Hayden Abroad

Photos from Nicaragua!

2007-06-29T13:00:00.000-04:00

Here is my final slideshow of pictures from Nicaragua:

Books I've Read in Nicaragua

2007-06-22T13:00:00.000-04:00

In English:

1. W. Somerset Maugham -- Of Human Bondage
2. John Steinbeck -- The Grapes of Wrath
3. Edmund Morris -- Theodore Rex
4. Tracey Kidder -- House
5. Alan Patton -- Cry, the Beloved Country
6. Ralph Lee Woodward, Jr. -- Central America: A Nation Divided
7. Truman Capote -- In Cold Blood
8. Gioconda Belli -- The Country Under My Skin
9. Ann Patchett -- Bel Canto

In Spanish:

1. Pilar Molina Llorente -- Ut Y Las Estrellas
2. Paulo Coehlo -- El Alquimista
3. Paulo Coehlo -- Veronika Decide Morir

For Now, The End of Traveling

2007-06-21T13:00:00.000-04:00

Sometimes when I explain to people my plan -- to spend the first two years out of college traveling and volunteering at organizations in developing countries -- people have told me that this is a good idea because then ¨I´ll get it out of my system.¨ Comments like these always make me smile because they allow me to see just how poorly the speaker understands me. My desire to work and study abroad comes from a deeper, life-long yearning to understand and know the world we live in.

But there is a time for everything. And on the eve of my departure, I feel that I am ready to return home for a while. I´m looking forward to studying again in Chicago this fall because I think my course will eventually give me the tools I need to understand the world in a deeper way and one day make a larger impact.

More fundamentally, I know well that traveling is not forever. The genius of it is in coming to a foreign place and seeing it with widely opened eyes. These moments of exploration have such magic in them, a magic that is beautiful because it is fleeting. We are all transitory creatures in this world, but we feel our transitory nature more viscerally in encounters like these. After spending the majority of the past four years doing just this, I am ready to take a break. For a variety of reasons, I feel a bit tired of traveling at the moment, having done much of what I wanted to do here, and am looking forward to being still for a while at home.

The truth is that we will not be given an unlimited amount of moments like this. There are only so many times that you can play frisbee in a park in Benin or fly kites on a rooftop in India with large groups of exuberant children and have it be one of the most joyful moments of your life, for that joy is partially derived from the spontaneity of the encounter. All the times that I met old men on the street and played chess, or had families invite me back to their houses for dinner, or shared a hilarious conversation with a perfect stranger on the bus, were so potent in part because they could not be replicated. I had to live the moment fully lest it be lost.

Over the course of my travels, a great number of kind individuals and families have invited me into their world. It may have been only for an hour, or for a few days, or for a few months. Here in Nicaragua too I´ve been granted that privilege numerous times: to make friends, live with a family, and share some of their world. It´s hard for me to express my gratitude, but this really is the thing that I have wanted most here.

Likewise, over my time traveling, I´ve enjoyed a wide variety of natural pursuits: in the Thar desert and the Sahel, the Himalayas and Fiordlands, along Caribbean beaches and Ganges delta. But one can only so often hike into the crater of a volcano, traverse snow-capped ridges, cut a path through a dense tropical jungle, or stand in the middle of a desert and feel space extend all about you so many times and have it be the most formative experience of your life. Those first encounters are the most precious, because you see for the first time a new wrinkle in this beautiful world, you feel the full force of the land inside you in a way you didn´t quite before. As a kid at summer camp, I feel lucky to have cultivated a love of natural spaces, and so each sunset, mountain top, impossibly starry night, and late evening descending into dusk is special to me.

I´ll take a break now from experiencing these things abroad, but they are indeed all around us in the States, if only we take the time from our busy daily lives to look around and appreciate it. This is something that I think has been a bit of a challenge for me in the past, breaking out of the confines and habits of daily life to find what´s surprising, so I´m looking forward to it now. But just because these moments from abroad have gone and past does not mean that they are done: To the contrary, I carry them with me always, as they have helped forge who I am.

I went back to visit Las Tias this afternoon, the school where I volunteered for two months with at-risk children. I was overwhelmed by the response I got from when I returned: They remembered me well, all our songs and games, and were thrilled to see me. After we had sung and clapped like old times, Cristobal asked me when I´d be returning. It´s a common question I´ve received from my Nicaragua friends in recent days. I told her that I wasn´t exactly sure, but that after my year studying in the university I would have to again decide what I wanted to do. To a nine year old, a year must sound like a long time, and she worried that I would forget her. No, I told her, that´s impossible. I could never forget her, could never forget what we shared here.

¡No Hay Aqua!

2007-06-20T13:00:00.000-04:00

Life here is getting just a little bit intolerable.

For a significant portion of the last several days, the city of León has been entirely without water. Everybody´s talking about it and nobody has it.

Indeed, as the headlines on the newspaper blare, this is a reality for most of Nicaragua. As much as half the population has been left without potable water. The electricity has frequently been out too, with various barrios crippled during different times of the day. In Managua, frustrated residents in the capital lit bonfires to protest the energy failures.

All this has very practical implications: For much of the day, we have no drinking water. We have no water for showering. None for washing dishes. Or the laundry. Or for cooking. And no water for flushing the toilet. This is getting gross.

This leads, of course, to tensions and frustrations both within households and communities. It is still hot here each day, and not being allowed to shower after a long day feels like a sweaty punishment.

Last night I had to run out to the store to buy a gallon of bottled water (and I hate bottled water) so we could have some to wash the vegetables and boil the rice and pawns for my birthday paella.

Worse still, the newspapers state that because the state power company and the workers failed to reach an agreement, and because the demand for power is so high, the shut-down might continue until the end of the year. Unable to cook, shower, brush, and flush, most everyone is fed up.

Sure, there are several strategies families employ to alleviate the effects of the water cuts. Ubiquitous in ever Nicaraguan home is pila, which is basically a multi-purpose sink for washing, divided into three basins, one of which can left filled with water when it does indeed flow. Families also fill large covered barrels with water, scooping them out by the bucket when needed. But none of this can alter the fundamental inconvenience, the failure of the state to provide basic services for its citizens.

I write all this not only to talk about the daily features of the life we live here, but also to mention the wider social and ecological implications. Though it may look like only a short cut, these are in fact the symptoms of a crisis.

And it strikes me that the exploitation of natural resources will not appear in a bang or any type of sudden shift. They will not suddenly explode in our face like a volcano or an earthquake, forcing us to pay attention. The changes will be more gradual, and therefore easier to ignore. It will be a series of small but mounting frustrations, inconveniences, and hardships that must be borne each day. Over time, each day, each summer, each year, the inconveniences will become slightly worse, the quality of life will slide down a notch.

It´s needing to shower and not being able to. It´s having to cook in the dark. It´s an hour long traffic jam on the way home because the roads are bad, the volume of automobiles too heavy. All of this places daily hardships on individuals, but also serves to reduce the flow of commerce, endangers health, encourages crime, and forces the consumption of scarce natural resources. For the poorest people in society, the problems are greatest, as the rich will maintain the ability to insulate themselves from these problems.

We ignore these symptoms at our own peril. These reoccurring shortages underscore the urgent need to develop sustainable solutions for energy needs, ones that are affordable and appropriate for developing countries. Devising and implementing solutions, done at the local level whenever possible, is the main challenge that we face.

My 24th Birthday

2007-06-19T13:00:00.000-04:00

First off, thanks to everyone back in the States who took the time to wish me a happy birthday. I really appreciated getting those notes.

I had a great 24th birthday here in León with my friends. I was a little afraid they might get ¨Hayden´s birthday fatigue¨ since we celebrated it ten days ago, but we still had a very nice time.

After two special phone calls, I spent some time roaming around the city, shopping for the feast. Harry, Adam, Rufus, and I decided to cook up a paella. So I researched a recipe and bought all the ingredients. To this we added the bottle of red wine that I won at the trivia night at Via Via the night before. We gathered at the house in the evening and cooked up the meal. It was really delicious, a richly seasoned plate packed with shrimp and vegetables.

Then we headed up to the poker game, which featured seven members of the Quetzaltrekkers/Las Tias family. We played for several hours, drinking mojitos all the while. Luckily, or gracias a Dios, I was the top winner at the table, bringing home C$255.

To me, it was just nice to eat and play with my friends here. And I look forward to continuing the celebratory month with my friends and family back home in the States.

San Juan del Sur

2007-06-18T13:00:00.000-04:00

After Michelle returned to the States, Ian and I headed from Granada down to the Pacific Coast for the weekend. San Juan del Sur is a small, touristy coastal town, the most popular place for accessing Nicaragua´s best beaches.

While in town, we stayed at the Casa del Oro, an easily place to meet fellow backpackers. There we had good seafood for dinner, swam in the ocean, and partied in the town´s hectic Saturday night scene. The next day we took a day trip up to Playa Maderas and Bahia Majagual. This is a very remote and beautiful stretch of coastline, ideal for surfing and swimming. As of yet, the infrastructure serving the area is very limited, and it´s possible to have a great deal of these white sand beaches, bordered on each side by interesting rock formations and wild forest, to yourself for the day.

We had a good time down in SJDS, and it was cool to soak of the scene there for the day or two.

Newsflash: Coming Home Early

2007-06-15T13:00:00.000-04:00

I will be returning to the States ten days early, on Saturday, June 23, instead of on July 3 as I originally planned.

Deciding to come home early (instead of, say, extending a trip) feels contrary to my character, and I´m a little surprised I did it. But when I think about it, I know it was the right decision.

I´ve had an amazing time here in Nicaragua these past five and a half months. I´ve learned to speak Spanish, volunteered with at-risk kids in León, taught English, made friends, traveled up to México with Kamilla, and visited many places in this country. Though I have two weeks left, I feel like there´s nothing more I really want to do. I feel a little restless and bored, and though I of course need to improve my Spanish, there isn´t really enough time to take on a new project. After traveling with friends, family, and my girlfriend for so long, I don´t really have a desire to be on my own at the moment.

I had thought about taking a trip out to Bluefields, or down the Rio San Juan, or spending some more time tucked away on Ometepe, but when it came down to it, I couldn´t really motivate myself to undertake these excursions. The bus rides on terrible roads would have been unbelievably long, and I wasn´t convinced there was a great deal to see. More ominously, I haven´t been feeling so safe here lately, and wasn´t up for going to these remote areas on my own. So I decided to return to León for a few more days with my friends, in my city.

Satisfied with all that has occurred here, my thoughts have turned the future. I´m excited to reconnect with friends of the summer, and plan my coming move to Chicago as well. I need a flat (with flatmates), a computer, and a job. It´s a new and exciting thing for me.

In short, it feels like my time has come to a natural end, and I want to remember it as it is now. When I made the decision to come to Nicaragua last November, I booked a trip of six months. But that plan cannot really reflect the reality of the moment. It wasn´t expensive to change my ticket, so I made the decision. I´m happy with the way things are now, and I´m ready to come home next weekend.

Ninth Book: Ann Patchett´s ¨Bel Canto¨

2007-06-14T13:00:00.000-04:00

I grabbed Ann Patchett´s ¨Bel Canto¨ from the bookshelf in Quetzaltrekkers. I finished it in five days. Reading it reminded me just how much joy I derive from reading. There´s a reason I enjoy virtually everything I read. The simple act alone is one of the great pleasures of my life.

Patchett´s story is about a state dinner party held in an South American country that gets taken over by terrorists. During the prolonged standoff, which lasts a few months, the terrorists and hostages (who all come from different lands and speak different languages) forge many surprising bonds. Feelings of friends, family, and even love springs up between them.

Patchett is adept at creating this world for the reader, and as I read little seemed implausible in her world. Rather, I loved the development of the characters, learning how they grow and change. They share a confined space, the mansion belonging to the Vice-President, and without fully realizing it, they share something of themselves as well.

This book ponders language and love, it explores desire and motives, and it deals with the idea of what it means for a person to forget or to remember. The reality of the characters change, and they end up in places that they never imagined.

Mr. Hosokawa had a private life now. He had always thought of himself as a private man, but now he saw that there was nothing in his life before that had been private. It didn´t mean that he had no secrets then and now he did. It was that now there was something that was strictly between himself and one other person, that it was so completely their own that it would have been pointless to even try to speak of it to someone else.
...
But he understood that these were extraordinary times, and if their old life was ever restored to them, nothing would be the same.
...
Maybe the private life wasn´t forever. Maybe everyone got it for a little while and then spent the rest of their lives remembering.

My favorite character in the book was the Japanese translator, Gen Watanbe, who happens speak virtually every language present at the dinner party. Yet over the course of that time something happens to Gen that he never expected. All of the characters like Gen, perhaps because he translated their words so smoothly that the speakers sometimes forgot his existence. It seems to me it is much the same with Patchett: She presents such a charming world, with so many desires and personality, that often the reader takes for granted the slight of hand necessary in creating such a story.

The Rise of Tourism in Nicaragua

2007-06-13T12:00:00.000-04:00

Ever since the end of the Contra War in 1990, the economy of Nicaragua has been changing rapidly. Along with export-oriented agriculture and the service sector of the economy, tourism has become a growing source of income for Nicaragua.

In many ways, all Central American countries have been following this trend. Costa Rica, of course, was the first and most effective nation in the region to profit from American and European tourist dollars. Guatemala, too, has become extremely popular with backpackers. For those looking for a bit more of an experience "off the beaten path," Nicaragua, along with Panama, El Salvador, and Belize, are increasingly popular destinations.

Indeed, by some accounts, tourism in Nicaragua has grown at 133% per annum over the past several years. Projects that it seemed would take several years to get off the ground are now become popular in a much short time-frame. Tourists have been lured not just to the main destinations but also to smaller attractions in startling numbers. For this previously unheralded country, the effect is noticeable. The impact, unsurprisingly, is not all positive. Environmental destruction and cultural loss are too common outcomes. But Nicaragua is at an early stage in the development of its tourism industry where it's possible to put in place structures and institutions that respond to these concerns. It really is a critical time, and thus very interesting to be here.

Nicaragua has some awesome places to visit, and it's possible to visit many of them while doing some good. For instance, Quetzaltrekkers, the volunteer trekking and social action organization in León with which I was affiliated, offers trip to the volcanoes surrounding the city while the proceeds go to a school for at-risk children. Other NGOs in Managua and Granada run city tours that expose visitors to sites that the casual tourist might well miss. And on the Isla de Omtepe, there are many opportunities to stay on organic farms and visit the island's attractions in a sustainable way. Volunteering, I have found, is a great way to meet the local people, understand a bit of their world, and contribute in a small way.

Throughout the country, there are many tourism co-ops and small-scale projects designed to bring the benefit of increased tourism to the people. This is particularly true of Nicaragua's wild spaces, a great amount of which is protected through the system of natural reserves. It's important to get out there and find programs that are sustainable and run by local communities.

One cool thing about Nicaragua being a newer destination is that more opportunities exist to make the traveling experience something that the traveler actually wants. I've met many people here who are full of new ideas for the industry. Many of these are foreigners who have developed a great love for Nicaragua, but there are many locals doing innovative things as well.

In León, my friend Bart runs the Via Via, a popular hostel. He's now expanding and developing new partnerships with local Nicaraguans to increase tourism. Similarly, the Oasis in Granada is a hostel that has created quiet and peaceful spaces, full of the amenities (Internet, pool, hammocks and comfy chairs, free DVDs) that travelers hope to find along the way. A restful places like this, while still reasonably priced, allows travelers to recharge while positioning them to interact meaningfully with the culture around them.

The rise of tourism in Nicaragua presents a tremendous potential for the country, along with a few dangers. It's important to think critically about all the options available, and to support those with a beneficial social mission when the opportunity presents itself.

Isla de Ometepe (& Volcán Maderas)

2007-06-12T13:00:00.000-04:00

The morning after the party, Michelle, Ian, and I headed down to Ometepe. Six hours and several cramped bus rides later, we arrived.

I was stunned by what we found. Ometepe became, over the course of our five days there, my favorite place in Nicaragua.

Ometepe is an island in the middle of Lago de Nicaragua, the largest lake in Central America. The island is unique because it has two awesome volcanoes on it. From the mainland, you look at them both rising up into the clouds, and it is an extraordinary sight. Volcán Concepcion is an active cone; it could blow at any moment. Slightly smaller Volcán Maderas is dormant, with cloudforests running down the sides and a crater lake at the top.

Ometepe is sparsely inhabited (only 35,000 people), with a few small towns and lots of small settlements. It is a place of jungle (low alitude topical rainforest and high altitude cloudforests) and farms. Much of the food grown there is organic, but we also saw that pesticides are increasingly common.

Despite the quiet and slow place of life, there is so much to do on Ometepe: There are lagoons and rivers and islands and beaches and forests and waterfalls and volcanoes. I felt I could have spent weeks there exploring, though it is not very big. The people are laid back and friendly. It was the kind of place one falls in love with.

Better still, I believe that Ometepe is best poised of any spot in Nicaragua for an explosion of sustainable eco-tourism. Saying this, I must note that Ometepe is no secret. The vast majority of tourists visit the island, and Nicaraguans love to vacation there as well (particularly during Semana Santa.) And the great news is that it´s quite accessible from Granada, Managaua, and the like.

But despite all this interest and acclaim, the tourist infrastructure is not highly developed. There is a great chance to employ sustainable technologies and agriculture strategies in order to preserve the beauty of the place while opening up to more visitors. And because it was the off-season there, we had a little extra peace.

Michelle, Ian, and I got along great: we had a nice dynamic amongst the three of us. We stayed our first night near Chaco Verde, in a sweet little hotel called Pasado Chico Largo. This is right on the beach, and we swam and ate an enormous fish for dinner.

On our second day we visited the natural reserve there, walking along the beach with sea turtles. From there we hitch-hiked to Finca Magdalina, which is one of the most famous spots to stay. It´s a working farm that is situated right on the trail to Maderas. There are also stunning views of Concepcion and the beaches, and from my hammock I could watch explosive lightning storms off in the distance.

On our third day in Ometepe the three of us hiked Volcan Maderas (1374 m) with our guide Manuel. It´s a bit of a tiring climb, but the views and the entrance into the cloudforest rewards. The crater lake is something else, a green expanse hidden beneath Maderas´ fog. We loved it there. At the finca we met a bunch of really cool travelers, and it was fun to hang out with them.

On the fourth day we took the bus to the beach at Playa Santo Domingo and lazed around in the water there. After lunch we walked up to a swimming hole named El Ojo del Aqua. This was particularly fun because this beautiful spot had a rope-swing, and we enjoyed all this toy had to offer.

