Today has also been another good day. I woke up at 6am to shower and then eat breakfast of gallo pinto con huevos picados.
Even though our appointment at Sky Trek in Santa Elena Reserve was at 7:30am, we left Dona Virginia's house at that time. I trucked going over the dirt and gravel road to arrive at the entrance to Sky Trek at 7:40am; we were right on time. The Sky Trek was absolutely amazing. We hiked some trails and went down about eight ziplines, some of which were either really long or really high off the ground. We got some great action photos. Of course I was yelling and cheering and letting my hands off the bars. It was a blast.
So after about two and half hours of that, we began the Sky Walk, which is a series of suspension bridges connected by hiking trails. Again, we got some great action shots, including one of me hanging upside down from a tree branch.
That brought us to about 11:30am, when we drove back to Dona Virginia's house. After we packed the car, a Suzuki Ignis, we ate lunch with Dona Virginia. We ate rice, beans, fried cheese, green beans with egg batter, and hard shell tortillas. This was accompanied by a drink of fresco de chan, which is made by soaking chan seeds in water.
At 1:30pm, we hit the road to Guanacaste. I was cruising once we hit the PanAmerican Highway, averaging about 100 km per hour. Of course, I got stopped by la Fuerza Publica when they clocked me at 102 km/hr. I bribed the cops by paying them 6000 colones to avoid any other problems. We continued on our journey after that minor incident.
Ok, it's evening right now in Playa del Coco, and Paul and I have been drinking and having a good conversation. I'll stop here and pick up later.
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
Tuesday, March 25, 2003
Santa Elena, Costa Rica -- night
It has gotten to the point where so much has happened that it will be difficult to review everything.
I'll start with today's events. We arrived in Santa Elena at a little after 2pm, at which time we looked and eventually found Dona Virginia Zamora. Yorlen had recommended that we stay here since it was cheap and we would get some good home-cooking. After arriving and settling in for a few minutes, Dona Virginia prepared a nice, big lunch, with rice, beans, sardines, yucca, chayote, accompanied by a glass of the juice of maranon. After the long four-hour drive from La Fortuna around the Lago Arenal to Tilaran, and then on dirt roads up and down the mountains to eventually reach Santa Elena, I was definitely hungry for a heavy meal.
After eating, Paul and I drove up to the center of town to buy tickets for Sky Trek and Sky Walk at 7:30am tomorrow morning, then went to get a cup of coffee to give us some energy for the afternoon and evening. We then drove up to the Reserva Biologica in Monteverde, only to find out that it was closed. So we went to a hummingbird gallery to take some photos of hummingbirds. We tried to climb a trail behind the building (which wasn't allowed), but we got stuck when the way became too steep and too dense.
So we went back in the car to descend towards Santa Elena. I stopped three times at different places to ask local residents if they knew the Sanfords. Supposedly, this was a dairy-farming family that lived in Monteverde. Vicente had lived with them for a time, and Vicente's sister had visited them just a few years ago. I figured I would look for them to get a possible tour of a Costa Rican dairy farm, but not one person recognized the last name. And I talked with people who had lived here for many, many years: one Tica and two Quakers. It became apparent that I wasn't going to find the Sanfords.
So Paul and I continued descending the slope to Santa Elena. On the way, we saw a sign for some trails; we turned in. When we approached the entrance, we quickly walked onto the trail instead of paying the entrance fee. And so began our arduous evening. To put it simply and quickly, we walked so far down the trails that the sun set on us while quite far from the entrance/exit. Our only source of light was the light from Paul's digital camera, which was not strong, but was nevertheless very much better than nothing. Many times we found ourselves going off the trail, unintentionally of course. To add to the pressure, we would occasionally see two glowing green eyes either on or near the trail. Those eyes belonged to snakes. Several times we encountered barbed wire fences, which we sometimes jumped and sometimes turned away from. On several occasions, due to the lack of light, I lost my footing and fell to the ground. After about an hour of stumbling our way through the dark trails, along with sweating bullets, we finally found out way to an exit (which was not where we entered). I felt absolutely thrilled, but I was spent. I walked out onto the main road breathing heavily and sweating heavily. My relief was nearly immeasurable.
We returned to a delicious meal with Dona Virginia; she cooked rice and beans with a very tasty chuleta, accompanied with string beans and broccoli. It was exactly what I needed.
Now, I've spent the rest of the night calling Yorlen and Rosaura, and writing this entry. It's now about 10:30pm, and I have to wake up at 6am to go to the Sky Trek and Sky Walk tours. Once again, I unfortunately cannot review the events since Paul's arrival and our experiences in San Jose, Guapiles, Puerto Viejo, Manzanillo, Jaco, Quepos, Manuel Antonio, and La Fortuna and Arenal. I hope to find time tomorrow to at least chip away at these writings.
I'll start with today's events. We arrived in Santa Elena at a little after 2pm, at which time we looked and eventually found Dona Virginia Zamora. Yorlen had recommended that we stay here since it was cheap and we would get some good home-cooking. After arriving and settling in for a few minutes, Dona Virginia prepared a nice, big lunch, with rice, beans, sardines, yucca, chayote, accompanied by a glass of the juice of maranon. After the long four-hour drive from La Fortuna around the Lago Arenal to Tilaran, and then on dirt roads up and down the mountains to eventually reach Santa Elena, I was definitely hungry for a heavy meal.
After eating, Paul and I drove up to the center of town to buy tickets for Sky Trek and Sky Walk at 7:30am tomorrow morning, then went to get a cup of coffee to give us some energy for the afternoon and evening. We then drove up to the Reserva Biologica in Monteverde, only to find out that it was closed. So we went to a hummingbird gallery to take some photos of hummingbirds. We tried to climb a trail behind the building (which wasn't allowed), but we got stuck when the way became too steep and too dense.
So we went back in the car to descend towards Santa Elena. I stopped three times at different places to ask local residents if they knew the Sanfords. Supposedly, this was a dairy-farming family that lived in Monteverde. Vicente had lived with them for a time, and Vicente's sister had visited them just a few years ago. I figured I would look for them to get a possible tour of a Costa Rican dairy farm, but not one person recognized the last name. And I talked with people who had lived here for many, many years: one Tica and two Quakers. It became apparent that I wasn't going to find the Sanfords.
So Paul and I continued descending the slope to Santa Elena. On the way, we saw a sign for some trails; we turned in. When we approached the entrance, we quickly walked onto the trail instead of paying the entrance fee. And so began our arduous evening. To put it simply and quickly, we walked so far down the trails that the sun set on us while quite far from the entrance/exit. Our only source of light was the light from Paul's digital camera, which was not strong, but was nevertheless very much better than nothing. Many times we found ourselves going off the trail, unintentionally of course. To add to the pressure, we would occasionally see two glowing green eyes either on or near the trail. Those eyes belonged to snakes. Several times we encountered barbed wire fences, which we sometimes jumped and sometimes turned away from. On several occasions, due to the lack of light, I lost my footing and fell to the ground. After about an hour of stumbling our way through the dark trails, along with sweating bullets, we finally found out way to an exit (which was not where we entered). I felt absolutely thrilled, but I was spent. I walked out onto the main road breathing heavily and sweating heavily. My relief was nearly immeasurable.
We returned to a delicious meal with Dona Virginia; she cooked rice and beans with a very tasty chuleta, accompanied with string beans and broccoli. It was exactly what I needed.
Now, I've spent the rest of the night calling Yorlen and Rosaura, and writing this entry. It's now about 10:30pm, and I have to wake up at 6am to go to the Sky Trek and Sky Walk tours. Once again, I unfortunately cannot review the events since Paul's arrival and our experiences in San Jose, Guapiles, Puerto Viejo, Manzanillo, Jaco, Quepos, Manuel Antonio, and La Fortuna and Arenal. I hope to find time tomorrow to at least chip away at these writings.
La Fortuna, Costa Rica -- early morning
The town is named appropriately since tonight we had good fortune.
Today, in general, has been a great day. It can likely be considered to be one of the best days of my life. Making into the ocean at Manuel Antonio by 8am, then ending the night now at 2:30am after watching Volcan Arenal spew forth lava all night long.
Today must be captured as freshly as possible into letters and words. Although I can't write much more due to tiredness and the effects of other substances, I will quickly comment on the highs of the day. Manuel Antonio was great; really nice waves to bodysurf. And just now, the sight of lava flowing, rolling, and bouncing down the slope of the volcano. And just as impressive, the sound of the volcano: like the hammering of a carpenter in a hollow shop very distant. The beat was sometimes non-existent, but at other times quite fast and incessant, calling out the building of pressure.
Although the sights can be re-lived, the sounds must live on in memory. This is why I must write immediately to reflect the thoughts and visions of my life, to capture those sounds so they may reverberate every time I read these words again. To say the hammering was amazing is an understatement. It was deep and imposing, just as was the sight of the silhouette of the volcano against the clear, starlit night was also imposing and very impressive. It is the memory of that beat that will now lead me into sleep, soothing me, yet urging me to the content state of unconsciousness.
Today, in general, has been a great day. It can likely be considered to be one of the best days of my life. Making into the ocean at Manuel Antonio by 8am, then ending the night now at 2:30am after watching Volcan Arenal spew forth lava all night long.
Today must be captured as freshly as possible into letters and words. Although I can't write much more due to tiredness and the effects of other substances, I will quickly comment on the highs of the day. Manuel Antonio was great; really nice waves to bodysurf. And just now, the sight of lava flowing, rolling, and bouncing down the slope of the volcano. And just as impressive, the sound of the volcano: like the hammering of a carpenter in a hollow shop very distant. The beat was sometimes non-existent, but at other times quite fast and incessant, calling out the building of pressure.
Although the sights can be re-lived, the sounds must live on in memory. This is why I must write immediately to reflect the thoughts and visions of my life, to capture those sounds so they may reverberate every time I read these words again. To say the hammering was amazing is an understatement. It was deep and imposing, just as was the sight of the silhouette of the volcano against the clear, starlit night was also imposing and very impressive. It is the memory of that beat that will now lead me into sleep, soothing me, yet urging me to the content state of unconsciousness.
Wednesday, March 19, 2003
San Jose, Costa Rica -- morning
So right now it's just a matter of hours until Paul arrives. I'm writing to kill a few minutes while Marlen is vacuuming the car. When she's done, I'll be driving to Tia Zahrya's house to pick up some clothes, then - depending on the time - either come back here to organize my backpack or else go straight to the airport to pick up Paul. But I've got to find a solid half-hour to call around to rent-a-car companies. I could do it now, but I'm set on hitting the road while it's still kinda early. This will be a challenge to drive alone from one side of San Jose to another. Of course I will overcome. That really goes without saying.
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
San Jose, Costa Rica -- night
I'm now writing from the house of Tia Luisa in Jardines de Moravia. I won't write too much since I want to get in bed early to sleep well for tomorrow. Paul should be arriving at the airport at 3:05pm.
In the morning, I want to call around to different rent-a-car agencies to check prices. Also, I have to go to Tia Zahrya's house to pick up some clothes that I left there. I'll try to time it so that I can eat lunch there. Also, at some point tomorrow morning, I want to organize my backpack again. But maybe I'll do that later at night. We'll see.
Anyway, last night I went out with Carlos and his girlfriend, Angie, first to Big Dog's in Escazu, then to El Cuartel in Barrio Escalante in San Jose. Big Dog's was cool because I got to tell Carlos and Angie a bunch of great stories from my solo journey. And then, el Cuartel was banging, of course. Nice atmosphere. Good live music. And at least a few really nice-looking women. We didn't get back to crash here until almost 3am.
Today, Carlos and I got up at about 7am to run errands all day long. I had to go to Banco San Jose to change two traveller's cheques, one to dollars and the other to colones. I needed the $100 to then go to Grupo Taca to pay the fine to change my flight date and confirm my flight for March 30. And the 37,000 colones and change were because I was down to my last colones from the last cheque. Now, I think I'm all set for the next two weeks of certain fun and escapades with Paul.
In the morning, I want to call around to different rent-a-car agencies to check prices. Also, I have to go to Tia Zahrya's house to pick up some clothes that I left there. I'll try to time it so that I can eat lunch there. Also, at some point tomorrow morning, I want to organize my backpack again. But maybe I'll do that later at night. We'll see.
Anyway, last night I went out with Carlos and his girlfriend, Angie, first to Big Dog's in Escazu, then to El Cuartel in Barrio Escalante in San Jose. Big Dog's was cool because I got to tell Carlos and Angie a bunch of great stories from my solo journey. And then, el Cuartel was banging, of course. Nice atmosphere. Good live music. And at least a few really nice-looking women. We didn't get back to crash here until almost 3am.
Today, Carlos and I got up at about 7am to run errands all day long. I had to go to Banco San Jose to change two traveller's cheques, one to dollars and the other to colones. I needed the $100 to then go to Grupo Taca to pay the fine to change my flight date and confirm my flight for March 30. And the 37,000 colones and change were because I was down to my last colones from the last cheque. Now, I think I'm all set for the next two weeks of certain fun and escapades with Paul.
