Tough Decisions
There are going to be several important changes in the next coming weeks. The first being that I am changing the location of my blog. For the past few weeks I have decided that my name “adventures of a nobody” is no longer an accurate reflection of what I am and what I am trying to say. Those who are still interested in following my travels and perceptions should check me out here:
http://observationsofawanderingrambler.blogspot.com/
In other news, I also decided that I will postpone managing the farm here in Balgue. While I know it would be a wonderful opportunity, at the same time I really feel like for many reasons now is not the time to do this. I feel like in this moment in time I have to honor what my trip was all about. Exploring the world and not feeling tied down to anything. Staying here, while being an excellent opportunity and a hell of a thing to put on my resume, I feel like that would be why I was staying. For the bragging rights.
At the end of the day, I feel like in this moment in time I have grown all I can in Balgue. I have seen what I needed to see, met who I needed to meet, and danced when I was not comfortable dancing. I learned more about myself and who I am as a person than I did throughout my university life. And while this was an entirely wonderful experience, pain and all, it was all worth it. I would take every bad day, every good day, and every morning woken up by howler monkeys all over again.
One day, in the near or distant future I may return. Who knows. All I know is that the wanderer in me wants to get out there and not feel tied down to a space anymore. Not obliged to work everyday, not obliged to feed the pigs, not obliged to take on more than I can chew. This trip wasn’t about working it was about living. And I feel like I would be taking on more working than I bargained for.
So I’m going to say goodbye to Ometepe in a few weeks time. I’m going to stay to help with the permaculture course at Cafe Campestre for the next two weeks to absorb what I can learn. After that I’m going to explore this island I’ve called home for the past two and a half months and haven’t had the time to really see. I want to sleep on the Volcano to see the sunset. I want to see the San Ramon waterfalls. I want to go kayaking in the River here to see turtles and crocodiles. Sounds a lot better than feeding the pigs on Saturday, doesn’t it?
Now I just have to start saying goodbye.
Thursday, 9 February 2012
Monday, 23 January 2012
Saturday, 21 January 2012
Life in a nutshell
Right now I find myself in a difficult position. Feeling like I have had a huge opportunity to learn about myself as a manager, but also realizing that the experience was a complete shambles. Sometimes I feel like my Canadian tendency to “niceness” really screws you over when you try to manage people. Or perhaps niceness is incorrect, it’s really called “this is not part of my job description”.
I’m not here to be the mother of these volunteers, telling them “Okay kiddies, we need to weed the garden? Johnny? Great! Thanks! Let’s go team” or something else mildly nauseating. In an ideal world you’d also have volunteers who seemed to care about the quality of their work. Or rather, would realize that when they ask Martijn about the experience, that he is upfrount with them about certain aspects. Then find that they come here and suddenly have a “problem” with it.
More importantly, I’m sick. When I’m sick I just want to have a day to do nothing. I don’t want to answer your question about where things are (garlic). I want you to open your eyes and look for yourself.
Perhaps I am being harsh, but ultimately I don’t think I am. Perhaps I keep being confrounted by people who challenge me in different ways because I need to learn how to deal with them, but somedays I’m exhausted of this too. I know now, that I would do things hugely different in the future. While I am still enjoying my time here, I feel like the volunteers are missing out.
They aren’t getting to converse with Pablo and have inside jokes with him. They don’t get to talk to Tobias about what is the local word for turkey. They are missing all the parts that to me made my experience here so rich, the people! Instead they run around saying “I’m not going to clean up the kitchen because I didn’t make the mess”. It is sort of like being put into a room with 6 year olds and watching mayhem unfold feeling slightly powerless to snap them out of it. In some ways you forgive them because of their age, yet in other ways you just can’t wait until they grow up and have some integrity and pride in their work.