On the fifth day we headed home, taking a pick-up truck for an hour and a half to the ferry terminal; the roads are horrible on Ometepe. But we had lots of fun. It´s a special place, and with just two weeks remaining in my time in Nicaragua I´m not convinced that I won´t head back there one more time.

My 24th Birthday Party

2007-06-11T13:00:00.000-04:00

On Saturday night in León, my friends and I got together to throw a party. Originally, the idea was that it would be a house-warming party for Rufus and Harry, who are now renting their own place. But when our group of friends heard from an anonymous source that my 24th birthday was coming up later this month, we added the celebration to the agenda.

Last year in India I celebrated my 23rd birthday completely by myself; I didn´t even speak of it once to another person. But the experience made me feel rather sad. And I vowed not to let my 24th, which might be spent alone again in a foreign land, slip away. So I took the opportunity to share it with my friends in León.

It was a big party for our standards, with approximately 25 attending. All the people in our scene were there. Harry, Rufus, and Adam: my closest buddies. All the Quetzaltrekkers volunteers, new and old. Bart and his girlfriend Veronique, the owners of Via Via. That Dutch girl whose boyfriend is in jail, or something. Not to mention many of the Nicas we know. And then some additions from outside: Karina, my Duke friend working in Masaya, and a couple of her friends. And Michelle, visiting from NY, with her friend Ian.

Harry and Rufus´ house was filled with more bottles of Flor de Caña rum than pieces of furniture. The only decorations to speak of were candles with seashells as holders. There was also a cardboard box filled with vodka jello shots. And there was a cake, a delicious chocolate birthday cake.

Best of all, I bought myself a piñata. I had wanted one for the longest time. But for all the other birthdays we celebrated I was somehow denied. So I went out and bought it myself: It cost US$6. It was a multicolored clown.

After several hours of hanging out and drinking, we sang the song and cut the cake. I also made a speech, as I am prone to doing, but this one was somewhat more sprawling than my previous farewell speech.

Then came the piñata, which Ian and Harry expertly operated. I was pretty drunk at this point, so I seem to remember the piñata beating me up. It was fun though. And lots of us took swings at it. Of course, it fell to Hannah, our resident tough girl, to split that clown open and send those candies sprawling across the floor.

Altogether, I had an excellent time, happy to celebrate with friends.

What This Blog Is About

2007-06-08T13:00:00.000-04:00

This has all happened a little differently than I thought it would. I came to Central America knowing little, and at first communication was a real struggle. I´ve used this blog as a space to write about my daily life. I´m primarily writing for myself: I have the feeling that this blog, and the five journals that I´ve scribbled in, will be a great present to myself in my old age.

But of course, I´m writing for you -- my friends and family -- as well. I want to let you know a little bit about what my life is like here. And when I can, I want to explain a bit about the people of Nicaragua, their history and culture, as I encounter it.

But while I´m trying to share my experiences with you, it is tricky sometimes to know how I should write about my own emotions. Mostly I´ve been happy here, and I´m certainly very glad I came. But I´m never sure exactly what people want to hear: I get the sense that both raving and complaining get obnoxious. Yet one must speak from the heart if one is to say something important. And when it comes to emotions, the truth is always more complex anyway.

When I first arrived it was lonely, and it took me a while to make friends. I just accepted that though, for I was used to it from India. I didn´t expect much at first, but I soon found that I hungered for friendships and connections. Over the course of weeks and months, however, things fell into place with my work, my group of friends in León, and then with Kamilla. During my final weeks in León, I was having one of the great times of my life: it was really perfect for me. And luckily, my travels around Central America were also as enjoyable. Now, though, that my work is finished and my family´s visit has finished, I think I´ll struggle a bit in these last few weeks: It feels like a lot of things have passed by before this is over and I´ll have to find a way to make this period of time meaningful. Just another challenge, really. I´ll face many more when I get home and move to Chicago.

Upon departing for Nicaragua, I had visions that I would be talking to people about the Sandinista Revolution and the Contra War, the way this country is developing, and what they hope for Nicaragua in the future. I do talk about these things with people sometimes, but it is not my main focus. At first, the language barrier made that impossible; it continues to make it difficult. But more to the point, these just aren´t the things that people think about each day. They are just living their lives normal people: going to work, sending their kids to school, taking care of their family, enjoying their free time when they get it. Daily life is rarely spectacular. And so it is that I´m writing about perhaps more superficial topics: the hammocks, the frescoes, the volcanoes, the small anecdotes I come across.

And when I think about it objectively, little that I´ve written in this spaces seems that gripping to me. While nice, none of this seems essential. If you want the best adventures and observations, you´ll have to go read my mass e-mails from India. Still, I´m pleased I´ve been able to document my experiences here so extensively. When I return home, I look forward to sprucing up this blog with the links and pictures I´ve thus far deprived you of. I think the blog will be a useful tool for finalizing my reflections on Nicaragua.

I know that one day it is my great ambition to write a book that speaks to core beliefs and experiences of a people, that expresses powerfully how political and environmental changes affect communities in individuals in the developing world. I think a work such as that will take a career to produce. And I´m ready for that. Perhaps now I´m just gaining the skills (linguistic, writing, personal, etc.) to do this. For now though I am just content to write about the life I´m living, exploring this place as a 23 year-old volunteering abroad in Central America.

Eighth Book: Gioconda Belli´s ¨The Country Under My Skin¨

2007-06-07T13:00:00.001-04:00

The truth is this: It has always been books that have sent me places.

After reading Ayi Kwei Armah´s classic post-colonial novel ¨The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born,¨ I decided I needed to go to Ghana to see the place he wrote about so evocatively for myself. Similarly, when I decided last fall to move to Central America to learn how to speak Spanish, the thought of one country immediately jumped out at me. During my senior year of college, I read Gioconda Belli´s celebrated memoir about Nicaragua, ¨The Country Under My Skin.¨

And so along with wanting to go to a cheap and relatively untouristed country, and to a country where the need was very great (Nicaragua is the second poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere, after Haiti), I wanted again to see for myself a world that had once been so richly created for me in words. And so knowing little else, knowing not a soul or a word of Spanish, I bought a plane ticket for Managua.

Having lived in Nicaragua for five months now, I decided that it was time to pick up this book again and re-read it from my newly gained perspective. Belli is an award-winning poet and a Sandinista operative. This ¨memoir of love and war¨ explores the fusion between her personal journey and the turmoil of her country during the 1970s and 1980s. She is a woman with many different identities -- writer and worker, militant and mother -- and this book explores the nexus and the conflicts that arise between these strands over time. She writes passionately about clandestine operations and sensual love affairs. She tells of fallen comrades and dangerous missions. She tells of failed marriages and family struggles. And yet there is an optimistic strand that runs through this book. It is the type of joy that comes when you see another living life fully, pursuing a course with all her heart.

This time I was reading her account of Nicaragua´s political developments more closely. She had deep contact, friendships, and sometimes relations with the most powerful members of the Sandinista movement. I wanted to read her impressions of Daniel Ortega, his brother Humberto, his wife Rosario, and other members of the National Directorate more closely. She describes with great deal the divisions, personal and ideological, that arose within the Sandinistas. She also became acquainted with Fidel Castro of Cuba and General Torrijos of Panama. I was paying closer attention to her description of the battles and movements during the revolution, the impact on places like Managua, León, and the Northern Highlands. Interesting, she accuses the current President of Nicaragua Daniel Ortega (whom she knows well) of betraying the spirit of the revolution by supressing dissent and using any means available to maintain his grip on power.

One thing I like about her writing is the way she sees the connection between her political cause and her personal growth as a woman. She writes profoundly about what it meant to be a Sandinista, what it meant to devote your life to this struggle:

Were we all mad? What mystery in the human genes accounted for the fact that men and women could override their personal survival instincts when the fate of their tribe or the collective was at stake? What was it that enabled people to give their lives for an idea, for the freedom of others? Why was the heroic impulse so strong? What I found most bewildering and extraordinary was the real happiness and fulfillment that came along with commitment. Life acquired unequivocal meaning, purpose, and direction. It was a sensation of complete, utter complicity, a visceral emotional bond with hundreds of anonymous faces, an intimacy of multitudes in which any feeling of loneliness or isolation simply evaporated. In the struggle for everyone´s happiness, the first happiness one found was one´s own.

The story of the Sandinista Revolution is the story in fact of two wars: The first was a guerrilla war that culminated in 1979 by removing the Somoza dictatorship from power. But after that feeling of euphoria, of overthrowing a dictatorship that lasted 43 years, a broken country was forced again into another more costly and ruinous war. When Reagan became President in 1981, he began funding the Contras, who invaded Nicaragua from Honduras. It was only at the end of the decade that this illegal and profoundly immoral activity came to a close. The result was ruinous for Nicaragua and for the Sandinista program.

Belli describes many victories and setbacks, yetthe overall tone remains triumphant. This is a story about what it is possible to do with a life. In this vein, Belli quotes the words of an anonymous Vietnamese poet:

We fill the craters left by the bombs
And once again we sing
And once again we sow
Because life never surrenders.

(Next up: Ann Patchett´s ¨Bel Canto¨)

On Being Back in León

2007-06-06T12:00:00.000-04:00

When I first arrived in León on Sunday, I was thrilled to be back. This is, after all, my city, my home. It was such a good feeling to be walking along these streets and hanging out with my friends again. It seemed like I couldn´t go ten minutes without running into someone I knew, and everyone was so pleasantly surprised to see me again after so long. Of all the places I´ve visited in Central America on this trip, I like León the best.

But after a day or so, after that initial rush subsided, it began to feel strange. The truth is that what I loved was León the way I left it at the beginning of April. That was what I missed. The routine of my days and the feeling of complete comfort. Now it felt empty, like something was absent. Like I no longer belonged here. To be frank, it has been a bit of a disorienting experience.

And I missed people: I missed walking down the street with my girlfriend. I missed chatting in the Quetzal Trekker house with Nick and Jessica. I missed lounging in hammocks on my balcony with Allie and Janine. I missed watching Kolja´s face when he went all-in (again!) at poker. Although I still had Harry, Adam, and Rufus around, among many others, it seemed like times had passed me by a bit. There were new volunteers in old rooms, and though they all seem cool, what I lack is the same history and comfort with them.

And I missed my work, my daily trips to school on my bicycle. I missed being a part of my student´s lives, that they would look forward to seeing me everyday and I would look forward to seeing them. I missed hanging out with my friends Karla and Adela, chatting with David, or having class with Idania and Johania. When I went back to visit, the sensation was awkward even though it was great to see them again. Since I was no longer involved with their day-to-day lives, I felt like a ghost visiting from the past, half gone.

Overall, it still has been cool to be back, and to show Michelle my city. There have been great home-cooked dinners, lunches out at La Buen Cuchara, poker games, drinks at Via Via, live music at La Olla Quemada, frescos in the market, etc. But I also see that the magic that I felt here remains embedded in the memories of two months ago. It is something that cannot be recaptured.

And so this Sunday I will leave León again. Michelle and I will travel down to Ometepe for a week, and I´ll spend the remainder of June exploring Nicaragua on my own. I´ll return to León again at the beginning of July, just before I depart Nicaragua for good. But I won´t harbor the same illusions. Sometimes the beauty of an experience is that it is fleeting, and that forces one to therefore hold onto it tighter.

Seventh Book: Truman Capote´s ¨In Cold Blood¨

2007-06-05T13:00:00.000-04:00

After having watched the acclaimed film Capote, staring Philip Seymour Hoffman, I decided I ought to read the novel on which the film centers. Truman Capote´s ¨In Cold Blood¨made waves when it was first published, and it´s not difficult to see why. Although this is a work of non-fiction, it doesn´t read like it. Instead, it has the gripping feel of a thriller. Set in a rural town in Kansas in 1959, ¨In Cold Blood¨ describes the brutal murder of four members of the Clutter family, and how their killers were ultimately brought to justice.

Americans love stories about crime, and this certainly fills this need in the national psyche. I was transfixed by the scenes in the book describing the actual murders, and the following investigation, capture, interrogation, and trial of the killers. It was also interesting to track the lasting social impact of the murders on this small town. I was a little less interested by the psychological profile of Perry, on which Capote devotes much time. Nevertheless, Capote is a master of pacing; reading this book is like watching an episode of C.S.I.

As a writer of non-fiction, I am also interested in how how the authors glean their information, how they draw their informants into their confidences, particularly when the subjects can be so painful. This to me is the genius of this book: the fact that Capote successfully got the killers themselves, the investigators, the family members, and the townspeople to recreate for him the course of events that must have been very intense for them.

(Next up: Gioconda Belli´s ¨The Country Under My Skin¨)

Newsflash: Back in León and Michelle is Here!

2007-06-04T13:00:00.000-04:00

On Saturday morning, I returned to Nicaragua after a one month absence. I was excited to come back.

I proceeded from Costa Rica to the town of Masaya, where I met up with a friend from Duke, Karina. I walked around the markets with her for a while, purchasing the two hammocks I plan on bringing home. Then we hopped in a van, headed for Managua. We met up with another volunteer friend of hers, Maddy, from the States. After a big dinner and bigger conversation at a nearby fritanga, we headed out to the bars and clubs of Managua. It was my first time going out in this oft-intimidating city, so that was exciting.

The next morning, Sunday, I returned to León. Very excited to make this drive home. And who did I find on the street but my good buddies Harry and Rufus? They immediately invited me to stay in the new house they are renting. I strung up a hammock there, excited to be back among friends. The rest of the day was a blur of seeing old friends, catching up, wandering around. The rains have altered this once dry city. That night, of course, we cooked dinner and played poker: And I won 240 cordobas! Good to be back.

But most exciting of all, my good friend Michelle from Duke is here. Turns out my reports of Nicaragua have proven irresistible to her, and she came for a two week visit. First she´ll study Spanish at the Casa de Cultura (she has my same teacher, in fact!) Then we´ll head to the Isla de Ometepe next Sunday for a week of exploring Nicaragua´s famed and exotic volcanic island.

So it´s nice to be back in my adopted hometown, and I´ve got some fun things to look forward to.

Tamarindo

2007-06-01T13:00:00.000-04:00

After Arenal, we drove to Playa Tamarindo, where I spent a few relaxing days on the beach with my family. We stayed at Hotel Capitan Suizo, and its leafy gardens were set right against the water. The weather was warm and partly cloudy throughout.

There weren´t many activities to do here, so the highlights were mainly just relaxed on the beach and ate delicious seafood. We also made one day trip over to Playa Grande, which is a nesting site for leatherback turtles in the breeding season. For the most part though, it was just good to hang out with my family, as that was pretty much the point of the vacation.

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

2007-05-31T01:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-30T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-29T13:00:00.000-04:00

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.

2007-05-28T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-25T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-24T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-23T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-18T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-17T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-16T13:00:00.000-04:00

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:

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.
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.
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

2007-05-15T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-14T13:00:00.000-04:00

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¨

2007-05-10T13:00:00.000-04:00

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!

2007-05-09T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-07T13:00:00.000-04:00

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¨

2007-05-04T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-03T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-02T13:00:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-01T13:00:00.000-04:00

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.

Crossing Borders

2007-04-30T13:00:00.000-04:00

This week Kamilla and I crossed from Estelí, Nicaragua through Honduras to San Miguel, El Salvador. Now we´ll spend a few weeks traveling around El Salvador.

We decided not to take a first-class bus, instead doing the connections ourselves. It was simple and cheaper to do so, but the trip is unavoidably a long one. To break up the journey, we spent the night in the Honduran town of San Marcos ($12 for the room, $4 for dinner). Here´s how it broke down:

Estelí-Somoto -- 2 hrs. -- $1/person
Somoto-El Espino -- 0.5 hrs. -- $0.50
Leaving Nicaragua -- $2
Entering Honduras -- $3
Hitching El Espino-San Marco -- 0.5 hrs. -- FREE
San Marco-Choluteca -- 1.5 hrs. -- $1
Choluteca-El Amatillo -- 2 hrs. -- $1.50
El Amatillo-Santa Rosa -- 0.5 hrs. -- $1
Santa Rosa-San Miguel -- 1.5 hrs. -- $1.50

After crossing into Honduras, we chatted for a while with the friendly border guard. Indeed in our brief time in Honduras we were surprised by the extreme kindness of the local people. But it was getting late so we hitched a ride from the border to San Marco in the bed of a pick-up truck. The scenery was as it had been for most of the day: simply beautiful. The expansive green valley fell away before us, and we leaned back against the cab, marveling at what lay before us. The sun dipped behind the mountains in the west, lending them for a little while a golden crown.

The total cost of our trip was $7 per person (with $5 for custom´s fees); a first class bus would have been more than double that. We spread out the 8.5 hours of bus time over two days.

And so here we are, safely in El Salvador, with a new country to explore.

¡Finishing ¨El Alquimista¨!

2007-04-27T13:00:00.000-04:00

Cuando una persona desea realmente algo, el Universo
entero conspira para que pueda realizar su sueño.

Well, I´m proud to report that I´ve achieved a major goal of mine for my time here: to read Paulo Coehlo´s ¨The Alchemist¨ in Spanish. The book is titled ¨El Alquimista¨ in español; it was originally written in Portuguese but the story of course begins in Spain.

I was pretty pleased to do it, and it didn´t give me much trouble at all: I read the book in only six days. Of course it helped that I had read the book a half dozen times in English. But this, the first book I´ve read in Spanish that´s more than 200 pages long, proved to be quite an easy read. I found I only needed to look up a few words per page, instead of, say, a few words per sentence. I think I´ll now try and read other books by Coehlo in Spanish since his writing style (e.g. simple words, short sentences) is straight-forward.

And one day, perhaps, off in the future, I´ll be reading Neruda, Garcia Márquez, and Cervantez in Spanish.

A Highlands Misadventure

2007-04-26T13:00:00.000-04:00

This week I spent a few days visiting in the Northern Highlands on Nicaragua. Kamilla had to meet some friends in Managua, so I went up there alone. I visited Matagalpa, Jinotega, San Rafael del Norte, and Estelí and some rural areas and nature reserves along the way. This is the story of what happened in between.

After spending the night in Matagalpa, and climbing the next morning to the top of Reserva Natural Cerro Apante for fine views over looking the city and the surrounding mountains, I set out for Jinotega by bus. But along the way I called an audible and hopped off on a desolate stretch of the highway. I had decided I wanted to go to little-visited Reserva Natural Dantalí-El Diablo. All I knew from the guidebook was that I needed to walk down a dirt road at ´Km 146´ to Finca La Esmeralda, where I might be able to find lodging and guides for the park. I was on my own, so I figured it was worth a shot.