Monday, March 17, 2003
San Jose, Costa Rica -- afternoon
Today is St. Patrick's Day. I would have forgotten if Mita hadn't told me in our conversation yesterday. It makes sense that they don't celebrate that holiday here since there probably aren't too many people with Irish blood. For my part, I doubt I will celebrate since I've decided today will be a day of rest. With so much travelling and so many buses in the past month or more, I feel like it will be nice to just stay here in Tia Zahyra's house all day long. Also, another consideration is that I have just 2100 colones now, and I'd like to wait to go to the bank until Wednesday, when Paul gets here. Of course, I'll go to the bank tomorrow, but only to exchange one traveller's cheque for dollars, not colones, to pay the $100 fee to change my flight date and reserve my seat for March 30.
So my errands tomorrow will be bank, then the office of Grupo Taca. Afterwards, I think I'll wander through the mercado of San Jose to look for t-shirts and local artwork. I probably won't buy anything until I'm with Paul, but the trip will be more of a scouting mission to know where to find certain items.
So today I'll just take it easy. I'll finish writing here and I'll do some reading. I'll also review the itinerary which Yorlen helped me with last night. Our two-week tour of Costa Rica should be really fun. To say that I'm really looking forward is an understatement.
Finally, in retrospect, I'm glad I left Nosara a day or two earlier. I'm giving my body a well-needed rest. The skin on my nose and shoulders is peeling a little bit from the excessive, strong sun. And the bruises on my abdomen are healing nicely; they should be all healed in just a couple days. Also, the blisters and cuts on my feet are definitely taking advantage of the rest.
So my errands tomorrow will be bank, then the office of Grupo Taca. Afterwards, I think I'll wander through the mercado of San Jose to look for t-shirts and local artwork. I probably won't buy anything until I'm with Paul, but the trip will be more of a scouting mission to know where to find certain items.
So today I'll just take it easy. I'll finish writing here and I'll do some reading. I'll also review the itinerary which Yorlen helped me with last night. Our two-week tour of Costa Rica should be really fun. To say that I'm really looking forward is an understatement.
Finally, in retrospect, I'm glad I left Nosara a day or two earlier. I'm giving my body a well-needed rest. The skin on my nose and shoulders is peeling a little bit from the excessive, strong sun. And the bruises on my abdomen are healing nicely; they should be all healed in just a couple days. Also, the blisters and cuts on my feet are definitely taking advantage of the rest.
Sunday, March 16, 2003
San Jose, Costa Rica -- afternoon
The trip from Nosara to San Jose was a long one. I left Nosara at 12:45pm and arrived at San Jose at about 7:30pm. Along the way, we crossed the Gulf of Nicoya on the Tempisque Ferry; it was really cheap, only 30 colones. Surprisingly, I was awake for the whole trip. I read a section of my current book, "Lituma en los Andes" by Mario Vargas Llosa, a Peruvian author.
But most of the trip, I just looked out the window. I observed that many parts, Guanacaste especially, are very dry as a result of the hot summer sun. Actually, the trees on the mountains and many on level ground have lost their leaves dut to the dryness. It gives the appearance of late autumn in the northeastern United States. It is only the very warm temperature that quickly reminds one that you're in Costa Rica.
During the long trip, I also noticed a postcard-size picture of Jesus. It really caught my attention and got me thinking. I wondered about what it was like when Jesus walked on earth. And I wondered whether he brushed his teeth, or ever got a haircut, or disliked a type of food. I wondered what he thought about when he took a shit, or if he even had to in the first place. I wondered if he ever noticed a beautiful woman, or if there was any chance that he ever had a boner. I wondered if he ever had to sleep, and if so, for how long. I wondered if he ever felt bored. I also wondered if he ever wanted to tell the Israelis about the Americas, since he surely knew about the Western Hemisphere. I wondered what language he spoke, and if he knew many more. It may seem crazy that I thought about these things, but I really pondered what it was like when he walked on earth.
After conversations with the American, Joe, in Manzanillo, and then Alex, the German, in Samara, I have an interest in Jesus and the Bible. I want to read the Bible soon after returning to the United States. Also, to better understand the Muslim perspective, especially with regard to global political events as effected by religion, I'd like to read the Koran.
Anyway, catching up to my present location, I'm staying again with Tia Zahyra in San Antonio de Desamparados. By the time I got the local bus from the center of San Jose to arrive here, I reached the front gate at about 8:30pm. No one was home, but luckily just five seconds later, Tia Zahyra and Yorlen came walking down the street after a day of shopping in San Pedro.
Last night, I went out with Yorlen to watch a local soccer rivalry between la Liga Deportiva Alajuelense and Saprissa. Of course la Liga won four to one. Afterwards, some of Yorlen's friends were asking me about my trip. I gave some brief highlights, along with the usual generalities. Then, somehow the conversation got to talking about the possible war of the United States against Iraq. No one understood the U.S. motives for war, and the opinion was nearly of anti-American sentiment. It made me wonder what international opinion must be in other less-U.S.-friendly nations. For my part, I remained quiet. I had no inclination at that moment to provide my analysis of the reasons for the potential war. It was more interesting to hear what the Ticos had to say about the war. They realized that Bush has personal incentives with the oil industry. But besides that point, they didn't seem to present any other motive for war.
I was just happy to get back to Tia Zahrya's house to fall asleep on the couch after a long day of travel.
But most of the trip, I just looked out the window. I observed that many parts, Guanacaste especially, are very dry as a result of the hot summer sun. Actually, the trees on the mountains and many on level ground have lost their leaves dut to the dryness. It gives the appearance of late autumn in the northeastern United States. It is only the very warm temperature that quickly reminds one that you're in Costa Rica.
During the long trip, I also noticed a postcard-size picture of Jesus. It really caught my attention and got me thinking. I wondered about what it was like when Jesus walked on earth. And I wondered whether he brushed his teeth, or ever got a haircut, or disliked a type of food. I wondered what he thought about when he took a shit, or if he even had to in the first place. I wondered if he ever noticed a beautiful woman, or if there was any chance that he ever had a boner. I wondered if he ever had to sleep, and if so, for how long. I wondered if he ever felt bored. I also wondered if he ever wanted to tell the Israelis about the Americas, since he surely knew about the Western Hemisphere. I wondered what language he spoke, and if he knew many more. It may seem crazy that I thought about these things, but I really pondered what it was like when he walked on earth.
After conversations with the American, Joe, in Manzanillo, and then Alex, the German, in Samara, I have an interest in Jesus and the Bible. I want to read the Bible soon after returning to the United States. Also, to better understand the Muslim perspective, especially with regard to global political events as effected by religion, I'd like to read the Koran.
Anyway, catching up to my present location, I'm staying again with Tia Zahyra in San Antonio de Desamparados. By the time I got the local bus from the center of San Jose to arrive here, I reached the front gate at about 8:30pm. No one was home, but luckily just five seconds later, Tia Zahyra and Yorlen came walking down the street after a day of shopping in San Pedro.
Last night, I went out with Yorlen to watch a local soccer rivalry between la Liga Deportiva Alajuelense and Saprissa. Of course la Liga won four to one. Afterwards, some of Yorlen's friends were asking me about my trip. I gave some brief highlights, along with the usual generalities. Then, somehow the conversation got to talking about the possible war of the United States against Iraq. No one understood the U.S. motives for war, and the opinion was nearly of anti-American sentiment. It made me wonder what international opinion must be in other less-U.S.-friendly nations. For my part, I remained quiet. I had no inclination at that moment to provide my analysis of the reasons for the potential war. It was more interesting to hear what the Ticos had to say about the war. They realized that Bush has personal incentives with the oil industry. But besides that point, they didn't seem to present any other motive for war.
I was just happy to get back to Tia Zahrya's house to fall asleep on the couch after a long day of travel.
Saturday, March 15, 2003
Nosara, Costa Rica -- morning
The Ides of March. Well, I just bought my ticket to return to San Jose today. It was a close decision, but I think it was a good one. With the deep cut on my left big toe, and the two bruises on my abdomen, I could use a few days without walking on sand and in the heat of the sun.
Also, I realized I have to consider the bus fare to Desamparados as part of my financial analysis since all banks are now closed until Monday (today is Saturday). Plus, in general, I don't enjoy being in such a tight, stressful monetary situation.
And finally Nosara just doesn't hold my attention. Tonight there will be a live concert at the only discoteque, so everyone will be there. Of course I won't be there, which is perfectly fine. My chances of getting into a conversation in that kind of atmosphere are slim. I know this from plenty of experience in discoteques in the States and here in Costa Rica.
Also, I just visited the local shop for tourist information. They confirmed that the closest beach is Playa Pelada. I don't look forward to that long trek again. Also, Pelada is the nicest beach, and there will be many more people there today, since it is Saturday. But the beach is not that big. I don't look forward to being in the ocean surrounded by a bunch of other people; even yesterday there was a big group of Spring Breakers. So just imagine today. I just don't have any desire to re-enact the Jersey shore. I'll experience plenty of that this summer in the States. And to top it all off, I know I will be back to the beaches soon with Paul, so its no big deal to leave here.
I guess it would also be good to see family again before setting off so soon with Paul. So that's settled! When I write again, I should be in San Jose.
Also, I realized I have to consider the bus fare to Desamparados as part of my financial analysis since all banks are now closed until Monday (today is Saturday). Plus, in general, I don't enjoy being in such a tight, stressful monetary situation.
And finally Nosara just doesn't hold my attention. Tonight there will be a live concert at the only discoteque, so everyone will be there. Of course I won't be there, which is perfectly fine. My chances of getting into a conversation in that kind of atmosphere are slim. I know this from plenty of experience in discoteques in the States and here in Costa Rica.
Also, I just visited the local shop for tourist information. They confirmed that the closest beach is Playa Pelada. I don't look forward to that long trek again. Also, Pelada is the nicest beach, and there will be many more people there today, since it is Saturday. But the beach is not that big. I don't look forward to being in the ocean surrounded by a bunch of other people; even yesterday there was a big group of Spring Breakers. So just imagine today. I just don't have any desire to re-enact the Jersey shore. I'll experience plenty of that this summer in the States. And to top it all off, I know I will be back to the beaches soon with Paul, so its no big deal to leave here.
I guess it would also be good to see family again before setting off so soon with Paul. So that's settled! When I write again, I should be in San Jose.
Friday, March 14, 2003
Nosara, Costa Rica -- night
My plans may very well be moved up. The town of Nosara is nothing like Samara. Nosara is located about five kilometers from the beaches, which means that I had a long walk to the beach and a long walk from the beach today. Although the beach is nice as I said earlier, I'm not sure its worth the long walk now. My legs are pretty tired now, to the point where it was a bit uncomfortable to explore the town after getting back and taking a shower. Luckily for my legs, but unluckily for a good time, there is nothing to the town of Nosara. I ate dinner at one of the two bars, which was surprisingly expensive for being inland and lacking a heavy, visible tourism.
Actually, I'm now down to just over 10,000 colones, so I have decided to leave on Sunday morning. But because of the lack of social life, and the resulting boredom, I am now considering leaving tomorrow for San Jose. Its been over a month that I've been travelling solo, and I could use a return to 'civilization,' so to speak. But, more specifically, I would like to get three full meals a day, and have some nice conversations with my aunts and cousins.
Right at this moment, a frog is hopping by on the gravel in front of the bench I'm sitting on. Anyway, its probably about 9pm right now, and I'll likely be going to bed soon. This, for lack of a better option.
I've already read a section of my book, smoked a Costa Rican cigar, and now written in my journal. One of this afternoon's redeeming events was a conversation I began when coming upon a man walking towards me on the dirt road when I was walking to Playa Pelada. I began with the simple, but sincere question of the time of day. From there, he asked the usual questions, like where I was from and what I was doing here. He ended by saying that I was very nice and very friendly and that Costa Rica would be a better place if everyone acted like me. It was a very nice compliment.
I agree that I wish more people were friendlier. I have no problem beginning conversations in situations like that. But when I'm alone at a bar, where there's always a group of buddies there, its too imposing to cut in. It would be nice if others would reach out to start a conversation. I look forward to travelling with somebody, so as to have a better chance for us to reach out to others, or else, to speak between ourselves.
I'll be happy to reach San Jose. I'll make a decision tomorrow morning over breakfast as to what to do and where to go. Without an alarm clock, I hope I wake up early on my own.
Actually, I'm now down to just over 10,000 colones, so I have decided to leave on Sunday morning. But because of the lack of social life, and the resulting boredom, I am now considering leaving tomorrow for San Jose. Its been over a month that I've been travelling solo, and I could use a return to 'civilization,' so to speak. But, more specifically, I would like to get three full meals a day, and have some nice conversations with my aunts and cousins.
Right at this moment, a frog is hopping by on the gravel in front of the bench I'm sitting on. Anyway, its probably about 9pm right now, and I'll likely be going to bed soon. This, for lack of a better option.
I've already read a section of my book, smoked a Costa Rican cigar, and now written in my journal. One of this afternoon's redeeming events was a conversation I began when coming upon a man walking towards me on the dirt road when I was walking to Playa Pelada. I began with the simple, but sincere question of the time of day. From there, he asked the usual questions, like where I was from and what I was doing here. He ended by saying that I was very nice and very friendly and that Costa Rica would be a better place if everyone acted like me. It was a very nice compliment.
