high-altitude cloudforest. This is in many ways the epicenter in the ecotourism movement. The Quakers who have settled here and the local inhabitants have carefully preserved much of the astounding biodiversity and ecosystems of the area. It is one of the most popular places to visit in Costa Rica, and has become a model and a study in how to develop sustainably.

While in the area, we went on a tour of the Monteverde Cloudforest Reserve. There we saw much wildlife, including the resplendent quetzal. It is an extremely beautiful forest, so green and wet. The next day we visited El Trapiche, a working farm that produces coffee and sugar products, among other things. It was fascinating to learn the processes involved in these industries since so many inhabitants of Costa Rica and Nicaragua are employed in them.

Otherwise, it just rained a lot. I enjoyed spending time with my parents and family in our hotel. The roads up to Monteverde are some of the bumpiest in the country, but I´m glad we made the trip to see it.

Newsflash: Here in Costa Rica

I´ve now arrived in Liberia, Costa Rica, to meet my parents and sister for a ten day vacation here. We will visit three spots: Monteverde, Arenal, and Tamarindo. I´m looking forward to my time with them.

A Long Bus Ride

At 2:30 AM on Wednesday I left San Salvador, El Salvador on a Ticabus, heading south. Sixteen hours and three border crossings later, at 6:30 PM, I arrived at my destination, Liberia, Costa Rica. Clear across Honduras and Nicaragua, I had only Shrek 3 (we watched dubbed in Spanish... twice), a few brief conversations with fellow passengers, and a whole lot of staring out the window to keep me company. Luckily, I did manage to sleep. And I had a pair of seats to myself, so it was comfortable enough. So that was the longest single bus ride of my life.

San Cristóbal de las Casas

Kamilla and I spent more than a week in San Cristóbal de las Casas, one of Mexico´s most charming cities. Set in picturesque hills, San Cristóbal has a refreshing climate. It is a beautiful place with colorful colonial adobes, large churches, and impressive plazas. We stayed in a hostel called Casa Jardin, and enjoyed getting to know our host, Erica, whose family has owned this house for more than a century. During the day, we spent most of our time wandering through the pretty streets, shopping in the markets, sitting in the parks. We ate delicious chicken tacos for lunch; at dinnertime we used the kitchen and cook up a hearty pot of stew. Indiginous women wander through the city, selling handmade blankets and crafts. We did take one daytrip out to the Cañon del Sumidero, which is a beautiful piece of nature. It is a rare and enjoyable thing when traveling to just stay in one place, relax, and feel totally content.

Norwegian National Day

May 17 is Norway´s National Day. Kamilla, my Norwegian girlfriend, was feeling sad that she was missing out on all the celebrations back home. These festivities consisted of, as far as i could tell: dressing up in costumes, waving flags, getting drunk, singing songs, and running down a big hill. Yep, that sounds like a good time. She is, after all, descended from Vikings, or so I like to tease her.

So in order to cheer her up and focus on the all the fun we were having in San Cristóbal de las, México, the two of us cooked a special dinner: I made a stew with roasted chicken and all sorts of vegetables (the peppers here are especially zesty), thick delicious bread (that seems impossible to find in Central America), and a nice bottle of red wine.

After our feast, I got drunk, started talking garrously in Spanish, and she beat me for the first time ever in the card game rummy.

Waterfalls in Chiapas

Chiapas, México´s southernmost state, is known for its large indigenous population (groups that have maintained a large part of their Mayan heritage) and for its verdant, hilly scenery. After spending several days strolling through San Cristóbal de las Casas, a charming colonial town in the mountains, we made the six hour trip to Palenque, to visit the impressive Mayan ruins there. After our day at the ruins, and two lovely nights spent in a jungle cabaña, Kamilla and I signed up for a tour to visit some of the waterfalls in the area around Palenque. The tour bus, crammed with backpackers, visited three waterfalls before we returned to San Cristóbal. All three spots were very beautiful, and allowed us to enjoy some of the state´s natural beauty in an accessible way:

1. The first stop, Misol-Ha waterfall, featured a tall, thin stream of water cascading down into a swimming hole, surrounded by jungle. While there I chatted with a pair of sisters from New Zealand on our bus. Every time I meet a Kiwi, I can´t stop prattling on about how much I love that country. And it was particularly appropriate in this case, since many of my fondest memories from my time studying in New Zealand involve trips to waterfalls with my friends.
2. The second stop, at Aqua Clara, featured a surprisingly clear blue lake. Kamilla took a boat ride on a wooden raft, rowed by a little boy. I sat on the grassy bank and took photos of her. Afterwards, I tossed the boy some of my bananas, but it took him until the third try before he caught the fruits without them bouncing into the lake.
3. At the final stop, Aqua Azul, I made Kamilla tuna sandwiches by the side of the river. They were delicious, and this is one of our favorite meals. After eating, we strolled up alongside the river, admiring the series of waterfalls, cascading one on top of the other, from many different miradors.