I hitched a ride to the turn-off, then began walking down the road with all my things. It was the middle of the day and there was no traffic. There were no towns to speak of, just solitary fincas with coffee plantations and flower gardens dotting the hillsides below. There were fine views across the valley to the green and blue hills that seemed never to end. Occasionally I passed a young campesino carrying a machete on the way to or from a farm. But I did not reach La Esmeralda. I had walked for more than an hour, and was very tired, when I spied a little town in the valley below. Perhaps this was it.

This was not it. I was in the pueblo of La Fundadora. The man sitting next to his horse on the side of the road greeted me, and I asked him about La Esmeralda. He knew it, and said it was at least another 5 km further. ¨Largissimo,¨ he told me. I must have looked strange to him, for cheles carrying all their possessions do not often foolishly decide to wander 7 km down this road to get to this small village. He told me to wait and take the one bus that was coming through in 40 minutes. It was not safe to walk alone on these rural roads, he told me, because there were many ladrones (thieves) about. I sat down on the porch of the pulperia and had a Coke and waited for the bus.

On the bus (C$7) a young campesino named Pedro greeted me, and at La Esmeralda he pulled me off the bus and led me to the Director of the Reserva Natural. I was pleased to learn that there was indeed an albergue to stay in, and that guides could take me to the park the next morning. I sat on another pulperia porch with these men for a while, and they too warned me that there were many robbers around. I began to feel uneasy in my new surroundings. I had walked the greater part of 12.5 km to get to this tiny village. I knew nothing about it. All the information in my Lonely Planet had proven unsatisfactory. And here was everyone warning me about danger lurking around.

After some time, Pedro led me up a deserted path to Finca Elizabeth, where I would be staying. Once we were alone, he stopped and pulled himself nearer to me. He then demanded that I give him as a gift 20 pesos. I felt nervous. I had seen this coming: I didn´t like the look in his eye when he was watching me. And my traveler´s instinct made me suspect the way he had attached himself to me so possessively. And now here he was demanding money. I didn´t like the fierce whisper of his voice, that look in his eyes. I looked around. The path was deserted. I began to feel very scared.

--Arregalame 20 pesos.
--¿Porque?
--Por que lo quiero.
--¿Para que?
(A pause. We stare at each other. I am very scared that he might kill me. I tell him in what must have approached a whimper that I wanted to go to the house.)

So we continued up the path. The nice girl there, Keña, showed me to a bunk in a dark and musty room. This was fine with me. Pedro and his uncomfortable stare left. I was alone there in that farmhouse though and it took me a while to calm down. I really believed that I was going to die. I´ve reflected on that fear for a while now, and it surprises me. In my four years of traveling in this manner, I can´t often recall feeling like that. I think there was a confluence of factors. For one thing, this man who one minute earlier was telling me about the presence of ladrones was then demanding money. Something about his manner (and in his eyes) made me highly uneasy. Furthermore, I have read or heard first-hand many tales recently of travelers who have been robbed or encountered violence in Central America. Writing an article for Harry and Adam´s magazine, the Leóneazy, about how to avoid getting your camera stolen in a robbery probably made me more on edge. I also felt ashamed of my fear since I often scoff at such notions as misplaced stereotypes. Yet here I was succumbing to them. It was a strange and bewildering moment for me.

I sat down to relax in the farmhouse, reading my book. A few hours later the guides came. They were young guys and very much into birds (which I guess is why people come here). Yader told me he´d take me the next morning on his motorcycle to the park. There was fierce rainstorm that night, the type of rain that one must shout over to be heard. I ate a bowl of gallo pinto in a dank hut. I had longed to see rural Nicaragua and here I was, tucked away in a tiny village, deep in the interior of the country.

We woke at six the next morning an I went with the three guides to the reserve. The ride there was on a track made muddy and slippery by the night´s storm. We swerved and skidded along the muddy path. Several times I had to hop off and run to the top of hills as Yader revved the engine to climb the hill. Along the way we passed by tiny huts and little coffee farms clinging to the steep sides of the hills. The epic ride on the motorbike reminded of a similar incident in the desert of Rajasthan, a year and a half before.

We trekked down a path and into a surprisingly dense forest. At the base of the hill we waited for an hour and looked at birds. We saw maybe a dozen species, including some related to the quetzal. You have to be really into birds for this sort of thing, which I am not, but I appreciated how much my guides were. For me, it was just peaceful to smell the morning and watch the stillness of this lush tropical forest. After we finished with the birds we took another sendero down to a raging waterfall, which must have been at least 20 meters high. It was a very worthwhile trip, especially because my guides were so affable.

Having visited to Reserva Natural, I planned to continue on to Jinotega. But I had a problem. Only one bus left for the city in the morning at 6:30 AM; I had already missed it (and only one bus returned in the afternoon.) At 9 AM, I paid for the bed (C$50) and the food (C$20) (the guiding service was free), and walked to the edge of town to try and hitch a ride out. This was possible to do, except that it was such a remote area that saw such little traffic. I sat on the edge of this dirt road on the outskirts of the little village and read. I was glad I had my book because by the time I caught a ride back to La Fundadora, the fifth ride I´ve hitched in Nicaragua, 4 hours and 18 minutes had passed.

4 hours and 18 minutes! That is by far the longest I´ve ever had to wait for a ride in my life.

And I was lucky to get it, since I could have waited 9 hours, or I could have waited for the bus the following morning. It was that remote. My body was jolted as I rode in the back of that pick-up, but I was just happy for the chance. After all, it is a deflating feeling to stand on the side of the road with your thumb out when you´ve been standing there for hours.

From La Fundadora, I still faced a several km walk back to the main Matagalpa-Jinotega highway. The day was still high and so I started off up a hill. This was all uphill. Once again, I was nervous about encountering thieves on these rural roadways. My nervousness increased when another young campesino stopped me, and warned me with that same uneasy glint in his eye about ladrones. I told him he was mistaken, that it was a safe area. No, he told me, you better hurry up. Despite myself, hurry up I did. I walked for another 5 km or so back to the main carretera, and I was exhausted and relieved when I arrived there. Not long after I got there, I hopped on a Jinotega-bound bus, my foray into the interior complete.

I´ve been thinking about what happened for a number of days now. I´ve thought about the friendly and helpful people I´ve met. And I´ve thought about the fear I had then (and still retain) and whether it´s justified. I didn´t set out to have the experience that I did have, I certainly didn´t set out to risk my own life in this way, but that´s sometimes how traveling ends up and it´s really about how you handle situations that are less than ideal. In the course of 24 hours, I was terrified and thrilled. I lost calm within myself and found it again deep in the forest. I lost and restored my faith in people. And I saw a little bit more of this country that fascinates me, and walked away having been in some small way changed by that.

The Cock Fight

2007-04-25T13:00:00.000-04:00

The first time Kolja asked me if I wanted to go to a cock fight (these are popular events in Latin America where men gamble on two fighting chickens), I told him that cock fighting was immoral and I did not want to go. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I should go to at least see what it was all about, from an anthropological perspective.

A few weeks later, my friends and I went to see a cock fight just around the corner from the school where I work. It was a Saturday night, and I went with a group of my eight closest friends. The scene really is quite remarkable to one has never seen it before. You enter through a narrow alley into a courtyard with a well-lit ring with 3 foot walls and steep metal bleachers erected all around. There were hundreds of men there in baseball caps, t-shirts, and jeans focused on a central ring; there were some women there too of course but this is primarily a masculine endeavor. The ring, perhaps 20 feet in diameter, is decorated with painted advertisements for Nicaraguan beers and Coca Cola. The ring has a sandy dirt floor, lined with wooden square on which the chickens are placed before the fight.

We grabbed our drinks and headed to the top of the bleachers. One fight was finishing and the new chickens were being brought in. The proprietor of each brings the birds from the back (where they are kept in cages and then weighed, with much fanfare. Then he sort of warms the bird up by getting him to hop around and getting him excited by waving another chicken in front of him. Small razor blades are attached to each chicken´s foot. At this point, the patrons have had a good look at the birds (their size, movements, reaction time, etc.) and begin to place bets on the fight. Of course, the owners of each bird have more at stake than anyone. Thousands of cordobas are bet on each fight: Gambling is the whole point.

Since we wanted to partake, my friends and I formed a syndicate. Four or five of us who favored the same bird and would bet 100 cordobas (20 or 25 cordobas a person) against one of the locals standing near us. This was exciting. If we disagreed amongst ourselves on the stronger bird, we might place a small 10 cordoba bet within our group of friends. Betting made this more interesting, because otherwise it´s just two birds pecking and fighting against each other. Altogether that night I won 30 cordobas, or a little less than $2, which isn´t so bad.

The fight begins with much screaming and shouting. And all of a sudden we were caught up in it too. The birds are charging at each other, pecking and ducking and clawing and scratching and moving about the ring. It´s a very professional set up with an umpire and a timer for each match. Often there was a man in the ring with a fancy video camera filming the fight. The owners and the umpire stand around watching the birds go at it. Usually it´s pretty even for the first few minutes and then one bird begins to take the upper hand. As blood starts squirting out onto the feathers and the floor, the crowd´s cheers become more intense, or more desperate.

At the point one it seems one cock has clearly won -- because the other bird has given up fighting, running away or crouching into a ball to minimize to the pain -- the birds are often picked up. At this point, you can see such things as one owner licking the blood from his chicken´s neck. Then comes what to me was the saddest part: Even though it is clear that one chicken is the victor and the other is badly, almost mortally wounded, the birds are still put out there again for a second or even a third time. It is really upsetting to watch these lop-sided attacks, where the winner claws at the loser with his beak and razor-aimed claws. The losing bird is there getting hurt badly. I just don´t see the point to it. It disgusted me.

Then the fight ends and a new batch of birds and owners enter the ring. The rhythm of the night repeats itself for hours on end. We stayed for a few fights and then left, feeling we had gotten a good sense of it. I was glad that I went to see it, but I don´t think I´ll be buying season tickets anytime soon. There was something repugnant in it to me, but I also realize that it´s not my culture and that I can´t judge it. There´s something in a cock fight that appeals to the lifestyle and outlook of the people here; of course it´s foreign to me. Still, it was sad for me to see what happened to the birds at the end of the fight. However, cock fights have been popular events in Central America for hundreds of years, and I don´t think they´re going away anytime soon.

Granada

2007-04-24T13:00:00.000-04:00

Kamilla and I just spent the week staying in Granada. The city is located an hour to the south of Managua and is an ancient colonial rival of León, the city where I was working and living for more than three months.

Granada is one of the most popular tourist destinations in Nicaragua, and it´s easy to see why: There are indeed many interesting and accessible sights in and around the city, and many fine restaurants cater to the tourist dollars. It is a pretty town, as all the colonial adobes have a fresh coat of bright paint.

But though we certainly enjoyed our time hanging out there, I´ve decided that I still like León better. There´s a certain vibe to my city that I came to know and appreciate--artsy, liberal, filled with students, with many outlets for music and art. Though not as photogenic on the surface of Granada, I found there were many meaningful pursuits that lay just underneath those worn facades.

More and more, though, I´m finding that the Nicaragua I´ve come to love has been the Nicaraguan experience I´ve forged for myself here: living in my house in León, working with my students, hanging out with my friends, interacting with the locals, riding around on my bicycle in search of frescoes, and just enjoying the rhythms and routines of daily life I´ve created for myself here.

The Laguna de Apoyo

2007-04-23T13:00:00.000-04:00

On Sunday I went to visit the Laguna de Apoyo. This is a volcanic crater lake about 20 minutes outside of Granada. It has some of the cleanest waters for swimming in Nicaragua. First by bus you climb up to and then descent the steep, jungled volcanic walls. The water is a crystal blue color and delightfully refreshing. The 360 degree panorama of the ancient volcanic cone was quite enjoyable to look at when I was swimming, kayaking, or lying on the floating dock. When I wasn´t in the water, I spent the rest of the day reading and writing in a hammock. All in all, a very relaxing day trip.

Happy Birthday, Danielle!

2007-04-20T13:00:00.000-04:00

Today, April 20, 2007, is my sister´s 21st birthday! So I want to give Danielle a little ¨shout out¨ here and wish her a happy day. I love and miss you, Schnoo!!!

The Return of Mango Madness

2007-04-19T13:00:00.001-04:00

For the last month or so, as they impatiently awaited the rainy season and endured rising temperatures, Nicaraguans have been treated to the next best thing: the mango season. It´s not such a bad trade, really. At first, only tiny, super-sweet mangoes were available. But as we´ve moved deeper into the season, you can get the bigger, more balanced ones: A couple of these guys can really fill you up for breakfast.

Those of you who followed my Indian correspondences last summer know how deeply I care for mangoes. You may remember how I fought off a troupe of hostile monkeys for the sake of my mangoes. (And if you don´t remember, the story is posted toward the bottom of this blog.) So having tasted the Indian version of the fruit, and reveled in the extended mango season on the subcontinent, I was keen but also skeptical to try the Central American counterparts: What if it just didn´t compare?

And at first, I wasn´t overly impressed. But as we have progressed here, I must say that I´m really enjoying now. I´ve had about two dozen mangoes that have been simply excellent--tasty fruit combining with a singularly messy (and thus enjoyable) eating experience. These could have been mixed in with an Indian barrel of mangoes and no one would know the difference.

So with three mangoes as a part of my daily diet, life is just a little bit sweeter.

A Bad Shave

2007-04-18T13:00:00.001-04:00

Returning from our week in Little Corn, a place with few services, I needed a shave. So one of my errands during our first morning in Granada was to stop into a unisex sala de belleza down the block from the market. I walked out with one of the worst shaves of my life. Many of you may remember my shaving travails in India: Well, this ranks right up there with the worst of them.

Entering the shop, a man pointed me to a chair. A woman placed the smock on me and I told her what I wanted. I´d never been shaved by a woman before, but I figured I would give it a shot. But after she finished trimming my beard with the electric machine, things took a turn for the worst. With the manual razor, she took 20 excruciating minutes while she fussed with my beard and mustache. Her technique was all wrong: this part of the process should take no more than five minutes. Also, she applied a cream to my face which I did not like. Worst of all, she spent her time trying to sculpt my mustache without any regard to its natural inclinations. One I stood up, I found myself paying C$40, a relatively high amount, for the worst shave I´ve had in Nicaragua.

To be honest, I think the problem was that she was a woman. Hey, I´ve got nothing against the ladies. In fact, my favorite hair cutter is a woman. But women have hair. They do not, as a general rule, have beards. And this really is the crux of the matter. Much like the 14 year old Indian boy who gave me a terrible shave last summer, this Nicaragua lady had no first-hand understanding of how hair grows onto the face of the man. How could she know? How could she know that when she tried to sculpt my mustache and make it thinner like one of her finely sculpted eyebrows, not only would this feel terrible at the time but it would also leave me itching insanely when it grew back in over the next days. No, she had no understanding of that at all.

I wish I could say that there is a happy ending to this story. But for much of the following week I was extremely itchy and irritable. And I think we all know who is responsible for that.

From now on, I am returning to the rule I originally expounded: Hayden will not be getting a shave from any barber who is not capable of growing facial hair.

Back from Corn Islands

2007-04-17T13:00:00.000-04:00

Kamilla and I just returned from five wonderful days in the Corn Islands, Nicaragua´s Carribean possessions. It was the best time.

So what I want to say to you is this: Don´t go to the Corn Islands! At least not more than two at a time.

The place is so peaceful, so untouched, that it would be a shame if a large-scale tourist industry (e.g. resorts, a service economy, etc.) spoiled the land and the culture of the local people.

We spent our entire time at Derek´s Place on Little Corn. The place was so secluded, tranquil, and beautiful that we did not want to move. The property sits on a grassy point with dozens of coconut palms. Our private cabana was made of wood and palm fronds. It sat just meters from the beach: a narrow white sand striped, lined with palms, curved around a sparkling blue ocean. To get to Derek´s Place one must walk for 20 minutes on a jungle path to the remote northwestern corner of the island. All the energy there is solar or wind, and Derek built all the structures there himself. The double room cost us $25 per night. More than any other place I´ve been, I highly recommend this.

It is the most hidden little spot one can find. I thought this would be just another beach vacation, but it was something of a completely different quality; it was as close to paradise as I´ve ever been.

So we spent our days lying on the beach reading, lying in hammocks reading, swimming in the ocean, walking around barefoot, roaming along the isolated jungle paths, making sandwiches for breakfast and lunch, eating seafood for dinner, looking up at a sky of crystal stars. More relaxing, swimming, and fun: You get the idea.

The local inhabitants are different from the majority of Nicaraguan population. They are African by descent, and speak a Carribean-accented English. They are primarily fisherfolk, and they live the way they have for centuries. Only recently has tourism become a more prominent industry. There are few connections with the mainland, and they do not naturally identify with Nicaraguan culture.

Getting there was worth the effort: A twin-propeller plane flight across Nicaragua, then a 30 minute boat ride from more developed Big Corn to Little Corn. We wandered into the little village on the island just once a day for dinner (when we weren´t dining with Derek and his delightful family.) There weren´t many provisions available (or cheap) in Little Corn so if you go I recommend you come prepared.

Sometimes in life you do something and you don´t really realize how amazing it was until the time has passed. That wasn´t the case here. In this situation we realized acutely in every moment just how special this experience was.

The Flor de Caña Rum Factory

2007-04-16T13:00:00.000-04:00

Flor de Caña, one of the world´s best rums, is a product of Nicaragua, manufactured in Chichigalpa, just one hour north of León. Incredibly, the factory offers free tours of its facilities and a free tasting for its guests. I got together with five friends (Allie, Rufus, Kolja, Adaée, and Bonnie) and made the trip one afternoon a few weeks ago.

OK, the factory tour is exceedingly boring. It´s a factory, which means it is loud and hot and smelly. We also had some difficulty hearing the Spanish-speaking tour guide over the roar of all the machines. The one interesting part of the hour-long tour was the bottling plant: Under very florescent lights, they have a series of shiny machines for washing, filling, capping, labeling, and sorting the glass bottles with different types of rum. It´s impressive to watch. For the workers this is a rather difficult and monotonous job; unfortunately, it really is the only stable large-scale chance at employment in the area.

Afterward touring the plant, my friends and I retreated to the visitor´s center with the guide. There we sampled all the different types of rum, some more than once. Our favorite was the 12 year old rum (this means its aged in barrels for 12 years.) Our guide was friendly and poured with a heavy hand.