I agree that I wish more people were friendlier. I have no problem beginning conversations in situations like that. But when I'm alone at a bar, where there's always a group of buddies there, its too imposing to cut in. It would be nice if others would reach out to start a conversation. I look forward to travelling with somebody, so as to have a better chance for us to reach out to others, or else, to speak between ourselves.
I'll be happy to reach San Jose. I'll make a decision tomorrow morning over breakfast as to what to do and where to go. Without an alarm clock, I hope I wake up early on my own.
Playa Pelada, Costa Rica -- afternoon
I'm sitting on a log while writing this, facing the ocean, wearing only the bathing suit that I've borrowed from Carlos for this whole trip. I'm in a pensive mood, thinking about the past. Oftentimes I wonder how things could have been different. But to no avail, because here I am all alone. I'm sure its for the best, but there are still times when thats hard to accept. Its during moments like these that I wonder where she is and what she's doing. And I also wonder if she ever thinks of me. I can only imagine, and sometimes that's scary.
Anyway, here I am at one of the three beaches of Nosara. This is the only one, though, that received 'la bandera azul,' which means that it is at the highest level of environmental cleanliness. Of course that's why I came. The water looks darker blue from the shore, but is very clear once you're inside. I could see my feet the entire time I was in. Also, the waves are pretty calm. It's very nice.
I wanted to stay until Monday morning, but I may leave on Sunday. There are two factors. First, money. I have 15,000 colones, but with 2000 colones per night for a room and a tight budget of 2000 colones per day for food, I'm left with only 3000 colones to make it to at least Nicoya, if not all the way to San Jose. That scenario is if I stay until Monday. The second factor is fun. I like the beach here, but it may get old quick, especially after two days straight. I may go to one of the other two beaches, but we shall see.
But the real clincher is what to do during the night-time. Without meeting anyone to talk to, I am relegated to writing or reading my book. These two are just fine in their respective doses, but too much may drive me to leave for San Jose. But all of this I counter with the prospect of what I will be doing in San Jose; probably much of the same. Of course I'll play it by ear.
Anyway, here I am at one of the three beaches of Nosara. This is the only one, though, that received 'la bandera azul,' which means that it is at the highest level of environmental cleanliness. Of course that's why I came. The water looks darker blue from the shore, but is very clear once you're inside. I could see my feet the entire time I was in. Also, the waves are pretty calm. It's very nice.
I wanted to stay until Monday morning, but I may leave on Sunday. There are two factors. First, money. I have 15,000 colones, but with 2000 colones per night for a room and a tight budget of 2000 colones per day for food, I'm left with only 3000 colones to make it to at least Nicoya, if not all the way to San Jose. That scenario is if I stay until Monday. The second factor is fun. I like the beach here, but it may get old quick, especially after two days straight. I may go to one of the other two beaches, but we shall see.
But the real clincher is what to do during the night-time. Without meeting anyone to talk to, I am relegated to writing or reading my book. These two are just fine in their respective doses, but too much may drive me to leave for San Jose. But all of this I counter with the prospect of what I will be doing in San Jose; probably much of the same. Of course I'll play it by ear.
Thursday, March 13, 2003
Samara, Costa Rica -- night
I had a discussion this evening before dinner with the girl, Jess, about the Vietnam War. My main conclusion now from that conversation is that my analytical skills have slowed and my rhetorical skills are poor. The content of the conversation was interesting, but not important now in comparison to my conclusions. I need to focus more energy to reading reflectively to gain new information, and then apply it directly to engaging intellectual conversations. I must challenge myself mentally and intellectually. Since my activity in college, I feel I have become dull as a butter knife. I also feel that my ability for retention has diminished really since high school. It may or may not be related, but I will continue my minimal alcohol consumption. Also, I will attempt to write more as a form of reflection. Perhaps I can organize monthly or weekly meetings to discuss new topics each session. I must use this trip as a springboard to improve myself in as many ways as possible. I think I will also send Jess an email later, clarifying my opinion on the Vietnam War and also the hippie movement, and the causes and factors of each.
Well, in a brief re-cap of tonight, we had a dinner of fish and potatoes, with a dessert of cantaloupe. It was delicious. Then, Ronald, Jess, and I went into the ocean under the moon and stars. It was really fun to be in the water while having difficulty seeing the next wave: it made for an interesting, exciting experience. I laughed a lot and had a great time.
Well, tomorrow, I meet Ronald and Jess for breakfast, then we each go our separate way. I will go to Nosara, and hope to be there by lunchtime. As always, it is exciting and curious to be hitting the road to a new place, to meet new people, and to live new adventures.
Well, in a brief re-cap of tonight, we had a dinner of fish and potatoes, with a dessert of cantaloupe. It was delicious. Then, Ronald, Jess, and I went into the ocean under the moon and stars. It was really fun to be in the water while having difficulty seeing the next wave: it made for an interesting, exciting experience. I laughed a lot and had a great time.
Well, tomorrow, I meet Ronald and Jess for breakfast, then we each go our separate way. I will go to Nosara, and hope to be there by lunchtime. As always, it is exciting and curious to be hitting the road to a new place, to meet new people, and to live new adventures.
Samara, Costa Rica -- afternoon
Today is a day to take it easy. The skin on my upper back is tender from being in the sun and the water all day yesterday. So I'm hanging out in the shade of Clara's house with Ronald. I just opened a can of tuna with my knife while Ronald cut slices of bread for our lunch. We ended the meal with pieces of fresh watermelon.
After writing this, I'll do some reading, then walk down the beach to get a guanabana con leche. Then around 4pm, when the sun is not so strong, I'll get into the water.
My plan now is to leave for Nosara tomorrow morning, and stay there until Monday morning, when I will return to San Jose, thereby ending my solo trip. I left San Jose on February 13th, so I've been on the road for a month. However, in a lot of ways, its seemed longer. I really enjoyed the trip, despite a few difficulties. But that is to be expected.
My desire to travel has only grown. And now I have solid experience to learn for my next trip. I would like to go to Europe, and I would also like to visit the northwestern part of South America: Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. And I also want to complete a tour of Central America, also visiting some southern parts of Mexico. For all this, I need time and money. My goal now is to devise a plan to realize these aspirations. Presently, I'm thinking of going to Europe in a year, around next May 2004. That will give me a solid year to save money and accumulate vacation time. Of course, anything is possible.
But returning to my feelings from this trip, it is strange to think that this chapter is nearly over. If all goes according to plan, Paul will arrive in San Jose this coming Wednesday, and we'll tour Costa Rica. But of course it will be different to travel with someone else. In many ways, I'm looking forward to it. However, to take full advantage of his 10-day vacation, the time must be more regimented. So, in that way, I'm losing the freedom and flexibility that I have enjoyed for the past month.
And now, in just over two weeks, I return to the United States. I look forward to that for two reasons: for Mita and for stability. But I absolutely can't deny that I will miss this current lifestyle. There have been so many occasions where I have felt so happy and so free; it is an amazing feeling. When I experience the pure beauty of nature, or a cool tropical drink, or an enlightening conversation with a Tico or Nica or European, or the excitement of hitting the road to a new place: all these things make me feel so good, so alive. The purpose of life must be one's happiness, without threatening or denying the happiness of another. If this definition is correct, then I am fulfilling life's purpose here. However, perhaps there is more to life. I shall now sit on the cliff overlooking the ocean to ponder that point. And all the while, I will be happy.
After writing this, I'll do some reading, then walk down the beach to get a guanabana con leche. Then around 4pm, when the sun is not so strong, I'll get into the water.
My plan now is to leave for Nosara tomorrow morning, and stay there until Monday morning, when I will return to San Jose, thereby ending my solo trip. I left San Jose on February 13th, so I've been on the road for a month. However, in a lot of ways, its seemed longer. I really enjoyed the trip, despite a few difficulties. But that is to be expected.
My desire to travel has only grown. And now I have solid experience to learn for my next trip. I would like to go to Europe, and I would also like to visit the northwestern part of South America: Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. And I also want to complete a tour of Central America, also visiting some southern parts of Mexico. For all this, I need time and money. My goal now is to devise a plan to realize these aspirations. Presently, I'm thinking of going to Europe in a year, around next May 2004. That will give me a solid year to save money and accumulate vacation time. Of course, anything is possible.
But returning to my feelings from this trip, it is strange to think that this chapter is nearly over. If all goes according to plan, Paul will arrive in San Jose this coming Wednesday, and we'll tour Costa Rica. But of course it will be different to travel with someone else. In many ways, I'm looking forward to it. However, to take full advantage of his 10-day vacation, the time must be more regimented. So, in that way, I'm losing the freedom and flexibility that I have enjoyed for the past month.
And now, in just over two weeks, I return to the United States. I look forward to that for two reasons: for Mita and for stability. But I absolutely can't deny that I will miss this current lifestyle. There have been so many occasions where I have felt so happy and so free; it is an amazing feeling. When I experience the pure beauty of nature, or a cool tropical drink, or an enlightening conversation with a Tico or Nica or European, or the excitement of hitting the road to a new place: all these things make me feel so good, so alive. The purpose of life must be one's happiness, without threatening or denying the happiness of another. If this definition is correct, then I am fulfilling life's purpose here. However, perhaps there is more to life. I shall now sit on the cliff overlooking the ocean to ponder that point. And all the while, I will be happy.
Wednesday, March 12, 2003
Samara, Costa Rica -- night
Today was a very good day. After eating a good breakfast of pinto con huevos, I met Ronald on the beach. Then, walking along the beach, I spotted a girl sitting by herself. I guessed that it was the North American girl, Jess, and of course it was. After introductions and a brief conversation, Ronald and I walked nearly to the end of the beach, then entered the water to swim over a kilometer to a very small island off the coast. It was a very difficult swim due to the distance. Since Ronald has an injured knee due to the accident with the machete, he could not swim fast. So I quickly got far ahead of him, but this scared me at times since I sometimes could not see him when I looked back.
But he eventually made it a few minutes after me. He was also very tired. He said that he had been bitten by fish during the voyage, but I don't believe I was ever bitten. When we were both on the island we sat down to relax for about fifteen minutes before beginning the return voyage; but this time taking a shorter route toward the rock cliffs that make up part of the point that separates Samara from Carrillo. It was much faster and much easier, but still a bit difficult due to tiredness from the first swim.
We eventually arrived at the rocky shore, which we walked. Towards the end, I stepped on a tiny stick or stone which became embedded in my back left heel. I didn't realize it right away, but when I did I stooped down to extract it. Ronald watched and winced to see it, since it was embedded about one-half to three-quarters of a centimeter into my heel. It hurt a bit to walk on it afterward, and was bleeding heavily for about a minute. I think I'm fine now though.
So Ronald and I took the long walk along the shore, all the while having good conversation. I treated myself to two guanabana con leche as a reward for my swim; they were delicious. The rest of the afternoon was spent on the beach eating bananas, reading, and relaxing. However, right before this, Ronald, Jess, and I walked to a watermelon farm to eat two out of three small watermelons; again, we had good conversation.
Later in the evening, after showering, I walked to Clara's house (at the northernmost point on the beach, where Ronald and Rogelio are staying) to enjoy a dinner of rice, salsa, and lobster, with pineapple and banana for dessert, all for just 500 colones. It was great to have dinner with very nice people in a home atmosphere, but where all but Clara were guests. Also, the view from the front yard made the evening very special.
To end the night, we ended up playing pool at Lagarto's, in which I turned in a particularly poor performance. Oh wel!
Lastly, on the walk back to the cabina, I saw a man dressed in Arab dress with two women, one of each arm, and a third following behind him with a camera. I greeted them by saying "A salaam alaikum," and was surprised to get a perfectly fluent Arabic response. So they were legitimately Arabs. The women were dressed beautifully in the sensual dress of an Arabian princess. It was an interesting sight to see.
Now, tired of course from the swim, and a whole day under the sun, I am feeling nearly exhausted. I will put down the pen and sleep well I'm sure.
But he eventually made it a few minutes after me. He was also very tired. He said that he had been bitten by fish during the voyage, but I don't believe I was ever bitten. When we were both on the island we sat down to relax for about fifteen minutes before beginning the return voyage; but this time taking a shorter route toward the rock cliffs that make up part of the point that separates Samara from Carrillo. It was much faster and much easier, but still a bit difficult due to tiredness from the first swim.
We eventually arrived at the rocky shore, which we walked. Towards the end, I stepped on a tiny stick or stone which became embedded in my back left heel. I didn't realize it right away, but when I did I stooped down to extract it. Ronald watched and winced to see it, since it was embedded about one-half to three-quarters of a centimeter into my heel. It hurt a bit to walk on it afterward, and was bleeding heavily for about a minute. I think I'm fine now though.
So Ronald and I took the long walk along the shore, all the while having good conversation. I treated myself to two guanabana con leche as a reward for my swim; they were delicious. The rest of the afternoon was spent on the beach eating bananas, reading, and relaxing. However, right before this, Ronald, Jess, and I walked to a watermelon farm to eat two out of three small watermelons; again, we had good conversation.
Later in the evening, after showering, I walked to Clara's house (at the northernmost point on the beach, where Ronald and Rogelio are staying) to enjoy a dinner of rice, salsa, and lobster, with pineapple and banana for dessert, all for just 500 colones. It was great to have dinner with very nice people in a home atmosphere, but where all but Clara were guests. Also, the view from the front yard made the evening very special.