Best of all, at this stop three Hungarian travelers (two girls and a guy) engaged in a world-class moment of unintentional comedy: Wearing only swimming trunks and bikinis, they started rubbing mud from the lake all over their bodies, then posed for a series of photos for each other on the rafts as if they were models. One girl struggled to keep her balance, and almost toppled into the water. Kamilla and I stood on the hill above, filming this ridiculous scene and laughing hysterically. We thought we were the only ones of the group to enjoy it, but when we got back to the van we all couldn´t stop giggling. Rumor was that after we left one of the girls took off her top. What a fascinating cultural experience this was, to watch take this so seriously.

A Thought About What I´m Doing Here

Here´s yet another example of why I believe my decision to work abroad and travel during my first two years after graduating from university was the best decision I´ve ever made:

At 10:30 AM on a Tuesday, while most of the people I know were probably in some type of meeting at work, Kamilla and I were climbing on the Mayan ruins at Palenque, surrounded by the dense, tropical jungle of Chiapas, Mexico.

Time Zone Adjustment

Remarkably, we spent five full days in Mexico before realizing that this country is actually an hour ahead of the Central America. Thankfully, we realized this oversight before it negatively impacted our trip, forcing us to miss an important bus departure or something. Woops.

Fifth Book: Alan Patton´s ¨Cry, The Beloved Country¨

Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for the man who is dead, for the woman and children bereaved. Cry, the beloved country, these things are not yet at an end.

Alan Patton´s classic novel ¨Cry, The Beloved Country¨ is a true book, despite the fact that it is a work of fiction. Set in South Africa in the 1940s, the book concerns one African pastor´s search for his son in distant Johannesburg, and on the implications of his son´s actions. Dealing as it does with racial tensions in South Africa, this book touched a topic close to my heart. It reminded me at times of Bryce Courtenay´s ¨The Power of One,¨ a similar novel that I have also loved reading. Perhaps the power of this story is that it rings true not only in the context of South Africa but resonates too in other places undergoing social upheaval.

The judge does not make the Law. It is the People that make the Law. Therefore if a Law is unjust, and if the Judge judges according to the Law, that is justice, even if it is not just.

This is a story of fathers and sons. Indeed Absalom is named after King David´s rebellious son in the Bible. This is the story of transgression and forgiveness. Indeed it concerns the most chilling crimes and the deepest yearning for salvation. This is the story of destruction and renewal. Indeed it focuses on the broken tribe, the broken land, and the efforts undertaken to revive them. This is the story of comfort and desolation. Indeed the pastor Kumalo travels through a faceless city and thirsty land. Throughout, the book begs one pointed question: What can be regained after so much has been destroyed?

Call, O small boy, with the long tremulous cry that echoes over the hills. Dance, O small boy, with the first slow steps of the dance that is for yourself. Call and dance, Innocence, call and dance while you may. For this is a prelude, it is only a beginning. Strange things will be woven into it, by men you have never heard of, in place you have never seen. It is life you are going into, you are not afraid because you do not know. Call and dance, call and dance. Now, while you may.

The book proceeds in three parts: First, a fearful searching, then a terrible answer, and finally a look what can be salvaged. But it was what transpired in the final book that moved me most. I was riveted by the encounters between Kumalo and the elder Jarvis, the fates of their sons entangled most tragically. To me, Patton seems to be saying here that the only way out is through a human connection. Salvation for Africa and its people lies only in this compassionate moment, meeting each other with an open mind, forgiveness, and love. It´s a powerful message about men, and about their capabilities and their failings, and the outcome for Kumalo and his community left me weeping at the end.

It is Africa, the beloved country.