After an enjoyable and often hilarious hour of drinking (yep, we were hammered), it was time to return to León. We started down the lane that leads to the main road, but just as we reached there, the bus roared past us. We chased after it, but only lost our shoes and got separated from each other in the process. Thankfully, Rufus and Kolja flagged down a pick-up truck and we all scrambled in the back. Allie was only half-way into the truck, perched on the running board, when the truck started moving; with a tug I hauled her in as we pulled away.

From the main highway we hopped on a León-bound bus. Eager to keep our buzz going, we all went for a quick dinner at Buen Gusto and started up a family poker game to end the night.

Si Way, Jóse

2007-04-13T13:00:00.000-04:00

I was in my first homestay one day, eating lunch with Maria. My host sister Cony walked into the kitchen, searching for something to eat. Maria began to give her a hard time about her weight, which was ridiculous because Cony is quite slender and pretty. Here´s the conversation, translated from Spanish:

Maria: Oh, gorda, why do you want to eat something? You´re getting fat!
(Cony just ignored her mother´s uncalled for nagging.)
Maria: Hayden, don´t you agree with me that she´s getting fat?
Me: No, no I don´t.
Cony: Of course she is, just look at her.
Me: No way, Jóse.
Maria: Huh?
Me: In my country when we disagree absolutamente, we sometimes say the phrase no way, Jóse. ¨No way¨ means claro que no and ¨Jóse¨ is of course just a name.
Maria: Oh, I get it. Si way, she´s getting fat.
(Cony rolled her eyes and I just laughed.)

Let the Traveling Begin!

2007-04-12T15:42:00.000-04:00

My time in León has come to an end. I´ll be traveling now until I return to the States on July 3. If you want to try to keep track of me (this is probably a futile endeavor), here´s a run-down of what I think I´ll be up to:

April 12-17: Corn Islands with Kamilla
April 17-24: Granada with Kamilla
April 24-May 1: Estelí and Northern Highlands
May 1-May 23: El Salvador with Kamilla
(UPDATE: México with Kamilla from May 9-22)
May 24-June 2: Costa Rica with my parents
June 3-10: Back in León with Michelle and friends
June 10-15: Isla de Ometepe with Michelle
June 15-30: Solo adventure on the Rio San Juan
July 1-3: Last days in León

My Farewell Address

2007-04-11T13:00:00.000-04:00

For my final night in León, I got together with some friends. Nine of us cooked up a big dinner together: tortilla chips and bean dip to start, then orange chicken and soy sauce, served on rice with carrots and broccoli. After our meal and beers, we headed out to La Olla Quemada for one last night of live music. But before we ate, I made a little speech to my friends at the dinner table.

Me: I have prepared a speech.

Hannah: Shouldn´t you be naked?

[I pretend to take off my shorts; the room gasps in fear.]

Me: I had prepared a speech for you all, based on the Roman Empire´s system of aqueducts, with the general theme being that what doesn´t kill you makes you stronger... unless you die. But I´m willing to set aside that topic in the interests of brevity.

Well, I want you to know I could have done this without you...

[Laughter.]

...but it was much more fun this way.

[Laughter and cheers.]

To my friends!

My Easter in Nicaragua

2007-04-10T13:00:00.000-04:00

Sunday April 8th was Easter Sunday. For me, it was quite interesting to observe what transpired in the city on that day. Really the whole week had been one of relaxation and celebration for the local people, but this Sunday was undoubtedly the pinnacle. The city had a special, festive atmosphere and it was cool to be here to see this.

Morning mass:

I went with my friends Nick and Jessica to mass in the cathedral, the largest in Central America. The place was beautifully decorated with bunting and candles, and a large sculpture of Jesus and Mary stood to one side of the altar. A choir filled the cavernous space with music. After the prayers, the bishop made a sermon to the congregation about the meaning of Easter. Then red-robbed altar boys carried large candlesticks down the aisle and Catholics went to take communion. One of the sweetest parts of the service to me was near the end, when the strangers in the different pews wished each other a Happy Easter with soft touches of the hand and soft voices. There was something pure and kind in that moment that really moved me.

The procession:

Each barrio in León is defined by its iglesia, and our house falls within the district of Iglesia Calvario, one of the most vibrantly painted churches in the city. Each church has its own procession, its own way of celebrating the holy week. The Sunday procession from Calvario started out at 5 PM. The cool thing for Harry and I was that this wasn´t just any parade to us; this was a parade through our neighborhood, right past our street. It felt like home to us.

The streets surrounding the church were packed with people: spectators observing the parade, people waiting in colorfully decorated homes, vendors selling cold water, snacks, and cotton candy, and people marching alongside the float and band. When the float carrying a life-sized statue of Jesus finally lurched forward to start, the band struck up a joyful tune. The float moved slowly through the streets, pausing at each house that was decorated with streamers and balloons. These were the families that were asking something from the Lord this year.

As the float approached our position (we were standing on a high wall that lines one side of our street), it neared a sawdust carpet that had been painstakingly laid on the road before us. This was a 10 foot by 8 foot multi-colored portrait of Jesus in colored sawdust, surrounded by a host of similar religious objects depicted in sawdust. Before the parade got underway, the crowds were careful to avoid disturbing it. But it is customary for the procession to walk through it, thus ruining the picture in an act of destruction I found rather beautiful.

Later that night the procession looped back past our street again. The sky had darkened, and only two glowing statues (for Jesus and Mary) stood out in the night, above the heads of the people.

After the parade had past, Harry and I sat on the front steps for a while with our host family, chatting and joking together. We´ve both come to feel that there is no better place to live in León.

Easter dinner with friends:

After the procession, my friends and I gathered at the Quetzal Trekkers house for an Easter Sunday dinner. Hannah took the role of head chef, cooking up a delicious feast like those she used to eat in England. There was shepherd´s pie (mashed potatoes and beef filling), cabbage, carrots, onions, and a host of other vegetables, warmly baked bread, and real wine. It was very tasty. We had an incredible 16 people around the table to enjoy the good food, laughter, and photos. (It reminded me a lot of our famous October Thanksgiving dinner in Dunedin, NZ.) I think this was actually my first Easter dinner, and I enjoyed sharing it with all my friends: indeed it felt like we were a big family.

And afterward, what better way to celebrate the resurrection of the Lord then with a family poker game!

Our Poker Addiction

2007-04-06T13:00:00.000-04:00

My friends and I are, as a group, absolutely addicted to poker. I suppose the first step is admitting we have a problem. But really we don´t see it as a problem. We see it as a really fun activitiy that we all do together practically every night.

This is No Limit Texas Hold´em and the buy-in is 100 cords. Normally our table is between six and ten players. On occassion we´ve had 15 or 16 people come by, so we´ve started up a second table. But on average we have eight or nine regulars. At the table we´ve naturally identified each friend´s betting strategy and distinctive way of speaking; we spend lots of time playfully making fun of one another through imitation.

We played our first game on March 1. Over the next five weeks, we played 15 times. The pinnacle of run was Samana Santa when we played poker seven times in nine days; previously we were only playing twice a week (Mondays and Thursdays). On this Friday of Semana Santa, we played for six hours on the beach at Playa Roca. We all loved this since it provided with extraordinary ocean views and a steady supply of beer while we played. (Since it was windy, we used shells I collected to hold down the cards.)

I kept track of my winnings and after 15 games, I finished 65 cordobas ahead. (I spent, of course, way more than 65 cordobas on liters of beer and late-night hamburgers.) I consider this whole experience an extremely cheap and extremely fun poker education.

Aside from being unable to stop playing (our games last a minimum of four hours and have occasionally gone into the wee hours of the morning), poker language was also infiltrated the rest of our lives. Here are some examples of poker speech:

--Kolja: Hey, ja, can I buy-into this pasta dinner?

--Adam: So I was out at the bar and I was just talking to this girl and then all of a sudden she just dragged me out onto the dance floor.
--Me: So you just checked to her and then she raised you. Nice move.

--Rufus: Well, boys and girls, this has been emotional. I think it´s time for another cup of tea. Jump on in, boys and girls, the water is literally warm.
--Nick: I call.

Volcán Cerro Negro

2007-04-05T13:00:00.000-04:00

On Thursday I climbed my third volcano in Nicaragua. Cerro Negro is a 726-meter steaming black mountain that sits in the middle of tranquil agricultural land. It´s only an hour by León by bus. What makes Cerro Negro unique is that it is an extremely young (and therefore active) structure, first erupting in 1850. It can blow again at any time.

I went with my friend Janine (a Quetzal Trekkers guide with whom I´ve hiked all my volcanoes), her father, and a new guide named Hillary. I had prepared all the supplies for our trip, so I was excited to be more involved in the planning.We set out from León at 5 AM. By 6:30 AM we walking on the trail towards the mountain. But by 7:30 AM or so we were completely lost in the woods.

At that point we abandoned the path and just started bush-whacking through the brush, headed directly for the mountain. Janine was like, ¨OK, Hayden, why don´t you just lead?¨ This assured that we would arrive at our destination (and indeed we did), though the way I do things -- walking over hills, under tree limbs, and through the bush without much regard for what´s in my way -- it meant we were all scuffed up and a bit tired by the time we actually reached the base of the volcano. (Indeed, when we finally emerged on the path, we met two campesinos on horses carrying rifles; we asked them which way the sendero was and then promptly got lost again.)

Our time on the volcano went more normally. It only takes 45 minutes to summit, yet once inside the main crater there is so much active volcanic material to hold your attention. The steam coming out of the vents, sulphurous and smelly, gives a extra-planetary feeling to the place. The top of this black mountain was surprisingly multi-colored, with yellow, red, and green material deposits mixed in with the white calcium ash. It is really something to stand in the middle of a crater of an active volcano.

We then followed the trail up the lip of the crater to the very peak, where there were fine views of dried lava fields meeting the surrounding countryside. The day was a bit overcast, thankfully, and the clouds kept us cool. Around this time I was stung by a bee on my neck, but Janine came to my rescue by removing the stinger. We paused for a moment to enjoy the views but our earlier digressions from the path didn´t leave us with much free time.

Cerro Negro is unique because you can just run down the slopes to the bottom, and that´s what we did. (It´s also possible to surf down. If you´re crazy, you can take your bicycle and set the land speed record for a bicycle ride: see the video posted earlier on this blog.) The angle is 45 degrees, and mentally it seems impossible to run down it. But as you start striding you create a mini-avalanche of gravel. Really it´s just a small slide of stones, and you kind of run on top of that, as if you were on an escalator. It´s really one of the most peculiar feelings, running down the side of steep volcano. For most people, it´s lots of fun; for me it was a little terrifying. The others waited down at the bottom for me to arrive.

From there it was a brisk walk back to the town of La Rota, evading another angry bees nest and with a bit more bush-whacking. From there we caught the 12:30 PM bus back to León. We were all so exhausted from the effort (and the lack of sleep, I was playing poker until 12:30 AM the night before!) that we passed out on the way home. We didn´t have time to eat our sandwiches, so I did that while I cleaned the black volcanic rocks out of my shoes.

Last weekend, Harry decided this volcano most suited my personality (because I was extremely volatile). And indeed I had a great time up there: It is a starkly beautiful thing, and fun to climb. I was also so impressed with my companions, especially Janine´s father who, despite being a few years our elder, really rocked that thing. And Hillary did Cerro Negro without shoes (only sandals) AND without complaining! Most of all, it was just fun to hike another volcano with my friend Janine before she heads back to Chicago.

It´s kinda a cool feeling to return home at 1:30 in the afternoon and realize that you already hiked a volcano that day: makes you feel like you´ve deserved a chocolate.

Getting Hotter

2007-04-04T13:00:00.001-04:00

Over the past month, the weather has seriously gotten hotter. It´s the middle of Semana Santa we are all praying for the rainy season to start: all we´ve had so far is a couple of teasing drops. The air is humid and oppressive, and sometimes there are very aggrevating water shortages in the city. Most of all, it´s extremely draining to be outside during the middle of the day. It will be a few more weeks of torment before the rains begin.

The People I´ve Met

2007-04-03T13:00:00.000-04:00

I´ve got a little secret. The truth of the matter is that I like living in a place much more than I like traveling through one. You get to know people, and over the course of my travels in the developing world I´ve enjoyed the feeling of having a routine, seeing the same people each day, and crafting a relationship with them. They aren´t friends, exactly -- I´ve made lots of Nica friends through my work and through other friends -- but these are people with whom I share an experience on an almost-daily basis, and it´s a joy for me to forge a relationship with them. Here are some of my favorite characters from my time living in León:

Flor de Maria:

Flor de Maria is the proprietor of a small fritanga around the corner from my house. She´s a middle-aged woman, a little thin, but always with a smile. I used to go to her a lot in February, the first month I was living in my new house. The food she makes is simply delicious. Her table is laid-out like a buffet: I always ate two spoonfuls of gallo pinto, three pieces of grilled beef in a tomato sauce; if I was feeling really hungry, I might have a pollo fritter. All really good. And cheap: My normal meal cost only C$12, which is unbeatable.

I was for a while her most devoted customer, and brought Harry with me a bunch too. But as time went on I started going there a little less often: The reasons were that I started cooking for myself in my kitchen, and then I started cooking a lot with my friends too. This left sometimes only one night a week to patronize Flor´s establishment. I felt a little like I deserted her, especially since she was sick and having a rough time. Flor works as hard as any person I´ve met: In addition to cooking for her fritanga each night, she cleans clothing in the morning to make a little extra money. We used to chat a lot, and I liked having a friendly face down the block. She´s an avid church-goer and used to speak often of her children. We tried to stop in whenever we could, but it was hard to know that she was struggling a bit these last few months.

Favio Vega:

Those who read my correspondence from India know how I appreciate a good barber. I need I can trust, someone friendly and capable, to cut my beard once a week. Favio Vega is that man. I first passed his shop on a run through a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of town. He did a good job, and was excited to meet me because I could help him with his English. So I came once a week for a shave and taught him a few words and corrected his pronunciation of those he knew at the same time. He so appreciated the help that he only charged me C$10 for a shave instead of the usual rate, C$25. Very friendly guy and a good barber too.

Veronica:

Veronica is my favorite lady who makes frescoes in the market. Obviously, this alone makes her very important to me. She always asks me how I´m doing and we chat a little. She also gets excited for me if she has melón fresco for me that day because she knows I like it. One day we sat down together and made a list of all the possible frescoes and talked about her favorites. Even though I sometimes visit the other ladies if they have the flavors I like best, I am always sure to stop in and talk with Veronica as well.

Rudy:

Rudy is the Internet guy at the Casa de Cultura, where they have the best rates in town. Since I work there, it´s pretty convenient for me. He´s always got a friendly greeting and I enjoy seeing him.

The old lady at La Buena Cuchara:

This lady cooks up the best food in town everyday for lunch. The fish, frijoles, and frescoes are outstanding. In addition, she´s one of the sweetest characters in the city, always with a smile and a bit of conversation. Also, a couple of times I haven´t had the correct change and she´s let me pay the next day. It is just nice to go to a quiet place between work, sit in the quiet garden, and eat delicious food. It´s always nice to see her.

The ladies at the Green Door Comedor:

These sisters own a very nice establishment not far from my house. When I wasn´t eating lunch at La Buena Cuchara, I ate here. They had a good variety, and lunch came with a free fresco. Most of all, they always had a smiley greeting and chided me for being absent. During my last week in León, I popped in for lunch and to say goodbye to them. The sisters insisted on a picture: First one of the two of them, then one of them and me, then the other of me and then. But when this second sister went to take the photo, she held the camera the wrong way and took a photo of herself instead while we watched!

Guadelupe:

Guadelupe is a small lady who walks around León selling bags of cookies. She makes a daily route that includes the market, the Quetzal Trekkers house, and Via Via; this means I´m bound to run into her several times a week. She´s got one of the hardest jobs in the city, I think, but always is in good spirits, waving her bags of cookies and carrying her bucket on her arm. Luckily, some of my friends like the cookies and she sells to them. Even though I don´t like them that much and thus don´t usually buy them, I always say hi to her.

Semana Santa Schedule

2007-04-02T13:00:00.000-04:00

Semana Santa is the Easter holy week. Having finished my work, there wasn´t much to do but soak up the cultural events in the city and hang out with my friends. Here´s a look at my daily schedule:

9:30 AM: Wake up, perhaps mildly hung over
10 AM: Go to the market to buy food & check Internet
11 AM: Hang out and make lunch with my girlfriend Kamilla
5 PM: Hang around in my hammock for an hour or so
6:30 PM: Wander over to Quetzal Trekkers to cook dinner with my friends
8 PM: Start playing poker
1 AM: Finish playing poker for the night

So basically hanging out during the day, cooking dinner, and playing poker at night. Not bad. Special events included live music at El Divino Castigo on Tuesday, our Friday poker game at the beach, followed by the beach party and wet t-shirt contest at La Perla Negra. Sunday, of course, focused on the Easter celebrations in León.

So it was a great week and I´m having a lot of fun. This is, I must confess, a bit strange to me. When I came to Central America in January, I wasn´t expecting to have much fun. I thought I´d learn a lot and see a lot and feel challenged. And that´s how it was, at first. But I met some cool people, and my life just gradually got more and more social. I don´t regret the decision to pursue this lifestyle, or to deviate from the type of experience I suspected I´d have. Rather, I think that this type of experience is something I needed. I didn´t have a very social time when I was living in India; nor did I when I was working as a substitute teacher at home. So it feels good to get back to life: to have friends, to go out, to have fun. I´m really enjoying it.

My Last Day Volunteering

2007-03-30T13:00:00.000-04:00

This Friday was my final day as a volunteer in León, ending what has been two enjoyable months of work. I felt ready to be done, especially since my motivation has been lagging and the Semana Santa break has arrived. At the same time, I´m happy that I´ve built some meaningful relationships with my students and helped out in a small way. It´s surprising to me: I came here to teach but ended up learning more from my students, just observing how they faced their difficult lives with courage.

My attention has now turned to my upcoming travels--three months of moving about Central America and trying to understand this place in a different fashion. It is certainly bittersweet to leave, since the people I´ve met are really special.

At Proyecto Rocas:

They threw me a little party to thank me for the two months I spent working there. It felt nice to be recognized. One cool thing was that the kids performed their dances and songs for me. Since they practice those in the evening and I only work at the project in the morning, this gave me a good chance to finally see what they´d been up to. It was very impressive to watch, and great to see them enjoying themselves. Then we served up cake and coke for the kids, and everyone from the project was there to enjoy it. The kids always get a bit festive (wild?) at these parties, and we took several pictures of my face covered in cake. I rode back into town as a dozen kids ran and waved behind me.