To end the night, we ended up playing pool at Lagarto's, in which I turned in a particularly poor performance. Oh wel!
Lastly, on the walk back to the cabina, I saw a man dressed in Arab dress with two women, one of each arm, and a third following behind him with a camera. I greeted them by saying "A salaam alaikum," and was surprised to get a perfectly fluent Arabic response. So they were legitimately Arabs. The women were dressed beautifully in the sensual dress of an Arabian princess. It was an interesting sight to see.
Now, tired of course from the swim, and a whole day under the sun, I am feeling nearly exhausted. I will put down the pen and sleep well I'm sure.
Tuesday, March 11, 2003
Carrillo, Costa Rica -- afternoon
I think I am now able to write after buying this new pen at a supermercado earlier today. I have wanted to write a lot more these past couple of days, but that last pen just didn't work.
Well, I'm writing this while taking a break from trying to help this family get their pick-up truck out from being stuck in the sand. We have had no luck so far . . . A woman in an Isuzu Trooper came by to provide a hitch. Another man and I pushed from behind while the Trooper pulled. For the most part (other than getting stuck again just for a second), the operation went smoothly.
Now since I'm looking forward to getting back in the water soon, I will keep my re-cap as quick and simple as I possibly can. To pick up where I left off with my last entry in Granada, the gangster-looking Nicaraguan guy came back to sit on my bench. After beginning a conversation, I realized he was essentially homeless, but thrived and enjoyed the friendship of tourists. Perhaps its sounds a bit fishy, but after I explained my financial situation, he offerred to buy me an enchilada. He said that he could get it cheap, and his philosophy - in my rough translation - is that what goes around comes around. So he happily helped me out. It was a really nice thing for which I was very grateful. Immediately after buying the enchilada, he left to find another friend who was to give him a shirt.
Then, one after the other, I had conversations with three more people who came to sit next to me on that bench in el parque central; the first two were men and the last was a woman.
The most interesting conversation was with a man of about forty years in age. He analyzed the failure of the Sandinista revolution and its preceding and following events very well. He said that, before the revolution, each town was run by a "terrateniente", who was in turn run by Somoza from the top-down. So, in essence, Nicaragua was operating under a feudal system which had altered very little since the early colonial encomienda system. Certainly taking note of the international liberation movement in the 1960s, especially Cuba, the people of Nicaragua felt repressed by the feudal system and resentful of the Somoza regime.
The man said that the ideals of the Sandinistas were the opportunity to realize a dream of overcoming that system of Somoza. Hence, the popular support, and eventual victory, of the 1979 Sandinista revolution. However, with the Contra war of the 1980s, funded by the Nicaraguan elite, and also funded and supported by the United States government, the Sandinistas could not put the full, necessary energy to their program. Instead, much man-power was needed to fight the Contra war. In other words, the economy of Nicaragua sufferred greatly because its most-able men were fighting a war, not strengthening an economy. So the people lost faith in the Sandinistas; in the end, some even blaming them for the poor economy.
This sentiment was witnessed in the 1990 election when the Sandinistas were voted out of office. Since then, they are seen as just another political party, lacking any kind of revolutionary front. And now, in 2003, Nicaragua is poorer than it was before the revolution. It is a shame. My conversation, though, was quite informative and enlightening.
I returned to the Bearded Monkey to meet up with Toby to discuss dreams of travelling the world. Then I went to bed early to wake up early the next morning at about 6:15am. By 7am, I was walking to the Granada bus station, where my day-long journey began. I rode five buses yesterday. From Granada to Rivas, from Rivas to Penas Blancas, from Penas Blancas to Liberia, from Liberia to Nicoya, and from Nicoya to Samara.
When I left Granada I had only 41 cordobas and 2000 colones. When I arrived in Liberia, I had only 300 colones; I had not taken into account a $1.00 municipal fee and a $2.00 exit tax to leave Nicaragua. Those, in addition to bus fares. With the 300 colones, I bought a grapefruit soda and then went straight to the bank in Liberia to exchange my next traveller's check. Afterwards, I immediately went to a restaurant to devour a casado con chuleta; that was delicious after not eating a full meal since the morning before, about 28 hours earlier.
Without wasting any time then, I went back to the Liberia bus station to continue my journey, hoping to arrive in Samara to meet the North American girl. When I arrived in Nicoya, I had to walk a few blocks to get to the bus station with buses for Samara. I had to wait for about ten minutes for the bus from San Jose to Samara. When I walked onto the bus, I was surprised and happy to see Ronald, my Dutch friend. He was travelling with a Swiss guy and a German guy. We finally arrived in Samara at about 5:30pm, a long day of travelling for me.
After quickly checking back into Cabinas Magaly, I changed into my bathing suit and treated myself to a relaxing dip in the ocean, just as the sun was setting. Also, the half-moon and the first stars were out. It was a sight which was absolutely beautiful.
Later, after eating a tuna and crackers and pineapple dinner with Ronald, we got the other two guys to go to the bar where the language school students always hang out. I had a great time playing pool (and learning Tico rules). I also met some nice people, including a cool kid from Tennessee named Marcus. He's friends with Tony, the Canadian. All in all, it was a very good night.
To finish it off beautifully, I walked back alone (to the cabina) along the beach; the night-sky was totally clear so the view was beyond words; it was that which inspired me to write my last entry.
Today, after getting up late (about 10:30am), I walked alone to Carrillo to meet Ronald and the other two guys. The beach here is quieter than Samara, and the water is somehow more clear. Its really very nice. Now I will look for a bite to eat, and then get in the water again. When I return to the cabina, I will see if the North American girl has arrived or not.
Well, I'm writing this while taking a break from trying to help this family get their pick-up truck out from being stuck in the sand. We have had no luck so far . . . A woman in an Isuzu Trooper came by to provide a hitch. Another man and I pushed from behind while the Trooper pulled. For the most part (other than getting stuck again just for a second), the operation went smoothly.
Now since I'm looking forward to getting back in the water soon, I will keep my re-cap as quick and simple as I possibly can. To pick up where I left off with my last entry in Granada, the gangster-looking Nicaraguan guy came back to sit on my bench. After beginning a conversation, I realized he was essentially homeless, but thrived and enjoyed the friendship of tourists. Perhaps its sounds a bit fishy, but after I explained my financial situation, he offerred to buy me an enchilada. He said that he could get it cheap, and his philosophy - in my rough translation - is that what goes around comes around. So he happily helped me out. It was a really nice thing for which I was very grateful. Immediately after buying the enchilada, he left to find another friend who was to give him a shirt.
Then, one after the other, I had conversations with three more people who came to sit next to me on that bench in el parque central; the first two were men and the last was a woman.
The most interesting conversation was with a man of about forty years in age. He analyzed the failure of the Sandinista revolution and its preceding and following events very well. He said that, before the revolution, each town was run by a "terrateniente", who was in turn run by Somoza from the top-down. So, in essence, Nicaragua was operating under a feudal system which had altered very little since the early colonial encomienda system. Certainly taking note of the international liberation movement in the 1960s, especially Cuba, the people of Nicaragua felt repressed by the feudal system and resentful of the Somoza regime.
The man said that the ideals of the Sandinistas were the opportunity to realize a dream of overcoming that system of Somoza. Hence, the popular support, and eventual victory, of the 1979 Sandinista revolution. However, with the Contra war of the 1980s, funded by the Nicaraguan elite, and also funded and supported by the United States government, the Sandinistas could not put the full, necessary energy to their program. Instead, much man-power was needed to fight the Contra war. In other words, the economy of Nicaragua sufferred greatly because its most-able men were fighting a war, not strengthening an economy. So the people lost faith in the Sandinistas; in the end, some even blaming them for the poor economy.
This sentiment was witnessed in the 1990 election when the Sandinistas were voted out of office. Since then, they are seen as just another political party, lacking any kind of revolutionary front. And now, in 2003, Nicaragua is poorer than it was before the revolution. It is a shame. My conversation, though, was quite informative and enlightening.
I returned to the Bearded Monkey to meet up with Toby to discuss dreams of travelling the world. Then I went to bed early to wake up early the next morning at about 6:15am. By 7am, I was walking to the Granada bus station, where my day-long journey began. I rode five buses yesterday. From Granada to Rivas, from Rivas to Penas Blancas, from Penas Blancas to Liberia, from Liberia to Nicoya, and from Nicoya to Samara.
When I left Granada I had only 41 cordobas and 2000 colones. When I arrived in Liberia, I had only 300 colones; I had not taken into account a $1.00 municipal fee and a $2.00 exit tax to leave Nicaragua. Those, in addition to bus fares. With the 300 colones, I bought a grapefruit soda and then went straight to the bank in Liberia to exchange my next traveller's check. Afterwards, I immediately went to a restaurant to devour a casado con chuleta; that was delicious after not eating a full meal since the morning before, about 28 hours earlier.
Without wasting any time then, I went back to the Liberia bus station to continue my journey, hoping to arrive in Samara to meet the North American girl. When I arrived in Nicoya, I had to walk a few blocks to get to the bus station with buses for Samara. I had to wait for about ten minutes for the bus from San Jose to Samara. When I walked onto the bus, I was surprised and happy to see Ronald, my Dutch friend. He was travelling with a Swiss guy and a German guy. We finally arrived in Samara at about 5:30pm, a long day of travelling for me.
After quickly checking back into Cabinas Magaly, I changed into my bathing suit and treated myself to a relaxing dip in the ocean, just as the sun was setting. Also, the half-moon and the first stars were out. It was a sight which was absolutely beautiful.
Later, after eating a tuna and crackers and pineapple dinner with Ronald, we got the other two guys to go to the bar where the language school students always hang out. I had a great time playing pool (and learning Tico rules). I also met some nice people, including a cool kid from Tennessee named Marcus. He's friends with Tony, the Canadian. All in all, it was a very good night.
To finish it off beautifully, I walked back alone (to the cabina) along the beach; the night-sky was totally clear so the view was beyond words; it was that which inspired me to write my last entry.
Today, after getting up late (about 10:30am), I walked alone to Carrillo to meet Ronald and the other two guys. The beach here is quieter than Samara, and the water is somehow more clear. Its really very nice. Now I will look for a bite to eat, and then get in the water again. When I return to the cabina, I will see if the North American girl has arrived or not.
Monday, March 10, 2003
Samara, Costa Rica -- night
Let me take this opportunity right now to say how great it is to be alive. Whoever may read these words (even if it be only myself) must realize this and strive to never, not for a moment, take life for granted.
Sunday, March 9, 2003
Granada, Nicaragua -- night
Well, since that last entry earlier today, I have had a good afternoon and evening, which has almost coincidentally dealt with the topic of the last entry.
After the conversation with the vendor on the shore of el Lago Nicaragua, I was soon after surrounded by a bunch of tiny little green bugs. So I decided to leave to head back to el Parque Central. I sat down at a bench and in a little bit the parade of bench-partners began.
Perhaps there is humidity now or perhaps it is the pen, but this ink is very faint. I think I will try to write again later. And hopefully I can finish this entry . . . ok, so let's give this a try.
I had been sitting on the bench by myself when a young Nica walked by with a bandana rolled and wrapped around his forehead. He looked like a gangster, but we made eye contact, so I nodded as a form of greeting.
After the conversation with the vendor on the shore of el Lago Nicaragua, I was soon after surrounded by a bunch of tiny little green bugs. So I decided to leave to head back to el Parque Central. I sat down at a bench and in a little bit the parade of bench-partners began.
Perhaps there is humidity now or perhaps it is the pen, but this ink is very faint. I think I will try to write again later. And hopefully I can finish this entry . . . ok, so let's give this a try.
I had been sitting on the bench by myself when a young Nica walked by with a bandana rolled and wrapped around his forehead. He looked like a gangster, but we made eye contact, so I nodded as a form of greeting.
Granada, Nicaragua -- afternoon
Its a little bit windy as I sit here on the shore of el Lago Nicaragua. I think that the wind comes off the mountains to the east and then picks up speed as it comes across the surface of the lake. There are a number of locals swimming in the lake, but for me there is little appeal to take a dip.
My time in Granada, and Nicaragua for that matter, will end tomorrow morning when I leave for the border. I have little choice since I am left with only about 45 cordobas right now, at least 23 of which I will need to pay bus fare from Granada to Rivas and from Rivas to Penas Blancas. Unfortunately, it appears I will have to fast until I return to Costa Rica.
In many ways, it is a shame that I must leave here so soon. Granada is a beautiful city. Although it is not as big as Leon, the added features of its lakeside location, and the volcano so nearby overlooking the city, make Granada an attractive city to visit. Also, similar to Leon, its colonial architecture and lay-out make it quaint and comfortable. However, without a doubt, I prefer Leon; this is due to a few initial experiences here in Granada.
First, there seems to be little contact between tourists and locals. The locals have generally been cold to me, and the only ones really initiating contact were the guys pushing to sell marijuana and other drugs. And that is very annoying because they push so hard, that they nearly accost you or else accompany you practically into the bathroom. In a couple of words, they are very insistent. The other locals here seem a bit cold, and even resentful, to the foreigners. And I don't necessarily blame them.