While I may be painting a bleak picture, it is not entirely off base. I really am looking forward to a change. I want to be able to explore more about organic farming on my own, where I can see and play and do. Not just talk about who needs to weed the hibiscus seedlings. Most importantly, I have learned some valuable lessons. Not to let things slide that really are important (like starting on time), find someone you can vent too, because it is important for you to be able to express your anger, frustration and wishes with someone.
Most importantly, say what is on your mind. Say it in any way possible, but say it. Instead of waiting for someone to magically realize that they are just as capable of looking for the flour themselves than asking me where it is. Or maybe I’ve learned nothing else than the fact I never want to be a volunteer coordinator again.
That and I need a vacation.
I’m not here to be the mother of these volunteers, telling them “Okay kiddies, we need to weed the garden? Johnny? Great! Thanks! Let’s go team” or something else mildly nauseating. In an ideal world you’d also have volunteers who seemed to care about the quality of their work. Or rather, would realize that when they ask Martijn about the experience, that he is upfrount with them about certain aspects. Then find that they come here and suddenly have a “problem” with it.
More importantly, I’m sick. When I’m sick I just want to have a day to do nothing. I don’t want to answer your question about where things are (garlic). I want you to open your eyes and look for yourself.
Perhaps I am being harsh, but ultimately I don’t think I am. Perhaps I keep being confrounted by people who challenge me in different ways because I need to learn how to deal with them, but somedays I’m exhausted of this too. I know now, that I would do things hugely different in the future. While I am still enjoying my time here, I feel like the volunteers are missing out.
They aren’t getting to converse with Pablo and have inside jokes with him. They don’t get to talk to Tobias about what is the local word for turkey. They are missing all the parts that to me made my experience here so rich, the people! Instead they run around saying “I’m not going to clean up the kitchen because I didn’t make the mess”. It is sort of like being put into a room with 6 year olds and watching mayhem unfold feeling slightly powerless to snap them out of it. In some ways you forgive them because of their age, yet in other ways you just can’t wait until they grow up and have some integrity and pride in their work.
While I may be painting a bleak picture, it is not entirely off base. I really am looking forward to a change. I want to be able to explore more about organic farming on my own, where I can see and play and do. Not just talk about who needs to weed the hibiscus seedlings. Most importantly, I have learned some valuable lessons. Not to let things slide that really are important (like starting on time), find someone you can vent too, because it is important for you to be able to express your anger, frustration and wishes with someone.
Most importantly, say what is on your mind. Say it in any way possible, but say it. Instead of waiting for someone to magically realize that they are just as capable of looking for the flour themselves than asking me where it is. Or maybe I’ve learned nothing else than the fact I never want to be a volunteer coordinator again.
That and I need a vacation.
Thursday, 19 January 2012
Cultural contexts
One of the most fascinating things about living in Balgue, is the opportunity to interact with the locals. On a nearly day-to-day basis, they teach me more about their customs and culture here, while throwing a sharp realization my way on just how differently situations are interpreted here. Everything in Nicaragua, even the people, are more multi-faceted than I ever thought possible.
Machete’s here are used as both tool and kitchen utensil. Bowls in the volunteer kitchen are for eating and bringing up the harvest. The knives are for cutting onions and butchering pigs. Sure I suppose you could say that this is because there isn’t a lot of stuff here in the first place. Everything people own here must be used for several purposes. Even toilets here can be closets too.
Perhaps it is because the people here live so simply. And when you have only one colander somedays it is necessary to use it for a variety of purposes. Or perhaps it is because the people here earn such a modest wage. Now when I say that, I think you will assume that the people here are poor. And while they would not be defined rich in our society, they do have the basics. A shelter, clothes, food, community, culture, and love. There poverty comes only in their realization that we have so much more than they do, and nobody quite understands why that is.