At Las Tias:

I had a great last week with the kids, singing songs and playing games. The good news is that my friend Nick is going to take over my class, so the kids will have some continuity in their English studies. Nick and his girlfriend Jessica are here volunteering for a month, and they´re UNC grads from the Triangle, so it´s been fun to get to know them.

At the Casa de Cultura:

My adult students and I threw ourselves a nice party on Friday afternoon, complete with refreshments, snacks, local delicacies, and cookies. It was fun to just sit there and chat and listen to music. I tried to give them a few tips about how they could continue to study without me. We´ve covered most of the grammar, so it´s just a matter of expanding the vocabulary and getting practice. American movies and TV shows offer an opportunity to hear the language spoken. It was great to develop friendships with my students and learn about their lives. One lady sang me her favorite song that we translated into English together. We also joked about everything that happened in the course. I really enjoyed how teaching the class allowed me to make friends.

As I rode home Friday afternoon, my path was obstructed by a large procession. This marked the beginning of Samana Santa, the holy week. The crowd hovered around a float that had one large figure of Christ. It was as if he was floating above the people. The band played a mournful tune, and the music hung in the air above us. The sun, setting in the West, bathed the people and procession crowding the street in light.

My time in Nicaragua is roughly half over, or roughly half begun. I´m done volunteering and am looking forward to my travels.

Yet Another Bicycle Story

2007-03-29T13:00:00.000-04:00

I have a flatmate named Harry. He also has a bicycle. Here´s what happened to him one morning:

Harry was riding around town, doing some errands. While inside one shop, he left his bicycle outside against the wall. When he came out, the bicycle was gone. He looked around and spotted it lying in the middle of the road up the street. Next to the bicycle a Nicaraguan girl was lying on the ground, crying.

Harry went up the girl and asked her what was wrong. She didn´t answer him. So he walked across the street and asked some people sitting on the curb.

Harry: What happened here?
The people: That girl was drunk and trying to riding the bicycle but she fell off and started crying.
Harry: Yes, but that´s my bicycle.
The people: Ohhhh.

Turns out a drunk girl tried to steal his bicycle but lost her balance and fell off so she lay there crying in the middle of the road instead!

Perplexed, Harry picked up his bicycle and went on his way.

The Week of Too Much Fun

2007-03-28T13:00:00.000-04:00

Allie: All this fun isn´t free.
Me: Si, but it is worth it.

My friends and I had a period of time here in March which we now refer to as ¨the week of too much fun.¨ That´s when we went from having a nice time together to a special time together. We all kinda realized how great it was at the same time, and came to appreciate it since we know we´d all be leaving soon.

The main culprits were my friends Harry, Allie, Adam, Janine, and I. In addition, we´ve chilled a lot with our other friends here in León.

It all began on our trip to Volcán Cosigüina one Friday morning. That weekend included volcano climbs, camping on the beach, swimming in the ocean, a soccer match against Nicas, bathing in hot springs, and playing lots of games. When we returned to León on Sunday afternoon with a busload of Sandinistas, we roamed around the city that evening and attended a political rally of Hugo Chavez and Daniel Ortega.

The next week didn´t let up: There were two poker nights, two group dinners (cooking an enormous pot of pasta in my kitchen), two movie nights (¨All the King´s Men¨ and ¨Blood Diamond,¨ the latter of which we all loved), and a couple crazy nights out at the bar. If this tally seems to exceed a normal week´s worth of fun, it´s because we sometimes doubled up. We were drinking and laughing every night. We were always together, always up for everything. I liked that.

Then Friday we went out to Via Via as normal. On Saturday my friends at Quetzal Trekkers through a massive party to celebrate their second anniversary. Both nights we also went clubbing at Don Señores and Las Estrellas, and that´s when things got really crazy. It´s a bit hard to explain how unless you know all the personalities, and it´s probably for the best if the details remain obscure. Suffice it to say, it´s hard for me to remember two back-to-back nights out so filled with hilarious dramatics. In between, of course, Allie and I went to the beach and swam in the Pacific, so blue and vast.

Sunday we were more or less exhausted from a week of non-stop action, but we got together to make guacamole and a stew for lunch. After a goodbye drink for our friend Taylor, we reconvened on my balcony late that evening, marveling at what a wild time we had just experienced. Things couldn´t have been better.

Get Naked: My Theory of Clothing Here

2007-03-27T13:00:00.000-04:00

Don´t you hate pants? --Homer Simpson

Answer: Yes, I do hate pants.

In fact, truth be told, I´m really not that fond of any clothing. Sure, I concede that in civilization it is a necessity since otherwise many people would feel uncomfortable and no one would get anything done. But, really, when you live in a place that´s 95 degrees every day and 70 degrees every night, too much clothing feels like a burden.

So I´ve worked up a general theory of clothing in tropical areas. It´s simple: The fewer articles of clothing I wear, the happier I am. This probably isn´t a post that will please the puritans out there, but my logic is undeniable. Just take a look at the type of activities I do when compared with the number of articles of clothing. While I should never be taken too seriously, this is a rough model for utilizing appropriate technology in tropical areas. Whenever you are confused I suggest consulting the following list:

Zero: The ideal state. Activities: Sleeping (fan on my body, wrapped up in a sheet), sex (obviously), showering (given this heat, the shower is a refuge and a blessing), swimming (naked in the ocean).

One: This generally takes the form of mesh shorts only, no shirt or underwear. Activities: Lying in my hammock studying, chatting with friends in my balcony, swimming in the ocean, running barefoot on the beach.

Two: Shorts and t-shirt. Activity: Riding my bicycle to the fritanga to pick up dinner and a fresco. NOTE: Long pants simply do not make sense in this climate. The only time to wear them is when going into air conditioned spaces like the movie theatre and the dance clubs.

Three: Shorts, underwear, t-shirt. My default setting for participating in society. Activities: Teaching English classes, going to the market, going out to bars and clubs with my friends, etc.

INTERRUPTION FROM MY FRIEND HANNAH:
Q: Wait, what about shoes?
A: Good question, Hannah. Shoes are very important. After all, there may be broken glass on the ground. And as enjoyable as it may be, if you walk without shoes in certain areas you may get parasitic worms. That´s no joke. Naturally, sandals are preferable to shoes at all times. Shoes that must be worn with socks should be avoided in this climate.

Four: Sometimes, however, you must wear socks. Like when you are climbing a volcano. That is probably the only time socks are acceptable.

Anything more than four: Cold climates will not be discussed on this blog!

Posting on Janine´s Blog

2007-03-26T13:00:00.000-04:00

Janine, one of my closest friends here in León, also has a blog. We decided to guest post on each other´s blogs; she´ll be adding something here quite soon. To read my description of her killer dance moves, and to read other insights from her point of view of our life here in Nicaragua, check out Janine´s blog here.

Revisiting the Mines of Rajasthan

2007-03-23T13:00:00.000-04:00

Many of you may remember my op-ed dealing with GRAVIS´ work on child labor issues in the mines surrounding Jodhpur.

This is one topic that´s very important to me, one that´s not going away any time soon. For that reason I´m always pleased to find additional articles, blogs, and postings that deal with the conditions of child laborers in the mining industry of Rajasthan.

Who´s Your Hero?

2007-03-22T13:00:00.000-04:00

Harry and I had an interesting debate last weekend. We were talking about our favorite film heroes and found ourselves in disagreement. He, being British and all, said James Bond was the ultimate protagonist, while I, being an American, selected Indiana Jones.

We spent a long time drinking liters of Victoria and going over the pros and cons. I must admit that James Bond is rather good at driving fast cars and wooing beautiful women while saving the world from destruction.

But still here I am at age 23 trying to base my life on Indy: After all, don´t you remember that time in India when I battled the Nazi henchmen in the pit of snakes in order to recover the stolen idols?

A Six Year Old Assassin

2007-03-21T13:00:00.000-04:00

There´s a little boy at Proyecto Rocas named Maynor. He´s six years old. He´s got a big head, thin little limbs, and an enormous smile. He is easily the most amusing kid there. He´s gotten into the habit of taking his pencil out of his bookbag, pretending it´s a gun, and shooting at me like he´s the police and I´m a villian. When he does this, I convulse and slump over like I´ve just been shot. Sometimes he hides behind the chairs shouting at me for minutes. He makes little shooting sounds with his mouth. Sometimes he does elaborate fighting style karate moves on the floor for minutes. This totally cracks me up. Then I pick him up, take him back to his seat, and watch as he copies the number ¨4¨ and the letter ¨M¨ over and over again.

One day my friend Marcus, the other volunteer at the project, found Maynor hiding behind a door, pencil-gun poised in his little hands:

Marcus: Maynor, ¿que haces?
Maynor: Voy a matar a Hayden.

The Reality of My Students´ Lives

2007-03-20T13:00:00.000-04:00

Cristobal is one of my students at Las Tias. She´s a clever, cute little girl with dimples and bangs. Her favorite animal is the butterfly and she is absurdly good at jacks. She has a sweet demeanor and I always look forward to seeing her. Only sometimes, however, am I reminded of the daily difficulties my students (so smiley and playful in class) often face. This conversation really hit home with me, especially because she responded in her usual delightful way, for this is completely normal for her.

In English:
Hayden: Hello Cristobal!
Cristobal: Hello!
H: How are you?
C: I am fine, thank you. And you?
H: I am also fine.
C: Nice to meet you.
(We shake hands.)
H: And how old you are, Cristobal?
C: I am... nine... years old.

Then in Spanish:
H: Nine? I thought you were eight years old.
C: My birthday was last week.
H: When?
C: On the 12th of March.
H: Oh, well, happy birthday.
C: Gracias.
H: Entonces, did you do anything special for your birthday?
C: Nope.
H: Nothing? No party with friends or family?
C: Nothing.
H: Not in your house or at school?
C: Nope.
H: Why not?
C: ¡Somos pobres!

Remembering Sundari Bai

2007-03-19T13:00:00.000-04:00

This weekend I received some sad news. Sundari Bai, the cook at GRAVIS and a close friend of mine from my time in India, past away last week from cancer. She lived a full life, and will be dearly missed by her family and everyone at the organization.

Upon hearing the news, I wrote these words of recollection to Prakash. I´d like to honor Sundari Bai´s memory by sharing them here:

Dear GRAVIS,

I am writing to express my condolences regarding the passing of Sundari Bai. She was an important member of the GRAVIS family, having been with the organization almost since its inception. More significantly, she embodied the character and values of this organization, and her presence there -- quiet but strong -- will be greatly missed. To Shanti Bai, Prem, and the rest of Sundari Bai´s family, I´d especially like to express my condolences, as surely this is a very sorrowful and difficult time for them.

I first met Sundari Bai in July 2005, on my first day at GRAVIS. During the ten months I spent there as a Research Assistant, I became very close to her. We couldn´t communicate very much in Hindi, but I think we both felt that our bond was deeper than words. And this was one of the great lessons of my time in India: No matter what our differences, there is something strongly human that binds us together. And everyone -- no matter what their life experience or background -- has something to contribute.

I have so many memories of her, from the first meal I ate at GRAVIS to my very last day in Jodhpur. During my first week, Sundari Bai would sometimes come into my room to check on me, and marvel at all the strange objects (the alarm clock, the plastic toothbrush holder) strewn out on my bed. I particularly remember one time for some reason I needed to fill a very large pot with boiling water, and how she helped me, and how we did this quietly but together, and how much I enjoyed sharing that little moment with her.

Most vividly, perhaps, I remember my last days in Jodhpur. As a goodbye present she bought me a new shirt; I knew this was no small cost for her and I think I only fully understood then, as I was leaving, how we had grown to care about each other, how indeed I had come to love her. Saying goodbye to her made leaving difficult. She was a special presence in my life in India. Since I left the country, I have often missed having her around. I will never forget her.

It is also important to mention that she was very dedicated to her work with GRAVIS. Sundari Bai was a wonderful cook, and she kept the house and office running smoothly. I came to see her as one of the people that sustained us as an organization. Her presence at GRAVIS was a constant: There was the sure sweep of her red skirt above her bare feet on the floor, her capable hands, and her knowing smile. Although this is a sad time now, I know that my life -- and indeed all of ours who knew and cared for her -- has been enriched by her presence.

With regards,
Hayden

My Nicaragua: By The Numbers

2007-03-16T13:00:00.000-04:00

It gives me much pleasure to reintroduce my popular summary of my traveling experiences by the numbers. Here´s a little numerical slice of Nicaragua:

The country
Population of Nicaragua: 5.1 million
Population of León: 185,000
Average daily temperature: 95 degrees

Costs in dollars
Monthly rent: $70
Montly bicycle rental: $25
Hammock purchase: $5

Costs in cordobas
Echange rate: $1 = C$18 (cordobas)
Movie ticket: C$30-8
One hour bus ride to Chinandgega: C$11
Internet (per hour): C$8-10
Speed of Internet in León: Purty fast
Phone call to America (per minute): C$1

Costs of food in cordobas
Lunch in a comedor: C$25-30
Dinner at the fritanga of Flor de Maria: C$12
One liter beer: C$30 in a bar (C$24 in a pulperia)
One liter bottle of Flor de Caña rum: C$130
Medium-sized pineapple: C$8
Avacado: C$5
Plastic bag of fresco from the market: C$5
Plastic bag of plantain chips: C$2
Plastic bag of water: C$1

My trip, my life here
Months in Nicaragua: 2.5 down, 3.5 to go
Jobs I have here: 3
Classes I teach a week: 15
Times I cook a week: 3
Times I check e-mail a week: 6
Frescoes I drank this week: 21!
Movies seen so far: 5
Poker games so far: 4
Buy-in to our poker game: C$100
Nights we normally go out drinking in a week: 3
Nights we went out drinking this week: Umm, all of them
How much fun it was: Umm, a lot
Volcanoes climbed: 2
Distance from León to the beach: 20 km
Time it takes to cycle out there: 1 hour
Trips to the beach: Every Saturday

Health
Weight: 160 lbs.
Weight lost so far: 0 lbs.!
Day in the country on which I started drinking the local water: 3
Illnesses caused by food or relating to stomach problems: 0!

Bicycle Trick

2007-03-15T13:00:00.000-04:00

I know this isn´t particularly difficult to do, but one thing I´ve taught myself here is how to ride a bicycle with no hands. It´s takes a little bit of balance, and also building up a little bit of speed. Arms spread open wide--reaching for the wind. But now I´m able to ride all the way to the end of the block without touching the handlebars and as a result I´m enjoying showing off my new-found skill around town.

Speaking More, Reading More

2007-03-14T13:00:00.000-04:00

I´ve been studying Spanish for a little more than two months, and I´m pleased to report that I´m making some progress. Over the past month or so, I´ve felt myself becoming a bit more comfortable with the language. I´m happily past the point of just getting by, and I´m now able to hold long conversations. There may be words I want to say that I don´t know, or I may mix up my endings, or attempt grammatical structures I don´t know how to use, or make other errors, but I am generally able to make myself understood. Not a bad feeling.

This is the result of much studying and practice: I took classes for three weeks at the Casa de Cultura here in León, then studied on my own every day by borrowing two Spanish textbooks. When I finished with those, I made long lists of things to remember. But perhaps most importantly, I´ve had the daily practice of living in this country.

And here comes the fun part: It´s hard to maintain one´s motivation when swatting at a textbook or in four hour Spanish session. It´s much more fun to simply have conversations with people, or to read a book or newspaper. And that´s what I´m doing now. I´ve got a bunch of Nica friends from work and school and other places in the city. Last week I went out on a date and we spoke two hours--entirely in Spanish! I´ve also borrowed a young adult novel from one of my schools and am slowly making my way through that. It´s a story about a caveman who refuses to hunt and becomes a vegetarian because he believes killing is wrong: seriously. It´s much more enjoyable to learn this way--by making friends and reading stories.

So perhaps I speak Spanish now, but poorly. I´ve still got a long way to go to where I want to be; indeed I wouldn´t even consider myself conversant yet. I´ve got more time still. And each day it gets easier, and more enjoyable, to learn this language with my new friends here.

The Political Rally: Chavez and Ortega

2007-03-13T13:00:00.000-04:00

Returning from Cosigüina, my friends took an hour or two to get showered and changed before we all met up to attend the political rally that night. At sunset we wandered down to León´s parque central where a large crowd had gathered. They were anticipating the arrival of El Presidente, Daniel Ortega of Nicaragua, and his ally Hugo Chavez of Venezuela.

It took a while for the two leaders to arrive, and while we waited I wandered through the center of town with my friends. We were talking a lot about our weekend hiking the volcano while we searched out delicious street food. The street food continues to be one of my favorite parts of Nicaragua, and I ate two spoonfuls of gallo pinto and a fritter of rice and chicken. I washed that down with some plastic bags of cold water. Then we got slices of watermelon and pineapple. The meal cost 11 cordobas while the water is 1 cordoba a bag. That´s well under a dollar. This to me is one of the biggest differences with America. If you go out to a concert, street fair, or similarly themed event in the States, it is prohibitively expensive to buy food and drinks on the street. Here it´s so easy and cheap. I just love living here.

Four of us were sitting on a park bench when suddenly a siren heralded the arrival of the heads of state. I´d never seen a president live before, so this was exciting. A large crowd had gathered in front of the cathedral, and the two men popped out of their jeep, and began climbing the steps. The crowd, a mix of bodyguards, aides, photographers, ecstatic supporters, excited young locals, and voyeuristic tourists, swarmed around the pair and into the church. Naturally, we followed: it was like being sucked in by the undertoe of the ocean.

Inside, the scene was madness. This is the largest cathedral in Central America, but people were running and shouting and shoving like it was a playground. Some people were climbing on top of religious objects and statues or hurdling pews: desperate for a view. I´ve never seen such a thing. We lost my friend Janine at that point, constantly searching for a better view, but I managed to stay with Allie and Adam throughout the night. With my height, at slightly under six feet, I have a natural advantage over most of the local population. Towering above them, I easily saw the pair as they laid a wreath on the tomb of Nicaragua´s patron poet, Ruben Dario: Chavez was there in a red shirt, his neck thick like a bull, waving to the crowd. And there was Daniel by his side, a Commandante Sandinista turned President, black hair combed over a balding head, slighter than his friend but with a kinder face.

The two made their way out of the church, pausing once again to greet the crowd on the steps. There were thousands of people there. (See this article for an AP photo of the two men leaving the cathedral.)The scene struck me as incredibly unsafe, as any assassin could easily have attacked the controversial pair with a gun or a bomb. This is particularly strange to me because Chavez routinely accuses the U.S. of plotting to kill him. It´s the type of thing that could never happen in the States. The church and stairs should have been cleared before their arrival. At several points, we were no more than five feet from them. And then as I stood on the side of the road, they drove by in their jeep, Daniel driving and Chavez in the passenger seat, both waving pleasantly through open windows.