Next up: Ralph Lee Woodward, Jr.´s ¨Central America: A Nation Divided¨)

Una sorpresa más: México!

Today, Kamilla and I arrived in Tapachula, México after a 12 hour bus ride from San Salvador. We´ll be here for about two weeks, exploring the state of Chiapas. We´re pretty excited about this.

San Salvador: City of Barbed Wire

We´ve have spent a few days hanging out in San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador. In contrast to the gloomy warnings of gangs, theft, and violence we so often heard, our time here has been peaceful. We´ve found this to be quite a charming city. Granted, it´s not really a pretty place, and the air pollution is bad. But San Salvador does have a fun vibe to it. The people have been helpful, and unlike most metropolises in the developing world, it´s not difficult to get around with public transportation. It´s been fun to go out to some nice restaurants, museums, and (I confess) even modern malls. San Salvador is actually a very accessible place as long as you take care to stay out of the areas that face endemic problems of gangs and urban poverty.

That said, my first drive through San Salvador from the bus station to our hotel was somewhat startling. Having visited South Africa and other developing countries, I am used to heightened security measures. But everywhere you look here, on the top of homes and businesses, there is barbed wire. And these aren´t just thin little barbs; these are massive stay-out-or-you-will-bleed-to-death barbs. Every building has it, and the reason is understandable: In a city with one of the highest homicide rates in the world, swabbing your property in barbed wire as if it were patriotic bunting at a Fourth of July parade is only understandable. I wonder if any statistics on meters of barbed wire per capita are available, because I´m certain San Salvador, a city that at times resembles a maximum security prison, is among the top contenders.

Fourth Book: Tracey Kidder´s ¨House¨

While in Corn Islands, I polished off Tracey Kidder´s ¨House.¨ I picked up this book because I enjoyed his crisp style of writing from his ¨Mountains Beyond Mountains.¨ What appealed to me was the angle of this non-fiction story, set in Amherst, MA in the early 1980s, following the construction of a single house from the birth of its idea to the moment that the owners celebrate their move-in with champagne.

Indeed I enjoyed reading it, as Kidder is a very good explainer. He concentrated on the desires of the owners, the thought processes of the architect, and the craftsmanship of the builders. He then went on to describe each phase of the construction. Throughout, he made the process accessible, adding where appropriate passages about the historical context and modern implications of the methods of construction. This is not just a story about the building of one house; Kidder relates the construction to broader social practices dealing with the craft.

This book about houses got me thinking about houses and books: The house I grew up in (it was built around the same time and in a similar Northeastern manner of craftsmanship) and the house I would like to live in one day. He talks in broad terms about what houses mean--to the people that design them, to the people that build, to the people that live in them, to the communities that sustain them. He writes about how a house is more than a structure made out of wood and nails, but rather a thing made special in American history because of the craftsmanship that goes into it.

And this book got me thinking too about the books I´ve written and those I´d like to write some day: Specifically, I like what Kidder did here as a story-teller, getting people to open up to him. He managed to insert himself into a very precise and often intense place, one at which he could observe and record all the internal conflicts that arose between the builders, architect, and owners over the course of the house´s construction. As a journalist, that´s really not an easy thing to do.

This is a book about processes, and he captures all that. But, more importantly, it´s a book about people. By the end of the story, I felt like the characters wer my friends. That´s because Kidder nails their mannerisms and sheds much light onto their personal motivations with vignettes about their personal histories. He´s naturally interested in the differences between them -- cultural and economic, professional and personal -- and the conflicts that arise as a result. Yet the building of the house does not prove to be a zero-sum game, and the various parties must compromise repeatedly in order to ensure the success of the project.

In his writing, Kidder reconstructed for the reader the world surrounding the building of this house--a world populated by people, blueprints, and wooden planks. But naturally, this world comes to a close when the house is finished. As such, I found that I missed the characters when the book ended.

(Next up: Alan Paton´s ¨Cry, the Beloved Country¨)

Perquín

After San Miguel, Kamilla and I headed up to Perquín for a few days. This small town is a historical city in the Morazan region, located in northeast El Salvador. Twenty years ago, it was the stronghold for the FMLN (Frente Martí Liberación Nacional) forces fighting to overthrow the authoritarian regime and create a more just society. It´s a pretty town in the hills, and there is an excellent museum there that details the heroic efforts of the FMLN. Just being in El Salvador was interesting because we could compare the experience of the FMLN with that of the Sandinistas.