What also shocks me is the cultural differences here. This past weekend, Pablo joined me on a trip to Mayogalpa. I had an interesting moment of realization on the bus ride back. This forty-something man from North America started handing sweets out to the kids on the bus. Something in Canada, which depending on the parent, may send everyone into a fit of horror. How dare this stranger try to get these kids to break the cardinal rule of young children everywhere--never take candy from a stranger! He also started talking to them and asking their names (which I will admit is not exactly scary). But I was uncomfortable when he started tickling the little girls on the bus. The entire time something about this guy screamed “I am creepy” and I was definitely happy to see him leave.
After the man left and I was sitting next to Pablo again, he asked me what the man said to me as he was getting off. Which was something like “see you later my Canadian sister”. Pablo then said that he seemed to be a good man. Now as you can probably deduce, I was not exactly thrilled about this man. So I asked Pablo why he thought that. He said something along the lines of he gave the kids candy, he talked to the kids in Spanish.
I was shocked. The same reasons that I had to warrant concern for these girls, were the same reasons Pablo felt at ease with this foreigner. At times I wonder though who had the better read on the scenario? Was I being overly cautious with my own meme’s of “never take candy from a stranger” mentality? Was Pablo correct, that this man was just being kind to some Island girls?
When I explained to Pablo what my reaction was, he laughed. Was I overreacting, probably. After all the parents were right there, and never did I see the man make attempts to sell these girls into slavery. I guess the difference in it was that in my culture, someone who does those things often comes across as a pedophile. Where as here, he was just a foreigner trying to engage some locals.
Now I feel a bit silly about my reaction, yet at the same time I wonder if I should. Not because I believe it is a good thing to be entirely skeptical of everyone you meet, but because sometimes I am really frustrated with these gaps in society. By this I mean, how there are some people who seem to flirt with boundaries which are seen and unseen. This man here to me, seemed to be pushing a button. Ultimately it was a non-existent button for everyone but me. But what I saw just made me uncomfortable.
If it isn’t something that is common place in your home country, why do it here? Could you have engaged those little girls without tickling them? After all I’ve been in Nicaragua for nearly 10 weeks now, and I finally played with the daughter of one of the Ecolodge’s owners. I suppose what I really am frustrated with is this mentality of cultural insensitivity.
This was my first glimpse of my own insensitivities being here. Realizing that I had it wrong. You are supposed to engage with the children on the bus. Smile and make faces. While I may not hand out sweets, I would argue that everyone (even in Canada) tries to put children at ease on buses. I suppose that is what this trip is all about though. Learning about the idiosyncrasies within my own culture through the eyes of a Nicaraguan man.
Machete’s here are used as both tool and kitchen utensil. Bowls in the volunteer kitchen are for eating and bringing up the harvest. The knives are for cutting onions and butchering pigs. Sure I suppose you could say that this is because there isn’t a lot of stuff here in the first place. Everything people own here must be used for several purposes. Even toilets here can be closets too.
Perhaps it is because the people here live so simply. And when you have only one colander somedays it is necessary to use it for a variety of purposes. Or perhaps it is because the people here earn such a modest wage. Now when I say that, I think you will assume that the people here are poor. And while they would not be defined rich in our society, they do have the basics. A shelter, clothes, food, community, culture, and love. There poverty comes only in their realization that we have so much more than they do, and nobody quite understands why that is.
What also shocks me is the cultural differences here. This past weekend, Pablo joined me on a trip to Mayogalpa. I had an interesting moment of realization on the bus ride back. This forty-something man from North America started handing sweets out to the kids on the bus. Something in Canada, which depending on the parent, may send everyone into a fit of horror. How dare this stranger try to get these kids to break the cardinal rule of young children everywhere--never take candy from a stranger! He also started talking to them and asking their names (which I will admit is not exactly scary). But I was uncomfortable when he started tickling the little girls on the bus. The entire time something about this guy screamed “I am creepy” and I was definitely happy to see him leave.