The convoy moved, and the whole crowd ran, to Barrio Sutiava, at the other end of León, for a political rally. It was a 15 minute walk for us, and above 9:30 PM by the time we arrived. The great square was filled with people--probably more than 25,000 or so if I had to guess. Another grand cathedral loomed in the back, with the stage set up opposite it. Fireworks burst in the air. Red and black Sandinista flags waved. Posters with slogans against the U.S. and imperialism hung prominently. Behind the stage itself were three giant portraits of Simon Bolivar, Ruben Dario, and Augusto Sandino. This is the standard backdrop for a Sandinista rally.

Daniel´s wife Rosario finished up her remarks introducing Chavez; political cartoonists here like to joke that she actually holds el poder. Then Chavez came up to speak. He´s a fiery orator, and spoke for more than an hour: it was good practice for my Spanish. A week after I arrived in Nicaragua, in January, Daniel Ortega was inaugurated as president, and Chavez attended the celebration and made a speech. This was pretty much the same speech, so I could really test how much Spanish I´ve learned. I didn´t understand everything, but I did get a good bit of it. And whatever I didn´t understand Allie and Adam could help me with.

Chavez gave his usual diatribe against U.S. imperialism. He asserted that Latin Americans must unite against this evil, and constantly mentioned the cooperation between Venezuela, Nicaragua, Bolivia, Argentina, and of course Cuba. He directly challenged Bush on several fronts; indeed this trip was arranged to counter Bush´s own tour of Latin America. He called him a ¨political cadaver¨and noted sarcastically that only now did he suddenly seem to care about poor people in Latin America. He gave a long discourse on American abuses of power in the region, much of which of course was accurate, and lectured the people on various revolutionaries and resistance movements, positioning himself as the inheritor of that legacy. He also affirmed his belief in God for this Catholic audience and asserted that Jesus was in fact the first socialist.

There wasn´t much new from his speech -- he even redeclared war on America -- but it was still entertaining to listen to. He shouts out his stock lines ¨¡patria, socialismo, o muerte!¨ with gusto and the people cheer excitedly. Yet watching the crowd I got the sense that this discourse, although fiery, didn´t really hit with the core of the people. It´s my theory that Nicaraguans voted for the Sandinistas for most internal reasons--because they were fed with the corruption and the poor schools and health care. So to me this long diatribe about international abuses, it doesn´t really speak to the everyday experiences of the people. Ortega has only been in power for a few months, and when he was elected it was not with a majority of support but only a plurality. Twenty years ago, when the Sandanistas were last in power, the country made significant gains in health care, education, and literacy under his leadership. I think that if his administration is to be successful here again, and I´m hoping for the country´s sake that it will, it will be because he´s able to show the people progress in these areas.

The speeches include one big surprise. Chavez and Ortega signed an agreement to build an oil refinery in the department of León, and this news was greeted with much enthusiasm. The unit will cost $250 million dollars, but when it is complete it will be able to process thousands of barrels of oil a day, providing the country with a guranteed cheap source of energy. That´s going to be a big deal here. This is all part of Chavez´s plan to counter U.S. influence in Latin America. He stated that Nicaragua (and other left-leaning countries) will no longer need to accept money from the I.M.F. He´s also starting a satellite TV station, called TeleSur, which will present the news from a leftist Latin American viewpoint. For this reason, it was interesting to be at the rally watching this moment--a specific counter to American power, and it will be interesting to see how this all plays out.

Volcán Cosigüina

2007-03-12T13:00:00.001-04:00

Me: Hey Janine, thanks for leading this trip. This was the best weekend I´ve had in Nicaragua so far.
Janine: Yeah, wasn´t it great? Thanks for all your enthusiasm getting it organized.
Me: Pues, with enthusiasm alone you can´t move mountains, but you sure can climb them.

This weekend I made a trip with some friends to Volcano Cosigüina. We´d previously tried to plan the trip for a previous weekend, but only this time were we able to get enough people together. I went with my friends Sophia and Allie (fellow volunteers at Las Tias), and Harry, Adam, and Janine (guides at Quetzal Trekkers, who also organized and led the trip.) In addition, four Canadians (including three siblings) signed up for the trip as well. Our group of ten got along great--camping out, climbing the volcano, swimming at the beach, and playing games all weekend.

Cosigüina is a 870m volcano that sits at the very tip of Nicaragua´s northwestern peninsula. From that point, one can see the looming volcanic landscape of El Salvador and Hondaurus. In 1835, Cosigüina, then more than 3000m tall, erupted, in what is considered the largest volcanic explosion since European colonization began. Today the volcano is a relic of that former giant, but is easily summitable and contains a stunning crater lake.

We started out from León on Friday morning for the village of El Rosario, more than seven hours away. The ride there was a hot, bumpy, and dusty affair. The bus wound its way slowly over the pot-holed dirt roads. Though tiring, this trip allowed me to see a greater part of Nicaragua´s campo, and get a sense of how different rural lives are from city lives here.

Upon arriving in the tiny, almost forgotten settlement of El Rosario, we set up our campsite on the beach. We spent Friday afternoon swimming in the Pacific. I invented a very fun game in which you run from the shore into the ocean at full speed and get points awarded for how hilariously you fall over, collapsing into the waves. After a magnificent sunset, we built a fire, roasted marshmallows, and fell asleep outside under the stars.

We woke the next morning before 6 AM to begin the three and a half hour ascent of the volcano. We walked with our day packs up through a dry tropical forest, with temperatures rising above 90 degrees. It was a tiring walk, but the view from the top down into the crater revived us: Here, in the middle of one of the driest and hottest parts of the country, was a crater lake, filled with rainwater, a shimmering blue-green expanse, tucked away below the rim of a volcano like a jewel. Exuberant, we looked down at the steep, unclimbable slopes, and out across the gulf, across Central America. Clearly, we were standing on the cusp of something remarkable.

After lunch at the summit, we descended back through the forest. The day grew hotter still, and we were all rather thirsty and dusty when we returned. After an early dinner in a local comedor, we swam again. With Adam and Janine, I swam out quite a ways, out past the breaking waves. There, with the setting sun shining on the ocean, we gazed up at the volcano we had just climbed, and let the water soothe our bodies.

When I emerged from the water, a bunch of local Nicaraguan children showed up, and they challenged us to a soccer match. For some reason, I played goalie, but rose to the moment by saving eight shots ¨like a wall.¨ The game ended due to darkness and I went again for another long tranquil swim to cool off. That evening, my friends and I drank a surprise bottle of rum I had brought and spent the night joking and laughing. I slept again under the stars, with only the sand beneath me.

Sunday morning featured a swim in the hot springs in the nearby town of Potosí. We played tag, and I pretty much realized that from good friends all I want is for people to play and talk with me. I´ve found good friends this weekend, and it was great to go away and feel comfortable with them. Breakfast of gallo pinto and plantains was followed by an incredibly slow and drowsy return trip, pausing in the city of Chinandega for an excellent hamburgesa.

At that point, Harry traded hats with a Sandinista tailor, and he in turn invited us to ride gratis with him on his bus to León. There were a dozen buses going to León from Chinandega in that convoy, all filled with jubilant Sandinista supporters. They were attending a Sunday night rally in León at which Daniel Ortega, the President of Nicaragua, and Hugo Chavez, the President of Venezula, would speak. So the ride back to León was filled with bastante flag waving, cheering, clapping, and hooting. These folks were excited, and their excitement was contagious. (For more on our experiences at rally on Sunday night), see my next post.

As for this trip to Volcán Cosigüina, I was happy to be with my friends out in countryside. We had for a weekend our own slice of nature--sleeping on a completely undisturbed beach and swimming in the ocean. For me, to be with these people in this place was something to remember.

March Daily Schedule

2007-03-09T12:00:00.000-05:00

My schedule for March is quite similar to February, as I´m still living here in León in the same house and working atthe same schools.

One minor change has been that a new German volunteer Kolja has moved into our house. Harry and I were initally concerned about the disruption of our tranquil living space, but so far we are all getting along well.

Other new additions: At Proyecto Rocas, I´ve started teaching an English class as well. This has allowed me to get to know more of the kids there. Although it is somewhat boring to once again start teaching English right from the beginning, I find that I am a more effective teacher this time around.

And at the Casa de Cultura, I am also meeting with an intermediate English speaker after my beginngers class, helping him progress with his linguistic skills.

So now I´m teaching English three times a day:
10-12 PM: Proyecto Rocas
2-3 PM: Las Tias
4-5 PM: Casa de Cultura

Socially, things are really great here. I feel like I´ve got a nice group of friends, both Nicaraguans and foreigners. As a result of this new-found community, I find myself pleasantly busy in the evenings, going out to bars, hanging out with friends, and studying Spanish.

Here´s an average week:
Monday: Poker night
Tuesday: Live music at El Divino Castigo
Wednesday: Live music at La Olla Quemada
Thursday: New films premier at the movie theatre
Friday: Live music at Via Via

And on the weekends, I´ve got a pretty routine going as well:
Saturday: Cycle out to the beach
Sunday: Study Spanish in my hammock

So I´m enjoying my time in the city, and looking forward to this last month here until I begin traveling after Easter.

What Dreams Are Made Of

2007-03-08T13:18:00.000-05:00

I had a bit of inspiration: What if I could teach my adult students English through music? But where to find the words so powerful to express the force and beauty of a whole language?

There´s only one answer to that question: Hillary Duff. No, seriously.

Well, I thought that maybe my students at the Casa de Cultura might enjoy a change. So I decided to bring in some music, play it to the class on my ipod, and translate it. The exercise worked pretty well: We listened to a couple verses of the music at a time, and I wrote the words on the board. Then I challenged my students to identify the words they knew, and take a guess at the ones they didn´t. Together we worked up a rough translation. Then I played the verses back so they could actually listen for it. They seemed to like this activity.

And, yes, I really started with Hillary Duff´s ballad ¨What Dreams are Made of.¨ The words weren´t difficult, and if I may say so, they are also rather peppy.

Got any better ideas for songs? Leave a comment.

Hillary, if you´re reading this, you´ll be pleased to know that you now have a few more fans here in Nicaragua.

UPDATE: The following week I also performed this exercise with Phish´ ¨Waste.¨ Now this is actually a good song (one of my favorites) and it has repetitious vocabularly that´s easy to master.

Life in the Tropics

2007-03-07T12:00:00.000-05:00

On average, I kill one large bug a night here. Just comes with the territory in what I consider my glorious life in the tropics.

Biking to the Beach

2007-03-06T14:00:00.000-05:00

This past weekend, for the second weekend out of three, I bicycled out to the beach with my flatmate Harry and a bunch of Nicaraguan friends. These included David, his brother Leonardo, and a couple other guys from their cycling club here in León. I´d made the 20 km trip solo two weeks previously, but it was also quite fun to do it with our small group of eight.

The ride itself is hot (more than 90 degrees) and long (it takes a full hour of hard cycling). The road is not good, very bumpy and pot-holed; taking care to avoid these ditches really slows us up. We go over hill and dale out through the campo, but generally the road slopes downhill a net 110m to the waiting ocean! Leaving the city, the ride passes through various farmlands and past roadside rancheroes. There are grazing cows, large stalks of corn, scraggily hills, and, most impressively, the conical peaks of a line of volcanoes rising in the distance. There are three hills to tackle, and at the top of the last one you get your first glimpse of the Pacific.

Arriving at Playa Roca -- the hostel/restaurant where I now spend my Saturdays reading, running barefoot on the beach, playing pool, and swimming -- I immediately went for a dip in the ocean. My God, that water is so refreshing. Then I sat with the guys and hung out for a while, sliding my feet into the cool, shaded sand. They were impressed with my deep love for Reggaeton, if not my dance moves. We shared a watermelon (which I carried all the way out there on my carrier rack), a couple beers, cookies, laughs, and stories. Good times.

And coming home, there´s no need to make the long slog uphill to León, especially not after running, cycling, and swimming all day. For 9 cordobas (50 cents), I just toss my bicycle on the back of the bus.

Moving Very Quickly on a Bicycle

2007-03-05T12:00:00.000-05:00

There is a volcano near León named Cerro Negro. Cerro Negro means ¨black hill.¨ This mountain is apparently ideal for riding down very quickly because a Frenchmen broke the mountain bike land speed record of 172km (and his bicycle... and his face) on the way down. To watch the YouTube video (commentary in Japanese!), click here.

Making Good Friends

2007-03-02T12:00:00.000-05:00

I´ve met a cool bunch of people to be friends with here in León. And slowly they are coming to understand how hilarious and crazy I am.

While eating dinner at Flor´s...
Harry: Hey, you were really funny when we were playing poker last night.
Me: Yep, I know.

After I screamed out to her in the middle of street while on my bicycle the wrong way up a one-way street...
Janine: Man, you look totally crazy on that bicycle right now.
Me: Thanks, you made my day!

Impromptu Bicycle Race

2007-03-01T12:00:00.000-05:00

I was on my way home from work, riding up a long hill that leads up from the river. My momentum carried me halfway up, and ahead of a pair of cyclists. They were young guys (one bicycle carried two people), and when they saw me pass them they sped up. Soon they inched ahead of me as we all climbed the hill. Not to be out done, I began pedalling faster. They responded. And soon our three bicycles were racing up the hill, pedals turning furiously, weaving through traffic, around trucks. We reached the crest of the hill in a virtual tie and headed off in our separate directions. They gave me a big wave as they turned and I returned the gesture with a little salute of my own.

Third Book: Edmund Morris´ ¨Theodore Rex¨

2007-02-28T12:00:00.001-05:00

Do not all these things interest you? Isn´t it a fine thing to be alive when so many great things are happening?

So quotes Edmund Morris of President Theodore Roosevelt in his political biography, ¨Theodore Rex.¨ I´m not usually prone to undertaking such political biographies. But when I found this one lying around here and read the first couple pages, I found it suitably engrossing. Morris writes clearly, and his well-researched narrative is chocked full of anecdotes. It is a definitive account of the Roosevelt presidency, the second in his trilogy about TR.

The dominant picture here is of TR the politician, coming to power in a moment of national trauma and guiding his country into a new age. It is his leadership style -- at times forceful, at times persuasive -- that is TR´s most potent weapon. Throughout the book, Morris challenges the conventional wisdom that TR was a rash bully, showing him to be more cautious and calculating in his decisions; indeed I found there to be something Clintonian in it. In several different instances, TR triangulates between the Old Guard Republicans and his Democratic opponents. He does this on each of the key issues of the day: labor rights, government regulation, international involvement, etc. Through a combination of boldness and realism, TR forges an entirely new Progressive movement capable of reshaping the American political landscape.

Reading about TR, however, there are issues with which I struggled. He seems to me, like most politicians, a man motivated both by principals and political expediency: This means that his actions are sometimes courageous and sometimes reprehensible. And then there are the difficulties that arise when considering the legacy of person from another era. Though his contemporaries often lauded him for being enlightened on matters of race and culture, it´s hard to overlook his prejudices against African Americans and non-European cultures and his tacit tolerance of anti-Semitism. Are we to judge him on the standards of his time, by which his record certainly seems progressive? Or are we to employ more eternal notions of justice and equality, and condemn him for not standing up more forcefully for the rights of the disenfranchised? In his imperialist swagger, there seems to be a disturbing disregard for the rights and welfare of the most marginalized.

But taking TR for a moment as a person, and not a president, it is hard not to admire (or even envy) the vigor with which he led his life. As a person, he cultivated a love of family and friends, literature and languages, nature and technology. He saw the world with peculiar acuteness, and strove in all his actions to forge from a mass of experience something meaningful.

Perhaps most interesting for me in this book is the portrait Morris paints of turn of the century America. It seems to me that 100 years ago, America shared a lot in common with the developing countries I visit today. The United States in 1901 is a country with a booming population (including immigration), a rapidly growing economy (with an equally rapid transition from rural to urban), still only beginning to utilize its great wealth of land and natural resources. At the same time, America is starting to look outward to the world as a great power, and the choices and challenges facing our leaders then mirror those that we face today. It´s truly amazing how many of the same issues -- militaristic proliferation, international terrorism, trade reciprocity, labor rights, environmental stewardship, government regulation of commerce -- we still wrestle with today. TR seemed to understand that sometimes a president´s role is merely to bring a topic to the forefront of debate, so that the public could consider it at its own pace. At other times -- most notably with regards to the environment -- it was at his urging that the government acted to preserve a vast amount of wilderness.

If indeed there was greatness in TR´s presidency, it was the fact that he, like other great presidents, called on Americans both to dream great things and to work towards their fulfillment. ¨Much has been given us and much will rightfully be expected of us,¨ TR declared during his second inauguration. Nowhere was his vision more clear than in the area of conservation. He was able to bring together the most progressive thinkers of his time on environmental issues, and with them to forge a consensus on what must be done to preserve America´s resources for generations to come. He protected large tracts of lands as national reserves and gave us not only this wilderness but the legacy for caring for it. Speaking about the Grand Canyon to native Arizonans, he said:

Leave it as it is. You cannot improve on it. The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it--keep it for your children, your children´s children, and for all who come after you.

As for the genre itself, these historical biographies represented somewhat of a new endeavor for me. One thing unique about this book is that Morris confines all historical hindsight and judgments to the endnotes, creating a narrative that more closely resembled the flow of events at the time. Indeed I spent a lot of time reading Morris´ endnotes, trying to get a sense of where he was getting his information. I would like to know more about certain areas, such as why he privileges certain sources, and how he balanced contradicting information in certain situations. But seems to me that he did a good job using a range of sources, focusing on the most important incidents in TR´s presidency and adding an appropriate amount of color and storytelling with pertinent anecdotes. Overall, Morris presents a suitably engaging portrait of a man and the times he shaped.

(Next up: Tracey Kidder´s ¨House¨)

E.S.L. in America

2007-02-27T12:00:00.000-05:00

I´m not much in the habit of blogging about the news these days, but I was glancing at the New York Times webpage and this article on the state of E.S.L. instruction in America caught my eye. Seems that while I´m here teaching English in Central America it´s important to be reminded that there is a strong demand (based on a strong need) for English instruction in the States. When I return, I think I´d like to volunteer weekly at community centers that assist immigrants with their English. It seems like a little something I can do to help give someone the practical skills they need to succeed in America.

As a side note, I find myself identifying a lot with immigrants these days. For one thing, my own parents were immigrants to America. And, personally, I think that spending so much of my time during the last four years living in foreign countries has made me sympathetic to the dislocations, uncertainty, and angst that those who pick up and move their whole lives to a new place face. (Plus, wasn´t there a ¨West Wing¨ episode where C.J. passionately reminded the President that to be an immigrant to the United States meant simply to search out a brighter future?)