To provide an example, I went with Toby to a local bar last night. My first impression was that it was very touristy, but in that negative pseudo-bohemian sort of way. I went to the bar to order a gin and tonic, then I asked a second bartender when the live music was to begin. And of course I asked in clear, fluent Spanish, as is natural since we are in Nicaragua, a Spanish-speaking country. The small-statured, pseudo-intellectual-looking brat responded in clear, fluent American English by demanding "English," meaning that he was ordering me to speak his language of English. The cultural superiority exemplified in that act sickens me. It is exactly that sort of condescending attitude that brings the United States a bad name all over the world. To a great extent, it was that cultural inflexibility that impelled Osama bin Laden to make the statement (as horrible as it was) that he did. I remained cool last night in that example, and quickly got my answer in English. That was probably the most peaceful reaction possible. But in retrospect, I almost wish I had punched that ass in the face, and told him to speak Spanish.
As a final observation on this point, Granada seems very touristy, but unfortunately in the sense of tourists who come to get high and have little interest in any sort of true, authentic, respectful intercultural/international experience. And there are many more tourists here than in Leon, making the whole spectacle a zoo of pseudo-bohemians believing that dreadlocks or long hair or beards or rags or ganja or coke or not showering for months will automatically show them or bring them to el camino real. Little do the fools realize that their attitudes and behavior are disrespectful to the culture and to the people here. So it is little, if no, surprise that the local people of Granada are now only interested in contact in the form of money changing hands . . .
Well, incidentally after writing that last sentence, a street vendor walked by with his cart and we started a conversation. He essentially said that the people of Nicaragua simply want to work, in order to eat. In response to my question, he said that Bolanos has done nothing to improve Nicaragua's economic situation. I told him the story above and told him how ashamed I am of those who bring a bad name to the United States, or tourists in general. I also said that it was important to have conversations like ours, between Nicaraguans and foreigners, to open the minds of both and to create a true intercultural exchange.
However, I realized quickly into our conversation that he had a heavy Nicaraguan accent, which tends to slur words by speaking very fast. As the conversation got deeper, it became more difficult for me to remain involved due to his accent. But I did understand a quick story he said later about how a group of bandits attacked a police officer, and did some real damage, about two years ago. He said it was a general response to police brutality, which is common here in Nicaragua.
I told him that the Nicaraguan government should promote more tourism. But I warned of a risk that I have witnessed especially here in Granada: it is not good for the Nicaraguan economy if the tourists only invest and/or spend at foreign-owned businesses. (I now feel a little bad that I'm staying at the Bearded Monkey). And as I said, here in Granada, there is little contact between tourists and locals. Leon, however, seemed much more integrated, therefore positively effecting the Leon economy.
As a final point, it probably seemd hypocritical that I didn't buy a hot dog from him. But I do need to get to the border tomorrow, and I'd rather arrive by bus than by hitchhiking.
My time in Granada, and Nicaragua for that matter, will end tomorrow morning when I leave for the border. I have little choice since I am left with only about 45 cordobas right now, at least 23 of which I will need to pay bus fare from Granada to Rivas and from Rivas to Penas Blancas. Unfortunately, it appears I will have to fast until I return to Costa Rica.
In many ways, it is a shame that I must leave here so soon. Granada is a beautiful city. Although it is not as big as Leon, the added features of its lakeside location, and the volcano so nearby overlooking the city, make Granada an attractive city to visit. Also, similar to Leon, its colonial architecture and lay-out make it quaint and comfortable. However, without a doubt, I prefer Leon; this is due to a few initial experiences here in Granada.
First, there seems to be little contact between tourists and locals. The locals have generally been cold to me, and the only ones really initiating contact were the guys pushing to sell marijuana and other drugs. And that is very annoying because they push so hard, that they nearly accost you or else accompany you practically into the bathroom. In a couple of words, they are very insistent. The other locals here seem a bit cold, and even resentful, to the foreigners. And I don't necessarily blame them.
To provide an example, I went with Toby to a local bar last night. My first impression was that it was very touristy, but in that negative pseudo-bohemian sort of way. I went to the bar to order a gin and tonic, then I asked a second bartender when the live music was to begin. And of course I asked in clear, fluent Spanish, as is natural since we are in Nicaragua, a Spanish-speaking country. The small-statured, pseudo-intellectual-looking brat responded in clear, fluent American English by demanding "English," meaning that he was ordering me to speak his language of English. The cultural superiority exemplified in that act sickens me. It is exactly that sort of condescending attitude that brings the United States a bad name all over the world. To a great extent, it was that cultural inflexibility that impelled Osama bin Laden to make the statement (as horrible as it was) that he did. I remained cool last night in that example, and quickly got my answer in English. That was probably the most peaceful reaction possible. But in retrospect, I almost wish I had punched that ass in the face, and told him to speak Spanish.
As a final observation on this point, Granada seems very touristy, but unfortunately in the sense of tourists who come to get high and have little interest in any sort of true, authentic, respectful intercultural/international experience. And there are many more tourists here than in Leon, making the whole spectacle a zoo of pseudo-bohemians believing that dreadlocks or long hair or beards or rags or ganja or coke or not showering for months will automatically show them or bring them to el camino real. Little do the fools realize that their attitudes and behavior are disrespectful to the culture and to the people here. So it is little, if no, surprise that the local people of Granada are now only interested in contact in the form of money changing hands . . .
Well, incidentally after writing that last sentence, a street vendor walked by with his cart and we started a conversation. He essentially said that the people of Nicaragua simply want to work, in order to eat. In response to my question, he said that Bolanos has done nothing to improve Nicaragua's economic situation. I told him the story above and told him how ashamed I am of those who bring a bad name to the United States, or tourists in general. I also said that it was important to have conversations like ours, between Nicaraguans and foreigners, to open the minds of both and to create a true intercultural exchange.
However, I realized quickly into our conversation that he had a heavy Nicaraguan accent, which tends to slur words by speaking very fast. As the conversation got deeper, it became more difficult for me to remain involved due to his accent. But I did understand a quick story he said later about how a group of bandits attacked a police officer, and did some real damage, about two years ago. He said it was a general response to police brutality, which is common here in Nicaragua.
I told him that the Nicaraguan government should promote more tourism. But I warned of a risk that I have witnessed especially here in Granada: it is not good for the Nicaraguan economy if the tourists only invest and/or spend at foreign-owned businesses. (I now feel a little bad that I'm staying at the Bearded Monkey). And as I said, here in Granada, there is little contact between tourists and locals. Leon, however, seemed much more integrated, therefore positively effecting the Leon economy.
As a final point, it probably seemd hypocritical that I didn't buy a hot dog from him. But I do need to get to the border tomorrow, and I'd rather arrive by bus than by hitchhiking.
Saturday, March 8, 2003
Leon, Nicaragua -- morning
I'm now sitting at a cafe on the parque central, with La Catedral to my left-hand side. Its a clear, blue sky with only a few rare clouds.
The weather was the same when I went yesterday to Las Penitas, a beach on the Pacific Coast about half an hour from Leon. I spent the afternoon with a German named Marcos and a Swiss named Toby. We had a lot of fun boogie-boarding, but since I didn't wear a shirt, I had two red friction spots on my abdomen this morning. It hurts a little bit, but it was definitely worth it for the fun of riding waves.
However, I really didn't like Las Penitas that much. There were no trees on the beach to provide any shade. There was a wicked wind blowing from the south; this helped to create some often vicious waves. But the wind was terrible because it blew sand in one's face if facing south. Also, there were strong currents pulling one quickly toward the north, which made it more dangerous because of rocks (hence, "las penitas") lying both on-shore and underwater.
On one occasion, I had been pulled to the north without realizing it. Toby, who was on-shore, whistled to me to advise me of my position. I had to swim hard to make it straight back to shore without getting pulled any farther north. To speed my efforts, I rode a wave in, but landed on a rock that was unseen underwater. Quite luckily, I landed with one leg on each side of the rock, so that I was straddling it. As soon as there was a break in the waves, I quickly swam back to shore, and to safety.
Another highlight was eating a whole fish marinated with sweet-and-sour sauce and vegetables (onions, red peppers, etc.); on the side, there were platano chips. It was very delicious.
Right now, I'm sipping on a papaya con leche while writing these words. Only Toby and I returned to Leon from Las Penitas; I bid farewell of Marcos. I hope we can keep in touch.
Later, last night, I decided to hang out with Toby, and two other Swiss guys: Gianni and Richard. We went to a quaint restaurant, La Taquezal, to hear live music: a man on a guitar and a woman singing. It was nice. The guitarist was very good, and the woman had a nice voice. I drank my first alcohol in over a month. I drank a 'capuccino taquezal,' which was simply a capuccino with rum. It was good, but strong. I had to ask for more coffee to weaken the rum.
Afterwards, when two Dutch girls had joined us, we left to go to another restaurant closer to Via Via, called El Camaleon. We continued good conversation with many jokes and much laughter. I eventually went to bed at 3am. It had been a while since I hung out like that, so it was a good experience.
I woke up early this morning, at about 7:30am, to go to el Museo Insurreccional, but it was closed. However, it was good that I walked around, because I stopped at a bookseller on the sidewalk to buy two small books, one by Carlos Fonseca and the other by Fidel Castro.
I leave soon with Toby to go south to Granada. As always, I'm very excited to hit the road, especially to a new destination. Nevertheless, I will miss Leon. It is a beautiful city in so many ways.
Last night, while at Via Via, I was standing at the bar, waiting for a lemonade. I started a good conversation with a beautiful Nicaraguan woman. She is 23 years old and a third-year law student here in Leon. She asked me if I had a wife or girlfriend, and then said that I should stay more time in Leon. I explained that I had to move on, but that I, too, would have liked to stay. We exchanged email addresses and will certainly keep in touch. I invited her to the United States; perhaps one day we'll meet again.
All in all, my time in Leon has been wonderful. I leave here with a positive attitude and some new friendships. So, speaking of leaving, the time has come to enjoy the rest of my papaya con leche. And then I will go to Via Via to collect my things, to return to meet Toby on the main square, then hit the road once again . . .
As a postscript, I have to note that I just observed two young boys pissing on La Catedral in broad daylight, now at about 10:30am.
The weather was the same when I went yesterday to Las Penitas, a beach on the Pacific Coast about half an hour from Leon. I spent the afternoon with a German named Marcos and a Swiss named Toby. We had a lot of fun boogie-boarding, but since I didn't wear a shirt, I had two red friction spots on my abdomen this morning. It hurts a little bit, but it was definitely worth it for the fun of riding waves.
However, I really didn't like Las Penitas that much. There were no trees on the beach to provide any shade. There was a wicked wind blowing from the south; this helped to create some often vicious waves. But the wind was terrible because it blew sand in one's face if facing south. Also, there were strong currents pulling one quickly toward the north, which made it more dangerous because of rocks (hence, "las penitas") lying both on-shore and underwater.
On one occasion, I had been pulled to the north without realizing it. Toby, who was on-shore, whistled to me to advise me of my position. I had to swim hard to make it straight back to shore without getting pulled any farther north. To speed my efforts, I rode a wave in, but landed on a rock that was unseen underwater. Quite luckily, I landed with one leg on each side of the rock, so that I was straddling it. As soon as there was a break in the waves, I quickly swam back to shore, and to safety.
Another highlight was eating a whole fish marinated with sweet-and-sour sauce and vegetables (onions, red peppers, etc.); on the side, there were platano chips. It was very delicious.
Right now, I'm sipping on a papaya con leche while writing these words. Only Toby and I returned to Leon from Las Penitas; I bid farewell of Marcos. I hope we can keep in touch.
Later, last night, I decided to hang out with Toby, and two other Swiss guys: Gianni and Richard. We went to a quaint restaurant, La Taquezal, to hear live music: a man on a guitar and a woman singing. It was nice. The guitarist was very good, and the woman had a nice voice. I drank my first alcohol in over a month. I drank a 'capuccino taquezal,' which was simply a capuccino with rum. It was good, but strong. I had to ask for more coffee to weaken the rum.
Afterwards, when two Dutch girls had joined us, we left to go to another restaurant closer to Via Via, called El Camaleon. We continued good conversation with many jokes and much laughter. I eventually went to bed at 3am. It had been a while since I hung out like that, so it was a good experience.
I woke up early this morning, at about 7:30am, to go to el Museo Insurreccional, but it was closed. However, it was good that I walked around, because I stopped at a bookseller on the sidewalk to buy two small books, one by Carlos Fonseca and the other by Fidel Castro.
I leave soon with Toby to go south to Granada. As always, I'm very excited to hit the road, especially to a new destination. Nevertheless, I will miss Leon. It is a beautiful city in so many ways.
Last night, while at Via Via, I was standing at the bar, waiting for a lemonade. I started a good conversation with a beautiful Nicaraguan woman. She is 23 years old and a third-year law student here in Leon. She asked me if I had a wife or girlfriend, and then said that I should stay more time in Leon. I explained that I had to move on, but that I, too, would have liked to stay. We exchanged email addresses and will certainly keep in touch. I invited her to the United States; perhaps one day we'll meet again.