After the man left and I was sitting next to Pablo again, he asked me what the man said to me as he was getting off. Which was something like “see you later my Canadian sister”. Pablo then said that he seemed to be a good man. Now as you can probably deduce, I was not exactly thrilled about this man. So I asked Pablo why he thought that. He said something along the lines of he gave the kids candy, he talked to the kids in Spanish.
I was shocked. The same reasons that I had to warrant concern for these girls, were the same reasons Pablo felt at ease with this foreigner. At times I wonder though who had the better read on the scenario? Was I being overly cautious with my own meme’s of “never take candy from a stranger” mentality? Was Pablo correct, that this man was just being kind to some Island girls?
When I explained to Pablo what my reaction was, he laughed. Was I overreacting, probably. After all the parents were right there, and never did I see the man make attempts to sell these girls into slavery. I guess the difference in it was that in my culture, someone who does those things often comes across as a pedophile. Where as here, he was just a foreigner trying to engage some locals.
Now I feel a bit silly about my reaction, yet at the same time I wonder if I should. Not because I believe it is a good thing to be entirely skeptical of everyone you meet, but because sometimes I am really frustrated with these gaps in society. By this I mean, how there are some people who seem to flirt with boundaries which are seen and unseen. This man here to me, seemed to be pushing a button. Ultimately it was a non-existent button for everyone but me. But what I saw just made me uncomfortable.
If it isn’t something that is common place in your home country, why do it here? Could you have engaged those little girls without tickling them? After all I’ve been in Nicaragua for nearly 10 weeks now, and I finally played with the daughter of one of the Ecolodge’s owners. I suppose what I really am frustrated with is this mentality of cultural insensitivity.
This was my first glimpse of my own insensitivities being here. Realizing that I had it wrong. You are supposed to engage with the children on the bus. Smile and make faces. While I may not hand out sweets, I would argue that everyone (even in Canada) tries to put children at ease on buses. I suppose that is what this trip is all about though. Learning about the idiosyncrasies within my own culture through the eyes of a Nicaraguan man.
Wednesday, 11 January 2012
My discussion with Tobias
Today the new volunteers and I went on an adventure to Tobias’ house again. This time, having actually caught up on sleep, meant that I was able to ask more intelligent questions. And because this was my second visit, I knew some of the face poking around again. While I received a very warm and friendly welcome my last visit, this time I felt like some of the uncertainty had drifted away.
The conversation seemed to flow better for one. There was more of a mix of children and adults running around, not to mention animals. I saw the turkey again but this time looking more normal, but once riled up again he turned once again into this alien looking creature. With a strange trunk-like object proceeding from on top of his beak. It was fascinating to see the changing of the colours of his head as well, when he was trying to impress. We also shared a good laugh about imagining if human males’ noses changed colour when they were trying to impress the ladies. But in reality, perhaps it would make things a whole lot easier--or possibly more awkward situations. Who knows.
Things this time also seemed so much more tranquil, with nothing to impress. I watched Tobias’ daughters hang up the family’s laundry. I talked to some of Tobias’ granddaughters, some not yet four years old while others were old enough to start dreaming of boys. Once again I felt the good fortune of being able to get this wonderful welcome from Tobias’ family. Even when it came to watching the four month old grandson be shown to us. With his chubby cheeks, fingers, and limbs.
Also entertaining, slash terrifying, was watching Tobias climb a ladder to just reach some coconuts. However in order to fully access them, Tobias had to climb the rest of the plant, just where the leaves fanned out. Watching him there, seemingly suspended in air, I had a small taste of what every mother experiences watching their kid do something that seems dangerous. In actual reality, Tobias is an active 60 year old who is able to do such wonderful things as climb around coconut fronds to cut down five coconuts for us visitors and those in his family with a thirst for coconut water.
Near the end of the visit, Tobias took us down to the waters edge. This time there were no canoes, some of his sons had taken them out for fish. So the new volunteers, a couple, spent their time talking in whispers only they could hear, while I talked to Tobias about his life.