Playing Some Chess

2007-02-26T12:00:00.000-05:00

Through a friend, I was introduced to a Nicaraguan chess player. I think he plays for the national team or something. Pleased to meet him, I suggested that we play a match sometime.

Him: What´s your ranking?
Me: Hahaha.

So a couple days later we were out at the bar and they had a chess set. We played three games and he destroyed me pretty easily. At least as my friend Mark noted, in one game I actually made him think for a moment before he wiped the floor with me.

Stop Copying Me!

2007-02-22T12:00:00.000-05:00

As a teacher here, one of the greatest challenges thus far has surprised me: I am struggling to prevent my students from merely copying everything I write on the board and actually internalize some of the material. This has proven far more difficult than I expected.

That´s because from a very early age in the Nicaraguan educational system, students are taught merely to copy down what´s on the board or in the book. They don´t take the time to think about the material, ask creative questions, or encourage originality. The elementary school students´ homework often involves copying the same letter or sentence over and over again. If there is an illustration in their workbook, they frequently trace the picture for their homework.

As a result, when we are in English class, their natural tendency is simply to copy the sentence and its translation without pausing to figure out its meaning. This is a very hard habit to break. While repetition can be a valuable tool for committing new material to memory, it is also important to cultivate creative processes as well. Somewhat radically, I realize my charge is not only to teach them English but also how to think.

Oddly enough, this proves to be much more of a problem for my adult students. They have all attended college, but remain fixed in a mindset that demands that they copy every example. I´m trying now to get them away from the monotonous repetition of words and toward a place where they can start to play with language and discover it on their own. I don´t want them merely to memorize things: I want them to feel empowered to create.

But because they are adults and have had this method of learning ingrained in them for their whole lives, they are surprisingly more obstinatet than the kids. So right now it´s a work in progress.

The Most Refreshing Part (Update III)

2007-02-21T12:00:00.000-05:00

It´s hot here. And when you live in hot places, frequently you crave a cool drink. Luckily, Nicaragua comes through on this account. The frescoes (or refrescoes) are fruit juices that are ubiquitous throughout the country. Many people make these in their homes daily. And in the market there is a long row of fresco stalls, and each lady prepares a half dozen buckets of juice a day. It´s only 5 cordobas (25 cents) for a big glass in the market or 3 cordobas for a take-away plastic bag with a straw in it. I generally drink frescoes three times a day, if not more.

The beauty of this idea is derived from its simplicity: Natural fruit juice served with lots of ice. They are so refreshing.

And the proliferation of flavors makes this an exciting endeavor: We´re talking orange, lemon, cocoa, manderine, carrot, pineapple, melon,watermelon, guava, mango, ensalada (as in fruit salad), and the combinations of virtually all of the above. Ensalada is a real speciality as it comes with huge chunks of possibly six fruits: banana, papaya, orange, mango, melon, and watermelon mixed into the juice.

Update:

With my favorite fresco vendor Veronica, I´ve been working up a complete list of 26 fresco flavors in Spanish. Check it out:

naranja, piña, ensalada, mandarina, guayaba, mango, zanahorria, remolacha, melón, cacoa, grenadia, chia, linasa, tamarin, calala, papaya con naranja, arroz con piña, pitahaya, limonada, mamonada, cebada, chicha, tiste, pazol, pinol

Update II:

I´ve been thinking a little bit about my favorite flavors. And here´s the order for the top seven that I´ve come up with*: sandía, zanahorria, melón, piña, naranja, mango, ensalada

*This list is subject to change without notice.

Update III:

Traveling around Nicaragua, I spend my days wandering through cities, looking for frescoes.

The Bathroom Situation

2007-02-20T12:00:00.000-05:00

At some point during one´s tenure in a foreign country, it behooves one to write about how people go to the bathroom.

The toilets here in the city are normal sit-down, flush toilets we have in the States. The one difference concerns toilet paper: Instead of flushing the toilet paper (and adding to the already stressed sanitation network of this country), it is customary to crumple the uses paper into a little ball and toss it into a wastepaper basket located next to the toilet. Because of concerns about clogging the system, this seems to me a sensible idea.

The showers are normal showers, though there is no hot water and not much water pressure. It´s really more of a thin stream of liquid. Still, after a long day in this heat, a cold shower feels quite refreshing.

In rural areas, latrines and bucket showers are increasingly common.

A Few of My Favorite Things

2007-02-19T12:00:00.000-05:00

When drunk, I talk incessantly, passionately, about my hammock and my bicycle.

Why Moving is a Good Idea

2007-02-16T12:00:00.000-05:00

A few weeks back I decided to move into a new flat. My three weeks studying Spanish at the Casa de Cultura had come to a close. Although I was enjoying both my course and my time with my homestay family, I felt that I needed a change. I think it takes a bit of courage for me to make a change like this. (I remember how I did this when I was living in India, and what a wise decision it proved to be: But it was also quite an upheaval at first.)

I was content with how things were going here in León, but I also looked around and realized that I wanted something more than I was getting out of the experience at the time. But making changes like this can be difficult because it means shifting from something known and comfortable to something unknown. It was a bit like starting over in the same city: finding places to eat, shop, go to the Internet, buy fruit, etc.

So I moved into a another house in a different barrio, a couple blocks from the center of town. Now I have an English flatmate, Harry. (He´s 24 year-old volunteers at Quetzal Trekkers, an organization that guides hikes to nearby volcanoes and donates the proceeds to the organization Las Tias, where I work.) Harry and I live in the two adjacent rooms on the second floor of a house on a active residential road. We share a balcony that overlooks the street.

The house is owned by a Nicaraguan family: My friend Jackson, age 21, along with his grandmother Señora Albertina, his mother Aura, and younger brother (incredibly named Michael... yep, they are brothers named Michael and Jackson!). We share the kitchen, a simple bathroom, and living area with them; they´ve also got about half the house to themselves. And praise the Lord: we´ve got a washing machine. They are quite hospitable and we get along quite well. (Interestingly, they know Harry´s name because he´s been there longer. But they´ve resorted to calling me ¨El Otro¨ meaning ¨The Other One.¨)

When I moved I also started making more friends, both Nicaraguans and foreigners who live in León. This was good because I didn´t have a lot of lasting friendships during my first few weeks here. And I was originally a bit uncertain about how much I wanted to associate with other foreigners. But from my places of work, from my classes, and from going out at night, I began to meet people. I hang out with the volunteers at Quetzal Trekkers a fair amount too. Several times a week we go to listen to live music at bars in the evenings. And I´ve also become friendly with some Peace Corps volunteers working in Nicaragua: I meet them at the beach on weekends.

At this same time, I also set out to find more volunteer work in the city. I also purchased a bicycle and a hammock. I run every morning before work and go to the beach on Saturdays. I now have four keys on my keyring: Basically, I´m pleased with the decision to move because I now feel like I have more ownership over my life here in this city. I´m enjoying my day-to-day life and learning a lot.

Working with the Kids

2007-02-14T12:00:00.000-05:00

I spend my day with children. Here´s a quick sampling:

At Proyecto Rocas:

I help out with homework, read stories, and play games with about a dozen children. Most of their parents work long hours in the market or in poorly paying jobs, so Rocas is a place where they can come to do their homework and participate in cultural activities when they aren´t in school.

I help Cristina de los Angeles, age 9, with her math homework. She´s doing multiplication and long division. When she gets stuck I remind her the siete por ocho son cincuenta y seis. (7 x 8 = 56.)

I read the book ¨Los Tres Cerditos¨(¨The Three Little Pigs¨) to Magna, age 6. He loves this story and we have read it MANY times already. I must confess I am also learning some Spanish vocabulary words here. I am getting good at my animal voices in Spanish, sounding like a big bad wolf and a flustered piggy.

After class, I ride my bike back into town alongside some of my students. Cristina´s sister Otilia, age 7, sits on my crossbar while I wobble my way down a steep dirt road. With my free hand I hold hands with Cristina or her brother Francisco, age 11, as they run along side the bike. I leave them at the main road where they turn for home, slapping them five as I go.

At Las Tias:

I teach an English class every afternoon for an hour. There are six students in my class between the ages of 8 and 11. Most of these children live have family situations that are for various reasons difficult, and so this is a good opportunity to provide them with some stability in their daily life. We do a short lesson with new vocabulary words and sentences, then sing songs or play games that I´ve designed to keep them interested. Kids are kids anywhere, and they really respond to this stuff.

When I arrive at school with my bicycle, Walter, age 9, jumps into my arms. Lester, age 11, runs in for a hug while Cristobal, age 8, plays with my hair.

I design our English sentences to be as instructive as possible, and I admit I am trying to cultivate in their young minds a particular worldview. Examples:

My school is very good.
The boys share the books to the girls.
They write a story together.
I like to play with my friends.
I do not like to eat cheese.

We´ve learned the songs ¨Head Shoulders Knees and Toes¨and ¨Happy Birthday,¨ both of which they love. We sing them everyday. Children from other tables that aren´t in my class also have started doing the motions while they mumble along.

After the lesson we play the game ¨Red Light, Green Light¨ using the motions walk, run, jump, slide, and twirl. This is a favorite, and again, half the students from the school seem to be joining my class in the courtyard. (Thanks for the tip, Jen!)

If you have other ideas for games or songs that kids might like, please let me know (perhaps by leaving a comment!) I also need to come up with new diversions for them.

I´m with the kids so much that I sometimes forget where they come from and why they are here. It´s only occasionally that I remember, with the sight of worn clothing or a legion on the skin, that they are impoverished, at risk ¨streetchildren.¨Sometimes I catch some of them looking sad, and I remember the troubles that lurk beneath the smiling, smooth surface of their face. Most often, though, I just see them as the kids they are: silly and adorable and trying and hilarious.

It´s also been good for me to just volunteer directly with the kids this time around: I am here because I want to get to know them, and to help them if I can. In other situations while working or studying abroad, I´ve concerned myself with how these social organizations run, whether they´re operating appropriately, and how to deal with the egos and issues that inevitably result from that process. For now though, in this context, I am happy to ignore all that other stuff and simply spend my time with the kids themselves.

Second Book: John Steinbeck´s ¨The Grapes of Wrath¨

2007-02-13T12:00:00.000-05:00

And the people listened, and their faces were quiet with listening. The story-tellers, gathering attention into their tales, spoke in great rhythms, spoke in great words, because their tales were great, and the listeners became great through them.

Well, I figure that maybe 100 million people or so have read John Steinbeck´s ¨The Grapes of Wrath,¨ so I´m not sure I´m about to say anything new here. But since I like talking about books almost as much as I like reading them, I´ve decided to sit down and write a little bit about this story.

This is the story of a family of Okies, the Joads, who leave their land during the Dust Bowl and travel west to California, encountering various hardships along the way. It´s a surprising portrait of America: turbulent, angry, fearful, and on the move. It is indeed an indignant book, and in the story of the trials of this one family there is the story of a nation in upheaval.

The story begins when the Joads are forced off their land:

Sure, cried the tenant man, but it´s our land. We measured it and broke it up.
We were born on it, and we got killed on it, died on it. Even if it´s no good,
it´s still ours. That´s what makes it ours--being born on it, working it, dying
on it. That maes ownership, not a paper with numbers on it.

But leaving their land is a difficult thing:

How can we live without our lives? How will we know it´s us without our past? No. Leave it. Burn it.

But when they arrive in California, they find little work or welcome. This story takes place during the midst of the Depression, when the economy has a perverse and destructive absurdity. (I know that this passage is long, but it is so good, so important, so much the heart of this book.)

The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Car-loads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the organges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit--and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains.
And the smell of rot fills the country.
Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescene drip down into the earth.
There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our successes. There fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificates - died of malnutrition - because the food must rot, must be forced to rot.
The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, and the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quicklime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for vintage.

What I loved about this book was how deeply Steinbeck commits to the story and to the people that this story concerns. He embraces their language and customs. He portrays their experiences with startling realism, and there are moments that are just heart-breaking. Yet the most lasting impression is the ultimate resilency of the family and the dignity they maintain in a struggle against some vast and unknownable force.

When it comes down to it, this is really the story of cultural change caused by social and environmental factors, which is really what I want to study for the rest of my life. It´s interesting to examine what happens to the family unit, and in the societies of Hovervilles that spring up along the side of the road, and especially in what happens to the characters: to Tom and Ma and Rose of Sharon as individuals.

At the start of the novel, Steinbeck presents Tom as a man who will have to do whatever it is to defend himself: He killed a man in a fight at a dance after being stabbed with a knife. But as the story progresses, he sees the great injustices committed against his people and he yearns to defend not only himself, but the rights of all as well:

¨Then it don´matter. Then I´ll be all aroun´in the dark. I´ll be ever´where--wherever you look. Wherever they´s a fight so hungry people can eat, I´ll be there. Wherever they´s a cop beatin´up a guy, I´ll be there. If Casy knowed, why, I´ll be in the way guys yell when they´re mad an´--I´ll be in the way kids laugh when they´re hungry an´ they know supper´s ready. An´ when our folks eat the stuff they raise an´ live in the houses they build--why, I´ll be there....¨

But ¨The Grapes of Wrath¨ is not only the story of characters or of a family: it´s also an intensely politcal work. It´s about, essentially, the right to work and bread and maybe a bit of land. It´s about the pursuit of happiness and how society can so effortlessly conspires against it. It´s amazing how the characters in this book worked so hard for so little. It´s a little hard to believe that this is the story of Americans barely 80 years ago--an America with that amount of suffering and dislocation.

But though the portrait Steinbeck draws seems foreign to me, the same themes are of course repeating today: Immigrants who come to the U.S. looking for work face this same desperation, for they are the ones who have taken on many of these wage labor jobs. Moreover, much of the plight of landless people that I´ve witnessed in India or Ghana or here in Nicaragua is echoed in the events of this story. This story is still unfolding today, and it is dangerous to consider it solely a quaint relic of what America once was.

He describes ¨native¨Californians as reacting fearfully, angrily, and unlawfully against these immigrants from Oklahoma. The Okies are Americans, for generations Americans, but they are unwanted. Throughout the book, Steinbeck plays with ideas of community and exclusion, pointing the paradoxes in the ideals we hold dear.

Above all, Steinbeck asks hard questions of the reader, hard questions about how we can stand to profit from another man´s tragedy. Reading this, I couldn´t help but thinking: What would I do to prevent my family from starving? What lengths would I go to fight injustices perpertrated against me? And more ominously: In my own hard-heartedness, have I denied bread to a starving man? In what ways have I conspired to dampen the hopes of the yearning poor?

(Next up: Edmund Morris´ ¨Theodore Rex¨)

Notes on Transportation

2007-02-12T20:00:00.000-05:00

So you might know by now, from my previous letters from abroad, how utterly fascinated I am by transportation: how people move themselves from one place to another.

Here´s a sampling from Nicaragua:

On my first bus ride, on my very first day in this country, the bus broke down.

The long distance buses are all school buses from North America, the ones manufactured by the Blue Bird Corporation. Yep, those familiar big yellow school buses (with the black stripes) which we all rode to elementary school. Many of them still have the school district name painted on the side. I´ve got my eyes peeled for the ¨Chappaqua Central School District.¨ Gotta represent.

(And if you want to read more about the history of these school buses (i.e. I am a huge nerd), click here. You will learn things like the fact that the color is officially called "National Glossy School Bus Yellow.¨)

Within in the city, the school buses are too big to maneuver in the narrow streets. So the public transportation system is based on the collectivos. These are essentially trucks, with a flat wooden bed on the back. The platform has benches along both sides, a gated entrance at the rear, and a tarp covering the sides and top. The conductor stands on the step at the entrance, calling out the stops, collecting money, and hauling people in and out of the truck. Naturally, one must board while the truck is moving and jump out while it´s still in motion.

There´s something in León that my friends and I refer to as ¨the party bus.¨It´s a traditional school bus from the States with the top cut off, and the sides painted vivid colors. On weekend evenings it rides around the city, blasting Reggaeton music and serving drinks. A string of festive lights hangs about the contented passengers. People queue up at the corner of the parque central to go for a loop of the city. It looks like SO MUCH fun.

Women are walking down the street with their notebooks and folders. The sun is strong here though, and so when they walk into the light they all use their notebooks to shield the sun. Natural, intellegent idea. But it looks quite peculiar when literally everyone is walking down the street doing the same thing.

There are lots of cars in León, some motorbikes, and the occasional horse-drawn carriage carting good from one place to another, but the majority of people get around on bicycle. Obviously, I am a fan. This is really a perfect city for cycling. And most of these bikes are just cheap steel-framed bikes from made in Taiwan (Interestingly, Nicaragua is one of only a handful of countries that officially recognizes Taiwan and not China).

Here are some bicycle observations:

It is quite common to see a passenger riding on the crossbar of the bike. This is usually the novia of the cyclist.

Friends ride on the bicycle in an astonishing number of positions and configurations. One of the most inventive ones is for a young man to attach an elongated piece of metal onto the center of the rear wheels, jutting outwards perpendicularly. His friend will then stand on the spokes and balance himself on the rider´s shoulders.

León is a city of one way streets. This means that you must sometimes cycle 4 blocks to go just 1 block over. Nice.

There is a shortage of adult-sized bicycles in this country. Thus it is common to see a grown man riding around on a child´s bike.

It´s about as common to see two people on a bicycle as one. Seeing three on one bike is a nice treat. But the exacta is four people on a single bicycle. Because of the physical limitations of a bicycle and those of the human body, there is really only one way this can happen: The father of the family is riding. His wife sits on the crossbar. She holds the young baby (age 2-4, ideally) in her arms. And the older sibling (age 5-8, ideally) stands upright on the rear spokes and balances on papá´s shoulders. Seeing this is something special, like getting a TETRIS.

The other day I saw a man cycling by with an infant balanced on his knee. The baby went up and down, up and down, rhythmically as he pedalled.

It´s also common to see a toddler standing on the crossbar while his father pedals, the young tot balancing his hands on his father´s shoulders.

It´s also possible to see young men riding from place to place with a live chicken tucked neatly under one arm like a running back tucks a football.

And, then, my personal favorite, I saw a dude carrying a birthday cake, fresh frosting glistening in the sun, in his right hand, face up, like a waiter carries a plate above his shoulder in a restaurant. Most impressive.

My first two experiences hitch-hiking in Nicaragua was with a bunch of Peace Corps volunteers I met on a day trip out to the beach out in Chinendega. We just pile into the back of a pick-up truck as it drives by. I figure I´ve hitched about 70 rides in my life, so naturally I will try to break my record in this most-hitchable country.