All in all, my time in Leon has been wonderful. I leave here with a positive attitude and some new friendships. So, speaking of leaving, the time has come to enjoy the rest of my papaya con leche. And then I will go to Via Via to collect my things, to return to meet Toby on the main square, then hit the road once again . . .
As a postscript, I have to note that I just observed two young boys pissing on La Catedral in broad daylight, now at about 10:30am.
Thursday, March 6, 2003
Leon, Nicaragua -- night
Earlier this afternoon, I walked over a kilometer from the center of Leon by way of la Calle Ruben Dario to the indigenous area of Subtiava. From there, I walked just a few more blocks to arrive at el Barrio Felipe Santana. Of course my memory served me well, and so I arrived with no problem at the home of Don Clemente and Dona Maria. They were very surprised to see me. And I was nearly as surprised that Dona Maria remembered my name without a second thought. I gave their 9-year-old grandson, Jairo, his gift, a basic but complete world atlas. Later, just before leaving, I wrote my Spanish name ('Tay'), his name, today's date, and an inscription of Marti's lyric from Versos Sencillos, to perhaps impel the boy to one day chase the horizon.
I stayed for a little over three hours, telling stories of my life and job in the States, as well as stories of my adventures in Central America. I also took a walk around the neighborhood, which I saw hans't changed a bit. I wrote down their address, in hopes that I will follow through with a postcard or two in the future. And finally before leaving, I got a photo in the front doorway in the same spot as three years ago with Don Clemente, Dona Maria, Jairo, and Ines.
Later, on my walk back down la Calle Ruben Dario, I stopped back at a vendor whom I had asked directions to reach Felipe Santana. Another younger teenage girl was there, but said that the other woman would return shortly. I asked for a cantaloupe, and she offerred me a seat to eat right there. So I ended up talking with her for about half an hour. After going over the usual trivialities, I asked her specifically about her studies and her goals. She said she is studying to be an accountant, because it is a good job and in demand.
Then, she asked me about my job. That turned the conversation onto the tangent of human rights, specifically women's rights. After explaining that men and women are equal, and Nicaragua must pursue two avenues to realize this: juridically and culturally. The two methods would dissuade machismo, and punish severe cases of machismo. I said that a man and a woman should be in an equal relationship with each other. I made other specific points as well.
But, after a few minutes of elaborating, an older man approached us who had been overhearing our conversation, and he asked me directly where I was from. I replied that I was born in Colombia and that I am medio-tico, medio-gringo. He made a comment about religion and immediately walked away without waiting for a response.
I asked the girl to clarify, but first guessed that the man implied that, according to biblical references, a woman has a place in the home and at the side and service of her husband. I quickly explained that the culture in biblical times was represented in the Bible, but that much time had passed, and hence our present culture is not the same as in biblical times. Furthermore, I explained that if the message of the Bible (namely the teachings of Jesus Christ) could be simplified or summarized, it would be a message of love and respect for all fellow humans, as brothers and sisters alike. In this respect, the mistreatment of women, and hence its Latino manifestation, 'machismo,' is contrary to Christian practice. The girl was in agreement, I believe, with my analysis.
But I concluded by saying that the consciousness - of Latinos in general and Nicaraguans in specific - must be raised. And I countered that by admitting my surprise that the Sandinista revolution did not have more of an effect in that respect. But she clarified that things have definitely changed and improved.
Along somewhat similar lines, I had a good conversation with a German this morning before leaving to visit la "21." Its really too much to get into here, but the theme of the conversation was globalization, with our agreed consensus being international sustainable development. I analyzed this international process, however, as remaining dictate to separate national wills due to the strong identity of sovereignty and the flipside weakness of international organizations such as the United Nations.
Briefly, I said that the people of each nation must first raise their consciousness to the effects - positive and negative - of globalization and methods of international sustainable development. Second, each populace must put pressure - first democratically, then by other means as/if necessary - on its respective government to enforce regulations on trans/multinational corporations, and thereby create a better, viable, healthy world. Third, each government must actually respect its populace and enforce, as just explained. Fourth, the MNC's must respect and follow methods for international sustained development. And fifth, there must be international cooperation to enforce these objectives among nations.
The whole process, granted, is ideal in this simplified form. I believe the United Nations must gain more power and respect to actually achieve the goal. But first and foremost, the first point must be completed. With many nations being isolated, or having limited contact, with the rest of the world, this first point remains difficult until a better diffusion of ideas reaches all corners of the globe via improved communication and transportation. And that last, of course, is the real motor of globalization itself.
I stayed for a little over three hours, telling stories of my life and job in the States, as well as stories of my adventures in Central America. I also took a walk around the neighborhood, which I saw hans't changed a bit. I wrote down their address, in hopes that I will follow through with a postcard or two in the future. And finally before leaving, I got a photo in the front doorway in the same spot as three years ago with Don Clemente, Dona Maria, Jairo, and Ines.
Later, on my walk back down la Calle Ruben Dario, I stopped back at a vendor whom I had asked directions to reach Felipe Santana. Another younger teenage girl was there, but said that the other woman would return shortly. I asked for a cantaloupe, and she offerred me a seat to eat right there. So I ended up talking with her for about half an hour. After going over the usual trivialities, I asked her specifically about her studies and her goals. She said she is studying to be an accountant, because it is a good job and in demand.
Then, she asked me about my job. That turned the conversation onto the tangent of human rights, specifically women's rights. After explaining that men and women are equal, and Nicaragua must pursue two avenues to realize this: juridically and culturally. The two methods would dissuade machismo, and punish severe cases of machismo. I said that a man and a woman should be in an equal relationship with each other. I made other specific points as well.
But, after a few minutes of elaborating, an older man approached us who had been overhearing our conversation, and he asked me directly where I was from. I replied that I was born in Colombia and that I am medio-tico, medio-gringo. He made a comment about religion and immediately walked away without waiting for a response.
I asked the girl to clarify, but first guessed that the man implied that, according to biblical references, a woman has a place in the home and at the side and service of her husband. I quickly explained that the culture in biblical times was represented in the Bible, but that much time had passed, and hence our present culture is not the same as in biblical times. Furthermore, I explained that if the message of the Bible (namely the teachings of Jesus Christ) could be simplified or summarized, it would be a message of love and respect for all fellow humans, as brothers and sisters alike. In this respect, the mistreatment of women, and hence its Latino manifestation, 'machismo,' is contrary to Christian practice. The girl was in agreement, I believe, with my analysis.
But I concluded by saying that the consciousness - of Latinos in general and Nicaraguans in specific - must be raised. And I countered that by admitting my surprise that the Sandinista revolution did not have more of an effect in that respect. But she clarified that things have definitely changed and improved.
Along somewhat similar lines, I had a good conversation with a German this morning before leaving to visit la "21." Its really too much to get into here, but the theme of the conversation was globalization, with our agreed consensus being international sustainable development. I analyzed this international process, however, as remaining dictate to separate national wills due to the strong identity of sovereignty and the flipside weakness of international organizations such as the United Nations.
Briefly, I said that the people of each nation must first raise their consciousness to the effects - positive and negative - of globalization and methods of international sustainable development. Second, each populace must put pressure - first democratically, then by other means as/if necessary - on its respective government to enforce regulations on trans/multinational corporations, and thereby create a better, viable, healthy world. Third, each government must actually respect its populace and enforce, as just explained. Fourth, the MNC's must respect and follow methods for international sustained development. And fifth, there must be international cooperation to enforce these objectives among nations.
The whole process, granted, is ideal in this simplified form. I believe the United Nations must gain more power and respect to actually achieve the goal. But first and foremost, the first point must be completed. With many nations being isolated, or having limited contact, with the rest of the world, this first point remains difficult until a better diffusion of ideas reaches all corners of the globe via improved communication and transportation. And that last, of course, is the real motor of globalization itself.
Wednesday, March 5, 2003
Leon, Nicaragua -- night
Leon is a colonial city, which is reflected in its city-plan and architecture. The streets are arranged in a grid, with only the churches higher than two stories. There are at least ten large colonial churches, of which La Catedral, La Recoleccion, and El Calvario are the most impressive.
Leon is also a university city, providing for a young, dynamic demographic. The city seems more modernized as a result, with a very good number of internet cafes. I have also occasionally heard cars driving by blasting North American music.
There are also many museums in Leon, reflecting the rich cultural/historical tradition here. Finally, I feel perfectly safe in walking the streets, during the day and even at night.
All of these characteristics are in direct opposition to Managua, the capital. Furthermore, there is a visible level of middle-, and even upper-class here, whereas Managua exhibits only low-class for the most part. Leon seems clean and orderly, whereas Managua has a sense of lawlessness and disorder. All in all, I enjoy being in Leon. I don't have any inclination to return to Managua, unless it is simply to pass through or change buses.
As a final point, Leon also has a noticeable (but not too large) ex-patriate and backpack-traveller community. This is reassuring and even somewhat comforting. Besides contact and conversations with Nicas (and other Latin Americans), it is also interesting to converse with other "First World" explorers.
Leon is also a university city, providing for a young, dynamic demographic. The city seems more modernized as a result, with a very good number of internet cafes. I have also occasionally heard cars driving by blasting North American music.
There are also many museums in Leon, reflecting the rich cultural/historical tradition here. Finally, I feel perfectly safe in walking the streets, during the day and even at night.
All of these characteristics are in direct opposition to Managua, the capital. Furthermore, there is a visible level of middle-, and even upper-class here, whereas Managua exhibits only low-class for the most part. Leon seems clean and orderly, whereas Managua has a sense of lawlessness and disorder. All in all, I enjoy being in Leon. I don't have any inclination to return to Managua, unless it is simply to pass through or change buses.
As a final point, Leon also has a noticeable (but not too large) ex-patriate and backpack-traveller community. This is reassuring and even somewhat comforting. Besides contact and conversations with Nicas (and other Latin Americans), it is also interesting to converse with other "First World" explorers.
Leon, Nicaragua -- afternoon
I just finished a conversation with a woman who participated in the Sandinista revolution. She was 14 years old at the height of the revolution in 1979. She first provided me a history of the revolution, which I was already familiar with. She said she became involved through the student movement here in Leon.
I pushed her with a question as to why the revolution failed. She responded by saying essentially that the leaders of the revolution were co-opted once reaching power. Also, she said the rank-and-file lost their dynamic, revolutionary energy once the revolution was achieved in 1979. I was very surprised that she made no mention of the United States' involvement with the contras in the 1980s. Although this may have been due to my telling her that I was born in Colombia, but now live in the United States. But I really think that had no effect.
Then I pushed her with a question regarding the future of Nicaragua, considering it is the second poorest country in the hemisphere. I asked her how this problem could be overcome. She said that Nicaragua needs a broad-based popular movement organized to 'cleanse the justice system,' in lieu of ridding Somoza. That is to say, Nicaragua needs a movement exactly parallel to that of the 1970s, except that it replace the Somoza factor in the equation with the corrupt, inefficient justice system as the targetted factor. She believed that this was very possible. I disagreed with the viability of that approach, and told her that it was unrealistic, based primarily on the psyche of the nation, or the people to be more specific. I said that the people will not have sufficient faith and patience for another popular movement when that of the Sandinistas eventually failed miserably. I said that, based on my observation in Managua, the people have turned to two paths to cope with the present situation. I said this in response to her argument that the psyche of the people will be overridden by the need to work and to eat. I explained the two current reactions of the people. One, to crime. And two, to religion. The first is taking advantage of the weak police force and enforcement; and doing so to put food on the table. This, however, is dehumanizing both the criminal and his victim. This lack of respect (and self-respect) is also manifested in the large amounts of trash strewn everywhere throughout Managua and the surrounding countryside. The second option is turning to religion, to pray for a better life here and now, but really in preparation for life after death. The latter is really where the hope lies. This, too, is a lack of respect for this world and this lifetime. If possible, this is more dehumanizing than the first, since it reduces humans to mere physical bodies awaiting their turn to a better life after death. I further explained to the Sandinista woman that, as much as I wish her vision was possible, it will not truly become possible until several generations from now, when the 1979 Sandinista revolution will be something of the past. My words visibly shook her, but I told her that I was only being realistic.
Unfortunately, I see little hope for the Nicaraguan people for a popular movement. This time must be used for consciousness-building, and compromises will have to be made with the government in the meantime. Perhaps the revolutionary tradition of the Nicaraguan people will someday shine again. And may it learn its lessons from the past.
I pushed her with a question as to why the revolution failed. She responded by saying essentially that the leaders of the revolution were co-opted once reaching power. Also, she said the rank-and-file lost their dynamic, revolutionary energy once the revolution was achieved in 1979. I was very surprised that she made no mention of the United States' involvement with the contras in the 1980s. Although this may have been due to my telling her that I was born in Colombia, but now live in the United States. But I really think that had no effect.