One of the cool things we did was walk with our guide to the town of El Mazote. In 1981, the El Salvadorian army, trained and funded by the United States, massacred approximately 1,000 residents of this small town. They herded all the people into the church, and burned down their homes. The soldiers then marched the women into the hillsides before they were killed. Hundreds of small children were murdered, buried in a mass grave. No one survived. For several years the town was uninhabited. But since the war has ended, El Salvador has repopulated the town a fitting memorial to the victims has been erected.

Aside from viewing this important site, our guide spoke to us generally about how the region had changed as a result of the war. Commerce in this largely agricultural region was disrupted and many people fled their homes. Today there are encouraging efforts to create a historical route for local and international tourists so that they can learn about the revolution. Agricultural and small-scale industry projects have also commenced. When I looked at the hillsides, all I saw was new growth, young forests that had been replanted since the war´s end. Our guide spoke to us about how the army cut down all the trees and polluted the rivers of this place. And so it was clear to see how war also destroys communities and livelihoods by ravaging the local environment.

The Markets of San Miguel

My parents raised me to love harbors. They like to take long strolls along seaside docks, watching the boats and the people that work them, admiring the way the late afternoon light filters into the scene, enjoying the rhythmic sound of the water lapping against the wood.

And indeed I have grown up to appreciate harbors. But on my travels I have developed an affinity for another scene as well: markets. To me, these are somewhat similar scenes. A walk through the market entails the same voyage into a world of ordered lines, vivid colors, strange smells, shouts of work, surly characters, and daily rituals. And so, with both harbors and markets, I like to wander around.

Some of my worldwide favorite markets include Kotokraba in Cape Coast, Ghana where we first landed unsuspectingly during our orientation to that kind country, and the municipal market in Mysore, India, which is rich with scent and colors of flowers, fruits, and incense, almost beyond description.

Add to this list the market in San Miguel, El Salvador, which Kamilla and I both loved. (It´s big brother in el centro of San Salvador isn´t too bad either.) Strolling through both these markets was a joy, for they are both filled with row after row of colorful displays and interesting characters interacting at a bewildering speed. Guidebooks and fellow travelers seemed to take a special joy in warning us about the danger of El Salvador´s cities, but the markets are truly one safe haven where, during the day, you can discover the beat of a country.

Indeed you can get nearly anything there, even if there is nothing that you really need. There are sections for clothing, t-shirts, shoes, toys, hats, souvenirs, toiletries, household items, farm items, lunch stalls, sweet stalls, juice fruit stalls, vegetable stalls, and on and on and on. And between all these are the hawkers, the itinerant peddlers, the fiery preachers (note him now, down on one knee, Bible open in his hand, shouting verse after verse onto all that come near), cripples, children, beggars, housewives, buisnessmen, rural folk, market ladies, urban shoppers, and two wandering travelers taking it all in.

No, it´s not a shabby scene at all.

The Dollarization of El Salvador

The first thing that I noticed when I arrived in El Salvador is that I didn´t need to exchange dollars for the local currency. A few years ago, the government of El Salvador became the third country (after Ecuador) in the world to make the U.S. dollar its official currency. They have even made the word ¨quarter¨ a Spanish word: Indeed peddlers give prices in quarters: An item might cost three quarters instead of seventy-five cents.

This switch to the dollar seems to make sense given how closely the Salvadorian economy is tied into the U.S. (and clearly illustrates the power structure of our neo-imperialism in the process). But such a decision, while perhaps controlling inflation and reducing transaction costs, the adoption of the dollar undoubtedly threatens the national sovereignty of a country that for so many years has suffered at the hands of ¨the Almighty Dollar.¨

As a traveler, paying in dollars added a new wrinkle to my journey. There´s really no escaping the understanding of how much stuff costs: the prices are written neatly before me in my home currency. Rather, during my time here, I´ve found myself translating prices back into Nicaraguan cordobas in order to assess the comparative value of a good or service.

Furthermore, the appearance of dollars and cents in our wallets again allows me to teach Kamilla a few things about my own country. I´ve taught her the words for ¨dime,¨ ¨nickel,¨ and ¨penny¨ (which she never had to learn before) and given her mini-lectures on the Founding Fathers whose heads grace these coins.