A Reoccuring Conversation

2007-02-09T12:00:00.000-05:00

It seems like I have this conversation repeated in every country that I visit:

Jackson: Buenos, Señor.
Me: Mire, Jackson. No soy ¨Señor.¨ Soy tu amigo o compañero o hombre. Pero no ¨Señor.¨ Jackson: ¿O niño?
Me: Claro.

Update: It was a day of joy for me when Jackson called me payaso, which means clown, something he´d been calling Harry when I´d arrived in the house. Now he regularly calls me ¨payaso barato¨ which is more endearing still.

Song of the City

2007-02-08T12:00:00.000-05:00

Like all great cities, León has an official song. It´s entitled ¨Viva León Jodido. The people sing it at baseball games, fiestas, and other events where it´s appropriate to show some civic pride. (León of course means lion en español.) Here is a look at the chorus of this song, which I´ve translated to the best of my ability:

Por todo el oro del mundo
no cambiaria mi León
pues lo quiero con amor profundo
y es el cerebro de todo mi nación;
León puede ser abatido pero nunca vencido
¡Viva León, jodido!

For all the gold in the world,
I would never change my León
For I love it with deep affection
and it is the brains of my nation;
León may be knocked down but never defeated
¡Viva León, jodido!

On Learning and Teaching a Language

2007-02-07T12:00:00.000-05:00

Hi. My name is Hayden. I am a Spanish student. I am an English teacher.

I carry these dual roles everywhere I go: They define my identity here. And after thinking about it a bit I´ve come to the conclusion that right now this isn´t such a bad thing.

To be sure, learning a language can be frustrating: I remember quite clearly my first day at the language school here. My teacher Aura Cristina began talking to me for twenty minutes very rapidly in Spanish: I did not understand a single word. Then she gave me an introductory diagnostic test, on which I got a 15%. At that moment, I wanted to cry. What was I doing, taking on a whole language, with thousands of vocabulary words to memorize, lists of subjunctive verb conjugations to nail down, handfuls of idioms to master? I only got a 15% on that test because I knew to write el and la in front masculine and feminine words, respectively. That´s all I knew. Apparently I wasn´t able to get a cross to her that I had studied Spanish nunca. But from there we went to work, and I began learning.

Sometimes I feel like I´m really making progress. There´s this surge of joy when you actually say something and someone nods their head and you see that they actually understand what you mean. And, then again, and this occurs more frequently, there´s also this counter-sensation of extreme hopelessness when I listen to two native speakers jabber away in a language I´ve studied for a month and I don´t have a clue what they were talking about. It´s a bit frustrating to realize that I can be out in public in the morning, spend several hours in my hammock studying, and then return to the world and still speak the exact same amount of Spanish as I did that morning. All I know is that at this point I´m not at all where I want to be. I need a lot of practice because I am not very confident speaking yet, which is strange for me when I compare my progress with my over-confident Hindi.

In my life I´ve studied Latin and Russian and Fante Twi and Hindi. From these experiences I´ve learned well how to learn a language. Yet I´m a little disappointed to say that at the age of 23 I don´t know any of these with anything close to fluency. Perhaps I am too much the product of a generation that likes to take short-cuts (or expects everything to be written in English.) Or perhaps I´m too prone to tasting a bit from every source without committing to one area of expertise. There are benefits to this, of course, and I feel like I have a lot of knowledge about different places and peoples. But I suppose I´ve always been a bit of a dabbler when it comes to language.

Well, whatever the reason is, I want it to change now.

Taking up Spanish now, and concentrating on it for six uninterrupted months, seems to me a good first step toward speaking Spanish well during the rest of my life. (I also maintain this same goal for my Hindi.) Spanish just seems so plainly useful for work in the States and in this entire hemisphere. I certainly don´t expect to reach my goal at the end of this period, but I hope it will be a project I can work on in the years to come. A hundred times a day I find myself thinking the same thought: ¨Wow, language is so intrinsically connected to who we are.¨

Because it´s beneficial to set benchmarks for oneself, one immediate goal I do have for myself is to read one of my favorite books, Paulo Coelho´s ¨The Alchemist,¨en español. (The Spanish title is ¨El Alquimista.¨) I think that will be a fun and challenging project for me. I should note that Coelho originally wrote the book in Portuguese, but I still think reading it in Spanish will be worthwhile since the two languages are quite close.

And then of course when I´m not studying here, I find myself teaching English. It´s not that my life´s ambition is to be an ESL teacher, or any type of language teacher, or that I find the work particularly stimulating. Rather, it just seems appropriate for where I am. Teaching English is one of the only useful things I can offer. And it just so happens that people here want to learn because of the job opportunities resulting from the increasing importance of tourism. For me, though, teaching a language is just a good way to get to know people: to learn about their lives, their families and friends, their customs and beliefs, their hopes and worries, and their personalities. That´s really all I want from Nicaragua at the moment--a country in which, upon arriving, I knew not a single person.

And it´s the same when I´m teaching the kids too. I don´t in the slightest expect them to be good, or even competent, English speakers by the time I go. I´m here for too short a period and we´re starting completely from scratch. My role is small and I have no illusions about my importance: Life goes on without me. But I do think the endeavor has some value: Perhaps the kids just know the basics and that will help them someone. Perhaps they´ll become more interested in other cultures or more tolerant of those who are different. Perhaps I´ll plant a seed of interest that germinates later on in their lives. And, as my friend here Allie pointed out, learning a new language -- for anyone, of whatever age or ability -- is just a good mental exercise.

I´ve heard it said that moving to a foreign country with the goal of education (either teaching or learning) can be an fraught activity, one tainted, one from which we should shy away. When you go to a place only to learn, you are said to be appropriating someone´s culture. And when you go to a place only to teach, you are said only to be furthering a paternalistic or neo-imperialist mindset.

I´m cognizant of the issues, and I´m particularly cognizant of my country's destructive role in Latin America during the last century. But ultimately I just think such arguments are overblown. We need to start somewhere. And specifically, I think that there´s an enormous need for education in this world--a need to share what we know and what we´ve learned with each other. I feel proud to be where I am, helping in small ways and trying to understand this process better.

For being a language student makes one humble. And being a language teacher makes one patient. And both learning and teaching a language makes it slightly more possible for more people to talk with one another in this world, and that is a good thing.

Something Random

2007-02-06T12:00:00.000-05:00

At the barberia where I get my beard trimmed every week, there is a sign that I like on the wall listing the price for a hair cut:

CORTE DE PELO -- C$25
And then underneath there is a clip-art picture of George Washington in all his wiggliness.

February Daily Schedule

2007-02-05T12:00:00.000-05:00

It took me a bit of time to get this schedule ironed out so I could keep my various commitments in the city, but I think I´ve done it:

8 AM: Morning run

9-10 AM: Morning hammock: journal writing

10 AM-12 PM: Work at Proyecto Rocas

12-2 PM: Lunch, Internet, & errands in town

2-3:30 PM: Teach an English class at Las Tías

4-5 PM: Teach my English class at the Casa de Cultura (for my former professors)

5-7 PM: Afternoon hammock: Studying español

7 PM: Dinner at the fritanga (street stall) of a woman named Flor de Maria

7:30-9 PM: Evening hammock time: Studying and reading

9-11 PM: Go with friends to hear live music at a bar or just hang out

Midnight: Bedtime for this boy

So both Proyecto Rocas and Las Tias are before/after-school programs in the barrios in León. (The children have a split schedule here: half go to school in the mornings and half in the afternoons.) The idea is that these poor (and in some cases abused) children are not well-served by the current public education system: They need a place where they can get some more support and instruction, do their homework, take part in cultural activities, play games and sports, and most of all find extra help, supervision, and role models. At Proyecto Rocas I help the kids with their homework, doing math and reading stories to them. At Las Tías, I teach an English class and play games with the kids. (At both schools, there is a range of ages but the average age of my students is about 10 years old.) And at the Casa de Cultura, I am continuing the English classes with the professors that we began last month.

So that´s what I do here. I spend about four hours a day in my hammock so I´m obviously enjoying life right now and feel quite content with my schedule.

Newsflash: Bicycle Purchased!

2007-02-02T16:51:00.000-05:00

The day has come: For the fourth time in my life, I´ve purchased a bicycle. And this time she´s really a beaut. She´s an almost new mountain bike--brakes, gears, and frame in excellent condition.

After searching high and low for more than a week, I bought a bike from my friend David. Technically, I suppose I must say, I am renting her from a friend of David, Don Fransisco, for the two month period I will remain in León; I paid $50 to do so. This arrangement suits me and I´m excited about this new addition to my life.

I have not seen any helmets in this country but if I do spot one I intend to buy it.

A bicycle naturally needs a name. Suggestion? Submit it as a comment.

Update: I decided to name my bicycle Maria.

The Interview (en Español)

2007-01-31T12:00:00.000-05:00

Good morning! It´s a sunny Wednesday in León, Nicaragua. You have woken up to find yourself, like many in this country, in the curious state of under-employment. Granted, your situation is not nearly as dire as many locals: You have a room and a hammock and enough money to live on for a few months. In fact, you are only looking for voluntary work: you want to do something worthwhile with your time. You would think that as a charming, English-speaking young man this would just fall right into your lap. Well, it hasn´t.

You spend the morning studying Spanish in your hammock, and then you go out looking for a job. Your friend Marcus, from the school where you studied Spanish, works in a project in the afternoon. You go see him after class. He tells you that he asked his supervisors and they want to meet you. (The school is called Proyecto Rocas and you want to volunteer to help the children with their homework and extra-curricular activities.)

You start walking to the restaurant for your lunch meeting. Naturally you get a little bit lost. You see a man on the street that you´ve been introduced to once before. He is thrilled to see you again. He introduces you to his sister who is holding a baby. You coo at the baby. The man brings you back to his house so you can meet his daughters. He offers you lunch. You cannot do this because you have the meeting so you take your leave as politely as you possibly can in Spanish.

You arrived at the restaurant and soon the supervisors of the project walk in: One Nicaraguan man, two Scandinavian ladies, along with your friend Marcus. One of the ladies asks you if you speak Spanish and you nod your head and say, ¨hablo un poco." They then begin, out of respect for the Nicaraguan fellow, to conduct the interview en español. This concerns you at first because you really don´t speak Spanish yet; you´ve only studied it for three weeks. And an interview is not like a regular conversation with a friend where you can trip up and make mistakes. You need to understand everything they are saying to you and answer the questions they ask. You are trying to convince them to let you work with the children in their program.

Somewhat surprisingly, everything goes splendidly. You rise to occasion, miraculously understanding words you´ve never heard before and saying things you don´t yet know how to say. You explain to them your educational background, youre experience working on projects in other developing countries, your reasons for coming to León and asking to work with them, and how you might be useful. Everyone at the table seems satisfied with your responses. Marcus looks somewhat amazed. You yourself are befuddled and sweating at the effort.

(This is much better than the time just last week when you went to the director of Las Tías, asking to volunteer. She had asked you to bring a letter of introduction, and then they start laughing at you because your letter is in English, not Spanish. Your friend Gerald quickly translates the letter. You feel embarassed but you´ve also never written a letter in Spanish before.)

So then the women tell you they are going to ask you some things in English. This is a bit more up your alley. They ask you a bit more about your experience and opinions on issues like poverty, development, and working with children. You can speak much more articulately in your native language. The women are smiling to each other. You know you´ve hit a proverbial home run.

They confer for a moment and then tell you can start that afternoon. Finding a job is apparently as easy as giving an interview in a language you don´t really know. ¡Felidades!

Where are My Interludes? (And Other Comparisons with India)

2007-01-30T12:00:00.000-05:00

Yesterday afternoon I was walking down the street and decided to purchase a bunch of bananas. I got a dozen bananas for six cordobas, which comes out to like 2.5 cents per banana. Yeah, this is awesome.

So I began peeling my first one while I was walking home. And then misfortune befell me: my banana fell into a puddle. ¡Que rollo! I started laughing at myself and when I looked up again at the street I saw a lady chuckling along with me. This makes sense since dropping something, like falling down, is a universally comedic act. The lady was sitting on the crossbar of her husband´s bicycle and had witnessed the whole episode as he was peddling along. I immediately began to peel a second banana, and having this time completed the manuever successfully, I extended my arm, offering it to her. She gave me a broad smile and began laughing so hard that her husband had trouble stabilizing the bike.

It occurred to me later that this was the type of episode -- the small but infinitely pleasing encounters with strangers -- that made my 15 months in India so enjoyable. It is also the type of thing that I find has happened relatively infrequently here in Nicaragua so far.

I´ve found myself thinking a lot about India recently, and about how my experience here is different. I´ve been in Nicaragua less than a month, and I usually try to avoid making sweeping generalizations. But one of the biggest changes I´ve noticed, if I may be so bold, is that Indians are for the most part an uncommonly gregarious and curious people. For example, in the afternoons here I often like to go and sit in the park opposite the iglesia San Juan. I can sit on a bench and read undisturbed for an hour. If I tried to do that in India, I would last maybe four minutes before a group of 20 schoolchildren swarmed around me, jabbering away with a hundred questions. (I mentioned this to a friend here and she suggested that perhaps it´s because Nicaraguans are so used to Americans visiting, but really I must say that I´ve considered that and the response is just so completely different that doesn´t account for it.)

The truth is that while I rather enjoy having my privacy and being able to go out in public without being bothered, I miss the extreme sociability of India: A simple walk down the street (thrust into the midst of a masive procession to a temple), or ride on the bus (seranaded with Hindi love songs), or sitting in a restaurant (invited over to dinner at a family´s house) could bring me delightfully close to the people I was around. I suppose I needed India to crash through my reserved demeanor, and it just came through repeatedly on that score. It was just easier for me to meet people and make friends there. And it provided me with a wealth of small anecdotes -- I called them interludes -- which I suspect you enjoyed reading most. And I cherished these, for these were the moments that illuminated for me how we are all connected. (So if the stories on this blog start to feel lame by comparison, now you know why.)

Now it´s not that people in Nicaragua aren´t friendly to me. Of course they are. I love going for runs in the late afternoon and greeting the people that I pass along the way. Neighbors drag their rocking chairs to the thresholds of their homes and chat pleasantly while their children play in the street. But Nicaraguans are also more likely to leave me, as a foreigner, alone, or otherwise merely greet me respectfully. India for me was a 15 month in-your-face encounter with humanity. It startled me at first but then I couldn´t get enough of it. It´s funny how you can end up missing the things that once annoyed you.

To be fair, there are many things about Nicaragua (when compared with India) that I´m enjoying: Strangers are polite to each other, the streets are cleaner, and rickshaws don´t drive over your toes. And I do rather enjoy being out in public and just being a person and not an attraction. Of course in other ways, because they are both developing countries, I find living in Nicaragua and India to be rather similar: There are plenty of crowded bus rides and stalls with delicious street food and colorful markets and the faint scent of something burning and the hot feeling of humanity convulsing to loud music.

But I must admit there is in me sometimes a great longing for India. I miss the spicy food and I miss eating rice with my hands. I miss my friends and I miss the feeling of pulling up to my chess friends and having the kids run out to greet me. I miss the desert and the sensation of sitting in a village meeting. I miss all this and more--for the time I spent there was the most formative in my life. It was the place I came to as a young man, where I saw my ideals crushed like shattered orbs, where I saw the world starkly for all its beauty and sorrow and longed to know it still more. If I left India believing one thing, it was that to be human means to share with one another.

Recently, however, a good friend reminded me of the obvious: Nicaragua is not India. Nor should it be. I´ve only been here a month. And I need to give this place time to be itself. I´ve set goals for myself here: learning to speak Spanish, devoting a chunk of time to the projects in which I´m involved, traveling the country, making friends, and learning about the people and their culture. I need to give myself time to do that. And it will take time.

I love India, and I want understanding it and helping it to be a life-long project. But I know that I don´t need to be there right now. I know I´ll gain more if I return in a few years and can look at its changes with fresh eyes. And I´ve realized lately too that I want Nicaragua, and my presence in Latin America, to also become a life-long project. Currently, I´m limited by my language abilities and skill-set by what I can accomplish immediately. But I look at my time here as an investment, one that will yield sweeter fruits down the line.

Though on a daily basis I uncover fewer interludes, I know that this is where I am meant to be: discovering a new way of seeing in a new land.

Newsflash: Spanish Lessons Suspended

2007-01-29T12:00:00.000-05:00

Yep, I´ve suspended my Spanish lessons. Literally.

After three productive weeks at the León Spanish School in the Casa de Cultura, I´ve decided I would benefit from reviewing what I´ve learned so far on my own for a while. And what better place for an intensive Spanish review than the tranquility of my own hammock.

This afternoon my friend Jackson helped me set up the hammock on the balcony of my new flat. And I´ve borrowed a Spanish textbook from the Casa de Cultura. With the parade of life in the street below me, I sit there, with my mini-speakers and highlighter and glass of water, swinging most contendly, studying Spanish in the hammock on my balcony.

In case you can´t tell, I think this is a very fine arrangement.

Getting Started Teaching

2007-01-26T12:00:00.000-05:00

One day at my language school, the Casa de Cultura, I was explaining to the teachers how I hoped to spend my time in León teaching English to children at a local school. And they were kinda like: ¨Wait, we want to learn how to speak English. Teach us too!¨

So we started some classes. I met with a group of the teachers every day in the afternoon for an hour before our activity. It´s just a few of the teachers--sometimes only two can make it, sometimes I have a group of six or so. We´ve started from the basics, and are working our way forward one at a time. I find my new students to be extremely eager and dedicated. They are young women and men in their 20s, and they live with their families. Some have children, some aren´t married. In some cases, they are the only ones in their family earning an income. In all cases, their income is essential to the survival of their family. So it is a huge asset for them if they can pick up some English.

Of course, teaching English in this way has many benefits for me as well. I am teaching an English class, but I am teaching it in Spanish. And it´s really good practice for me to stand there and figure out how to explain things in español. More importantly still, these English classes have allowed me to get closer to my students (who are also my Spanish teachers), to start to build some friendships here. That´s something I desperately want here.

We´ve been doing this for two weeks now, and we´re making some progress. I´m really enjoying it.

Inane or Ingenious: You Decide!

2007-01-25T12:00:00.000-05:00

Follow my logic here for a moment:

1) Flor, the green parrot who lives with my homestay family, speaks Spanish.
2) Birds descended from dinosaurs.
3) Spanish descended from Latin.

Therefore, this proves the dinosaurs spoke Latin.

Q.E.D.