Then I pushed her with a question regarding the future of Nicaragua, considering it is the second poorest country in the hemisphere. I asked her how this problem could be overcome. She said that Nicaragua needs a broad-based popular movement organized to 'cleanse the justice system,' in lieu of ridding Somoza. That is to say, Nicaragua needs a movement exactly parallel to that of the 1970s, except that it replace the Somoza factor in the equation with the corrupt, inefficient justice system as the targetted factor. She believed that this was very possible. I disagreed with the viability of that approach, and told her that it was unrealistic, based primarily on the psyche of the nation, or the people to be more specific. I said that the people will not have sufficient faith and patience for another popular movement when that of the Sandinistas eventually failed miserably. I said that, based on my observation in Managua, the people have turned to two paths to cope with the present situation. I said this in response to her argument that the psyche of the people will be overridden by the need to work and to eat. I explained the two current reactions of the people. One, to crime. And two, to religion. The first is taking advantage of the weak police force and enforcement; and doing so to put food on the table. This, however, is dehumanizing both the criminal and his victim. This lack of respect (and self-respect) is also manifested in the large amounts of trash strewn everywhere throughout Managua and the surrounding countryside. The second option is turning to religion, to pray for a better life here and now, but really in preparation for life after death. The latter is really where the hope lies. This, too, is a lack of respect for this world and this lifetime. If possible, this is more dehumanizing than the first, since it reduces humans to mere physical bodies awaiting their turn to a better life after death. I further explained to the Sandinista woman that, as much as I wish her vision was possible, it will not truly become possible until several generations from now, when the 1979 Sandinista revolution will be something of the past. My words visibly shook her, but I told her that I was only being realistic.
Unfortunately, I see little hope for the Nicaraguan people for a popular movement. This time must be used for consciousness-building, and compromises will have to be made with the government in the meantime. Perhaps the revolutionary tradition of the Nicaraguan people will someday shine again. And may it learn its lessons from the past.
Leon, Nicaragua -- afternoon
I'm sitting in la Casa de Cultura in Leon. I figured I would take this opportunity to sit down and write for a bit.
Earlier today, I went to el Museo Ruben Dario. But I needed some time to leave the hostel. The reason is my very upset stomach. Apparently, Montezuma must have had a cousin living in Managua who also wants to take revenge on anyone with European blood. I won't dare leave the city until I'm feeling solid again.
So going along with that theme, I arrived at el Museo Ruben Dario after eating a breakfast of pinto and eggs with toast at a local cafetin. Also, to replace lost fluids, I drank two glasses of orange juice and a glass of water. I really took my time eating since my stomach was hurting a bit.
As soon as I arrived at el Museo, I went straight to the bathroom, where I remained seated for many minutes. When I was just about ready to leave, I realized that there was no toilet paper. Hence I realized I was in a (quickly becoming) sticky situation. So I pulled my pants up only part-way, and I peeked out of the stall. There was a table of three high school girls about 25 meters away, but they didn't seem to notice me. So I ran out of the men's stall, and into the women's stall, thinking it would surely have toilet paper. Of course it didn't. So I ran back to the men's stall to look into the wastebasket. That nearly made me puke since every last paper was already used. So I decided quickly to run across an open area of about seven meters to a table with a handkerchief on it.
As a brief aside, I must say that I've relocated to a table at el Hotel el Convento since la Casa de Cultura was closing for siesta. This place is very impressive, but I'll explain later.
So back to my sticky situation. I carried the handkerchief back to the stall, where I used it vigorously. Then, I pulled up my pants to walk back across to get a clean dish-towel, which I brought back to the stall to finish the job thoroughly.
Hence, I toured el Museo, which wasn't really large at all. Although I very much respect the work of Dario, the only highlight was wiping my ass with a dish-towel.
From there, I walked to a local restaurant to drink two bottles of water at the bar. I figured I could use some re-hydration. Then, I walked to la Casa de Cultura, which I only toured for about half an hour to forty-five minutes before sitting down to write. Of the folklore that they covered there, I was interested to read the legend of los duendes, the dwarves. It is said that los duendes come to villages between the hours of 8am and 9am to steal away unsupervised, unbaptised children, whereafter they take them into the mountains to convert them into dwarves. The dwarves are invisible to adults, and can be seen only by children and mutes.
Right now, I'm seated in the outdoor section of the restaurant of Hotel El Convento, a luxurious colonial complex made up of four sides with a lush, green courtyard in the middle, lined by palm trees. I'm watching several medium black birds in the fountain in the center, using it as a birdbath. And I drink a pineapple juice drink that will certainly be over-priced. The inner section of the restaurant is enclosed, and therefore air-conditioned, I'm sure. There are several extravagant chandeliers interspersed along the ceiling, among thick wooden support beams. I'm totally out of place here, wearing the same clothes, including a stained, cut-off white tshirt, for at least three days now. My malodorous, unshaven appearance must clash quite brilliantly with the antiseptic, upper-class surrounding. Perhaps one might say it is sacrilegious too, as I see an immense religious shrine on the other side of the large lounge area. I'm even surprised the security guard even let me in here, because in addition to my somewhat ruffian appearance, I'm blatantly carrying a silver switchblade in my front left pocket. I may be going too far in saying that his revolutionary character, and my revolutionary (or at least brazenly proletarian) appearance, are what permitted my entrance.
Nevertheless, I sip my pineapple juice in as much a refined, aristocratic manner as possible. This, in going along with the smooth piano tunes from the stereo, reminiscent of a lethargic Sunday afternoon in a department store. But - unrelated I'm sure - my stomach and intestines are feeling much better now. Perhaps I won't be held prisoner in Leon by my own bodily functions.
So, after this, I may look for a spot to eat lunch. Then, I'll return to la Casa de Cultura for a brief visit only to photograph a painting. I already photographed the painting of former U.S. President Ronald Reagan seated on the shoulders of an indigenous campesina, Reagan with a slight grin and a rifle resting across his lap.
From there, I will likely begin my tour of several churchs and cathedrals. Since Latin American churchs face the west, I can get better photographs in the late afternoon hours. The rest of the evening will be up in the air, but a trip to the supermarket to buy soap for a nice, long shower is definitely on the agenda.
I'll stop writing now to focus more attention on the pineapple drink and the beautiful courtyard.
Earlier today, I went to el Museo Ruben Dario. But I needed some time to leave the hostel. The reason is my very upset stomach. Apparently, Montezuma must have had a cousin living in Managua who also wants to take revenge on anyone with European blood. I won't dare leave the city until I'm feeling solid again.
So going along with that theme, I arrived at el Museo Ruben Dario after eating a breakfast of pinto and eggs with toast at a local cafetin. Also, to replace lost fluids, I drank two glasses of orange juice and a glass of water. I really took my time eating since my stomach was hurting a bit.
As soon as I arrived at el Museo, I went straight to the bathroom, where I remained seated for many minutes. When I was just about ready to leave, I realized that there was no toilet paper. Hence I realized I was in a (quickly becoming) sticky situation. So I pulled my pants up only part-way, and I peeked out of the stall. There was a table of three high school girls about 25 meters away, but they didn't seem to notice me. So I ran out of the men's stall, and into the women's stall, thinking it would surely have toilet paper. Of course it didn't. So I ran back to the men's stall to look into the wastebasket. That nearly made me puke since every last paper was already used. So I decided quickly to run across an open area of about seven meters to a table with a handkerchief on it.
As a brief aside, I must say that I've relocated to a table at el Hotel el Convento since la Casa de Cultura was closing for siesta. This place is very impressive, but I'll explain later.
So back to my sticky situation. I carried the handkerchief back to the stall, where I used it vigorously. Then, I pulled up my pants to walk back across to get a clean dish-towel, which I brought back to the stall to finish the job thoroughly.
Hence, I toured el Museo, which wasn't really large at all. Although I very much respect the work of Dario, the only highlight was wiping my ass with a dish-towel.
From there, I walked to a local restaurant to drink two bottles of water at the bar. I figured I could use some re-hydration. Then, I walked to la Casa de Cultura, which I only toured for about half an hour to forty-five minutes before sitting down to write. Of the folklore that they covered there, I was interested to read the legend of los duendes, the dwarves. It is said that los duendes come to villages between the hours of 8am and 9am to steal away unsupervised, unbaptised children, whereafter they take them into the mountains to convert them into dwarves. The dwarves are invisible to adults, and can be seen only by children and mutes.
Right now, I'm seated in the outdoor section of the restaurant of Hotel El Convento, a luxurious colonial complex made up of four sides with a lush, green courtyard in the middle, lined by palm trees. I'm watching several medium black birds in the fountain in the center, using it as a birdbath. And I drink a pineapple juice drink that will certainly be over-priced. The inner section of the restaurant is enclosed, and therefore air-conditioned, I'm sure. There are several extravagant chandeliers interspersed along the ceiling, among thick wooden support beams. I'm totally out of place here, wearing the same clothes, including a stained, cut-off white tshirt, for at least three days now. My malodorous, unshaven appearance must clash quite brilliantly with the antiseptic, upper-class surrounding. Perhaps one might say it is sacrilegious too, as I see an immense religious shrine on the other side of the large lounge area. I'm even surprised the security guard even let me in here, because in addition to my somewhat ruffian appearance, I'm blatantly carrying a silver switchblade in my front left pocket. I may be going too far in saying that his revolutionary character, and my revolutionary (or at least brazenly proletarian) appearance, are what permitted my entrance.
Nevertheless, I sip my pineapple juice in as much a refined, aristocratic manner as possible. This, in going along with the smooth piano tunes from the stereo, reminiscent of a lethargic Sunday afternoon in a department store. But - unrelated I'm sure - my stomach and intestines are feeling much better now. Perhaps I won't be held prisoner in Leon by my own bodily functions.
So, after this, I may look for a spot to eat lunch. Then, I'll return to la Casa de Cultura for a brief visit only to photograph a painting. I already photographed the painting of former U.S. President Ronald Reagan seated on the shoulders of an indigenous campesina, Reagan with a slight grin and a rifle resting across his lap.
From there, I will likely begin my tour of several churchs and cathedrals. Since Latin American churchs face the west, I can get better photographs in the late afternoon hours. The rest of the evening will be up in the air, but a trip to the supermarket to buy soap for a nice, long shower is definitely on the agenda.
I'll stop writing now to focus more attention on the pineapple drink and the beautiful courtyard.
Tuesday, March 4, 2003
Leon, Nicaragua -- night
I'm writing mainly to kill a few minutes. I just finished a forty-five minute conversation which I began at the bar with a man named John, from Britain. But I'm a bit tired from my miserable sleeping experience in Managua the past two nights. I'm sure today's voyage, and my upset stomach have both affected me as well.
I'm lying on my bed in the dormitory, leaning on my left elbow. Its a few minutes after 11pm. I hope to sleep well tonight and wake up early to tour the city's museums, churches, and murals. In the evening, I'll check my email again, especially after receiving today's email from Ronald. He took my advice and went to Puerto Viejo, Limon, but apparently had an accident with a machete, in which he required ten stitches. He wrote me to say that he's at a hospital in San Jose.
Anyway, Bernabe could not be contacted earlier in the afternoon, so I ended up conversing with Ana, the program coordinator for PGL. I spoke the entire time in Spanish, and when I told her that I was born in Colombia, she commented that she had noted my "accentito," as if to say my Spanish had a slight Colombian accent!
Another interesting anecdote relates to my waiting in the back seat of the "interlocal" from Managua to Leon. As is typical in Nicaragua, there was a swarm of vendors nearly accosting the passengers, trying to force them to buy gum, stickers, and other such worthless items. Well, as I was seated in the back left spot, looking out the window, there came a girl vendor at the back right window. Apparently, my tan and generally Latino appearance are coming along nicely since she yelled to catch my attention by saying, "ey, moreno!" I thought that was interesting indeed.
Anyway, there is only one other girl in here already in bed. I think I will read my book, "Dos, Uno . . . Cero Comandante" in the meantime while other bohemians arrive for their nightly repose. Until tomorrow . . .
I'm lying on my bed in the dormitory, leaning on my left elbow. Its a few minutes after 11pm. I hope to sleep well tonight and wake up early to tour the city's museums, churches, and murals. In the evening, I'll check my email again, especially after receiving today's email from Ronald. He took my advice and went to Puerto Viejo, Limon, but apparently had an accident with a machete, in which he required ten stitches. He wrote me to say that he's at a hospital in San Jose.
Anyway, Bernabe could not be contacted earlier in the afternoon, so I ended up conversing with Ana, the program coordinator for PGL. I spoke the entire time in Spanish, and when I told her that I was born in Colombia, she commented that she had noted my "accentito," as if to say my Spanish had a slight Colombian accent!
Another interesting anecdote relates to my waiting in the back seat of the "interlocal" from Managua to Leon. As is typical in Nicaragua, there was a swarm of vendors nearly accosting the passengers, trying to force them to buy gum, stickers, and other such worthless items. Well, as I was seated in the back left spot, looking out the window, there came a girl vendor at the back right window. Apparently, my tan and generally Latino appearance are coming along nicely since she yelled to catch my attention by saying, "ey, moreno!" I thought that was interesting indeed.
Anyway, there is only one other girl in here already in bed. I think I will read my book, "Dos, Uno . . . Cero Comandante" in the meantime while other bohemians arrive for their nightly repose. Until tomorrow . . .
Leon, Nicaragua -- evening
I've made it to Leon, but I feel out of sorts. I have an upset stomach, and so I'm losing a lot of fluid. I just downed two glasses of lemonade. After two trips to the bathroom, the toilet hates me now. But hey, when nature calls - especially when she's pounding on the door - you have to go.
As soon as I arrived in Leon in the "interlocal," a microbus that runs between the two cities, I asked to find la Iglesia San Jose, which was my landmark to locate the office of Project Gettysburg-Leon (PGL). After walking around at least 15 blocks, and asking at least six different people, I finally arrived at PGL. I explained my whole situation: that it had been three years since my visit to Leon as a student at Gettysburg College; and that I was looking for advice for a room to sleep in tonight. The PGL coordinator and a secretary recommended Via-Via, near the historic church, La Recoleccion. So here I am writing.
My bed is actually in a dormitory, a large room with about 24 single beds. So tonight should be an interesting sleeping experience. Looking at a poster on the wall, I see that there are several cultural/historical options I'd like to take advantage of. From this, I think I will be here for at least two days. Also, in just a few minutes, I have to return to PGL to see if I can make plans to visit el Barrio Felipe Santana, where I had stayed with a family three years ago. I'm sure they'll be very surprised to see me. Now, I'd better be going to meet Bernabe, the leader of the community, at PGL.
I want to drink another lemonade before walking over.
As soon as I arrived in Leon in the "interlocal," a microbus that runs between the two cities, I asked to find la Iglesia San Jose, which was my landmark to locate the office of Project Gettysburg-Leon (PGL). After walking around at least 15 blocks, and asking at least six different people, I finally arrived at PGL. I explained my whole situation: that it had been three years since my visit to Leon as a student at Gettysburg College; and that I was looking for advice for a room to sleep in tonight. The PGL coordinator and a secretary recommended Via-Via, near the historic church, La Recoleccion. So here I am writing.
My bed is actually in a dormitory, a large room with about 24 single beds. So tonight should be an interesting sleeping experience. Looking at a poster on the wall, I see that there are several cultural/historical options I'd like to take advantage of. From this, I think I will be here for at least two days. Also, in just a few minutes, I have to return to PGL to see if I can make plans to visit el Barrio Felipe Santana, where I had stayed with a family three years ago. I'm sure they'll be very surprised to see me. Now, I'd better be going to meet Bernabe, the leader of the community, at PGL.
I want to drink another lemonade before walking over.
Managua, Nicaragua -- morning
I'll be leaving Managua for Leon in just a couple of hours.
I have been received very well at Lili's house, but I just can't stand it. Sleeping in a hammock is uncomfortable, but trying to sleep with large buses and trucks speeding by at all hours of the night is very difficult. Also, hearing a baby crying for most of the day and night is annoying. And waking up to evangelists preaching as if it were the end of the world gives one a feeling of wanting to destroy the radio. And to top it all off, Managua is so dirty and disorderly that there is no appeal to remain.
And so, I hit the road to go to Leon, a city which is much nicer as I recall. Since I still haven't received an email from Ronald (after checking email yesterday afternoon), I will stay in Leon for a couple of days, then head south to Masaya and Granada before heading back to Costa Rica to meet up with a girl who contacted me for guidance and companionship. Tentatively, I'll meet her in Monteverde in a week from today, next Tuesday.
Before closing this entry, I have to comment on the subject of not sleeping. In Liberia, during the fiestas civicas, la Diana walks through all the streets at five in the morning, accompanied by a band playing loud music, and fireworks set off from the parque central. For me, at least, it was impossible to sleep through that ruckus. Well, the time has come to get myself ready to leave.
I have been received very well at Lili's house, but I just can't stand it. Sleeping in a hammock is uncomfortable, but trying to sleep with large buses and trucks speeding by at all hours of the night is very difficult. Also, hearing a baby crying for most of the day and night is annoying. And waking up to evangelists preaching as if it were the end of the world gives one a feeling of wanting to destroy the radio. And to top it all off, Managua is so dirty and disorderly that there is no appeal to remain.
And so, I hit the road to go to Leon, a city which is much nicer as I recall. Since I still haven't received an email from Ronald (after checking email yesterday afternoon), I will stay in Leon for a couple of days, then head south to Masaya and Granada before heading back to Costa Rica to meet up with a girl who contacted me for guidance and companionship. Tentatively, I'll meet her in Monteverde in a week from today, next Tuesday.
Before closing this entry, I have to comment on the subject of not sleeping. In Liberia, during the fiestas civicas, la Diana walks through all the streets at five in the morning, accompanied by a band playing loud music, and fireworks set off from the parque central. For me, at least, it was impossible to sleep through that ruckus. Well, the time has come to get myself ready to leave.
Monday, March 3, 2003
Managua, Nicaragua -- afternoon
I'm not sure how long I'm going to stay here in Nicaragua. I can say that I don't like the vibe I'm feeling here in Managua. For now, I'm laying low, after arriving here by micro-bus from Penas Blancas at about noon-time. I got to Lilli's house at about 1pm, only to find out that she's still in Costa Rica, and probably not expected here any time soon.
Fortunately, her family has been very nice and accommodating. I stayed here last night and will very likely sleep here tonight. However, sleep here is difficult since I sleep in a hammock, and their home is located on a main thoroughfare, where buses go speeding by at all hours of the day and night. Also, the heat here is oppressive. Luckily there is a breeze today. If not for that, I'd be sweating like a pig.
I must say that I have just experienced my second disappointment; the first being Ronald not showing up in Liberia, and now the second being Lilli not being here in Managua. Right now, I have only two tasks to perform. First, I need to get to an internet cafe to see if Ronald replied to my message. Depending on what I've received, my decision may be effected. Second, I need to go to a bank to convert my next traveller's check into cordobas. Even if I leave Nicaragua soon, I can change the cordobas into colones. I think unless I get an email from Ronald saying that he's coming to Managua on such-and-such a date, I will leave tomorrow morning for Leon to pass a couple of days. From there, I'll pass through Managua and head south to Masaya and Granada for a couple of days before heading back to Costa Rica by next weekend. But, if I receive notice from Ronald that he's coming to Managua, then I may wait here for his arrival to go east to Rama, Bluefields, and Corn Island.
The thing is, it's really a bitch here since there is no water here during the whole day. The water only comes at one or two or three in the morning, at which time Lili's mother collects water in buckets for the next day. Due to the scarcity of water, I haven't showered, used the toilet, or even washed my face. The only thing I have done is washed my hands. I really have to get out of here.
The conditions here in Nicaragua are quite deplorable. It is no stretch of the imagination to believe that this is the second poorest country in the western hemisphere. The people here seem to turn in two directions as a response. First, younger males turn to crime. I have been warned by Costa Ricans and Nicaraguans of the gangs of Nicaraguan thugs, especially in Managua. Also, walking in the Barrio La Fuente, here in Managua, Lili's parents have pointed out thieves and gangsters.
Lilli's father disapproved of my tattoo, thinking it may have symbolized some kind of gang affiliation. I explained in no uncertain terms that my tattoo is something good, something that I am proud of since it represents a part of my heritage. I explained that it is not my fault if it is misinterpreted by others.
The second response here to the difficult living conditions is to turn to religion. Lili's parents are hardcore evangelists, and they took me to their service last night. The experience was interesting to say the least. The service took place at a warehouse-type room just a few blocks away. And the atmosphere was very animated. Every minute or so, the speaker would ask: "Vive o no vive?!" and the crowd would answer emphatically: "Vive!!!"
Early in the service, I had to write my name and city of origin on a piece of paper, so I wrote "Tay Fallas - de Filadelfia." A few minutes later, one of the many speakers welcomed me and asked me to stand up. Everyone was clapping, so I stood up clapping too, and turned around to wave to the crowd behind me. Then I bowed in the form of a namaste to the speaker, and I sat down.
Toward the end of the service, after the pastor spoke (claiming that no one can change their own character; only God can do that), Lili's father got up to deliver a very excited speech, saying that God was in the room with us. Most everyone had their eyes closed and were waving their hands in the air. Several women were crying throughout the excitement. Also, during the pastor's sermon, a young man remained prostrate, in the position of a Muslim praying toward Mecca.
Also, throughout the entire service, many songs were sung, during which everyone clapped and even shook maraccas. This was in accompaniment to the three-man band on stage: a bass guitarist, a keyboardist, and a drummer. The musical aspect of the service was very fun and entertaining. However, in general, the service had a cult-type feeling.
At one point during the excitement when everyone had their eyes closed and were shaking and crying, I made eye-contact with a young girl. She started laughing as if she realized the folly and false drama of the whole service; I couldn't help laughing myself after that.
Unfortunately, many people place all of their hope in the return of Jesus; they apparently have no hope for a better life due to the leadership of the government, or any other living mortals. That seems logical after the pathetic collapse of the Sandinista revolution of 1979. So far, this brief experience in Managua seems to presnet a certain level of lawlessness and disorder. The feeling is quite disconcerting and unnerving. For this very feeling, I want to be on my way very soon. I can foresee that I will be relieved to cross the border back into Costa Rica.
Today is Monday, March 3. I leave for the United States on Sunday, March 30. It's a shame that I look forward to fast-forwarding to my return to Costa Rica, and even then to my return to the United States. Nevertheless, this is my present feeling. As always though, I remain a slave to time.
Fortunately, her family has been very nice and accommodating. I stayed here last night and will very likely sleep here tonight. However, sleep here is difficult since I sleep in a hammock, and their home is located on a main thoroughfare, where buses go speeding by at all hours of the day and night. Also, the heat here is oppressive. Luckily there is a breeze today. If not for that, I'd be sweating like a pig.
I must say that I have just experienced my second disappointment; the first being Ronald not showing up in Liberia, and now the second being Lilli not being here in Managua. Right now, I have only two tasks to perform. First, I need to get to an internet cafe to see if Ronald replied to my message. Depending on what I've received, my decision may be effected. Second, I need to go to a bank to convert my next traveller's check into cordobas. Even if I leave Nicaragua soon, I can change the cordobas into colones. I think unless I get an email from Ronald saying that he's coming to Managua on such-and-such a date, I will leave tomorrow morning for Leon to pass a couple of days. From there, I'll pass through Managua and head south to Masaya and Granada for a couple of days before heading back to Costa Rica by next weekend. But, if I receive notice from Ronald that he's coming to Managua, then I may wait here for his arrival to go east to Rama, Bluefields, and Corn Island.
The thing is, it's really a bitch here since there is no water here during the whole day. The water only comes at one or two or three in the morning, at which time Lili's mother collects water in buckets for the next day. Due to the scarcity of water, I haven't showered, used the toilet, or even washed my face. The only thing I have done is washed my hands. I really have to get out of here.
The conditions here in Nicaragua are quite deplorable. It is no stretch of the imagination to believe that this is the second poorest country in the western hemisphere. The people here seem to turn in two directions as a response. First, younger males turn to crime. I have been warned by Costa Ricans and Nicaraguans of the gangs of Nicaraguan thugs, especially in Managua. Also, walking in the Barrio La Fuente, here in Managua, Lili's parents have pointed out thieves and gangsters.
Lilli's father disapproved of my tattoo, thinking it may have symbolized some kind of gang affiliation. I explained in no uncertain terms that my tattoo is something good, something that I am proud of since it represents a part of my heritage. I explained that it is not my fault if it is misinterpreted by others.
The second response here to the difficult living conditions is to turn to religion. Lili's parents are hardcore evangelists, and they took me to their service last night. The experience was interesting to say the least. The service took place at a warehouse-type room just a few blocks away. And the atmosphere was very animated. Every minute or so, the speaker would ask: "Vive o no vive?!" and the crowd would answer emphatically: "Vive!!!"
Early in the service, I had to write my name and city of origin on a piece of paper, so I wrote "Tay Fallas - de Filadelfia." A few minutes later, one of the many speakers welcomed me and asked me to stand up. Everyone was clapping, so I stood up clapping too, and turned around to wave to the crowd behind me. Then I bowed in the form of a namaste to the speaker, and I sat down.
Toward the end of the service, after the pastor spoke (claiming that no one can change their own character; only God can do that), Lili's father got up to deliver a very excited speech, saying that God was in the room with us. Most everyone had their eyes closed and were waving their hands in the air. Several women were crying throughout the excitement. Also, during the pastor's sermon, a young man remained prostrate, in the position of a Muslim praying toward Mecca.
Also, throughout the entire service, many songs were sung, during which everyone clapped and even shook maraccas. This was in accompaniment to the three-man band on stage: a bass guitarist, a keyboardist, and a drummer. The musical aspect of the service was very fun and entertaining. However, in general, the service had a cult-type feeling.
At one point during the excitement when everyone had their eyes closed and were shaking and crying, I made eye-contact with a young girl. She started laughing as if she realized the folly and false drama of the whole service; I couldn't help laughing myself after that.
Unfortunately, many people place all of their hope in the return of Jesus; they apparently have no hope for a better life due to the leadership of the government, or any other living mortals. That seems logical after the pathetic collapse of the Sandinista revolution of 1979. So far, this brief experience in Managua seems to presnet a certain level of lawlessness and disorder. The feeling is quite disconcerting and unnerving. For this very feeling, I want to be on my way very soon. I can foresee that I will be relieved to cross the border back into Costa Rica.
Today is Monday, March 3. I leave for the United States on Sunday, March 30. It's a shame that I look forward to fast-forwarding to my return to Costa Rica, and even then to my return to the United States. Nevertheless, this is my present feeling. As always though, I remain a slave to time.
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