What I found most interesting was learning about the number of kids he has, and grandchildren. Learning about his time, at ten years old, working in the fields of Costa Rica. Asking him about what it was like to live during the Sandista Revolution. He too was a soldier in the Sandista movement, but his work was not to fight in some distant part of Nicaragua. He worked on the Island, bringing goods where they needed to be. Mayogalpa, Altagracia, and Balgue and back again. More importantly, I wanted to know if he felt the wounds from that time were healed.
All he would say to me is that, and I’m paraphrasing, that things here were much more calm, easy going than before. I think those tourists who wonder why the Nicaraguans are so laid back (and rarely on time), forget that in the last 20 years they have had to rebuild a country. I think their attitude toward life is a beautiful one, just to take life easy and not to serious. A lesson I feel more people I know back home, and around the world, could take to heart.
The conversation seemed to flow better for one. There was more of a mix of children and adults running around, not to mention animals. I saw the turkey again but this time looking more normal, but once riled up again he turned once again into this alien looking creature. With a strange trunk-like object proceeding from on top of his beak. It was fascinating to see the changing of the colours of his head as well, when he was trying to impress. We also shared a good laugh about imagining if human males’ noses changed colour when they were trying to impress the ladies. But in reality, perhaps it would make things a whole lot easier--or possibly more awkward situations. Who knows.
Things this time also seemed so much more tranquil, with nothing to impress. I watched Tobias’ daughters hang up the family’s laundry. I talked to some of Tobias’ granddaughters, some not yet four years old while others were old enough to start dreaming of boys. Once again I felt the good fortune of being able to get this wonderful welcome from Tobias’ family. Even when it came to watching the four month old grandson be shown to us. With his chubby cheeks, fingers, and limbs.
Also entertaining, slash terrifying, was watching Tobias climb a ladder to just reach some coconuts. However in order to fully access them, Tobias had to climb the rest of the plant, just where the leaves fanned out. Watching him there, seemingly suspended in air, I had a small taste of what every mother experiences watching their kid do something that seems dangerous. In actual reality, Tobias is an active 60 year old who is able to do such wonderful things as climb around coconut fronds to cut down five coconuts for us visitors and those in his family with a thirst for coconut water.
Near the end of the visit, Tobias took us down to the waters edge. This time there were no canoes, some of his sons had taken them out for fish. So the new volunteers, a couple, spent their time talking in whispers only they could hear, while I talked to Tobias about his life.
What I found most interesting was learning about the number of kids he has, and grandchildren. Learning about his time, at ten years old, working in the fields of Costa Rica. Asking him about what it was like to live during the Sandista Revolution. He too was a soldier in the Sandista movement, but his work was not to fight in some distant part of Nicaragua. He worked on the Island, bringing goods where they needed to be. Mayogalpa, Altagracia, and Balgue and back again. More importantly, I wanted to know if he felt the wounds from that time were healed.
All he would say to me is that, and I’m paraphrasing, that things here were much more calm, easy going than before. I think those tourists who wonder why the Nicaraguans are so laid back (and rarely on time), forget that in the last 20 years they have had to rebuild a country. I think their attitude toward life is a beautiful one, just to take life easy and not to serious. A lesson I feel more people I know back home, and around the world, could take to heart.
Me + Two
Finally the period of solo volunteering has passed, well for now. Last Thursday I was graced with a drop in visit from two volunteers who had been communicating with Totoco for about two months about visiting. They stopped by to check out the farm, and frankly I was really in a torrential mood. What I can only describe as sleep depravation, a strong desire for the creature comforts I have been lusting over, and some sad news from home.
The long and short of it I suppose is that it really was a bad day to be showing two new volunteers the lovely Totoco farm. Partially because I felt my bad temper would infiltrate the attitude and energy of the farm. However, I spent two hours of my day showing them the farm, the lodge, and filling them in on whatever information I could give them. I didn’t sugar coat things, I didn’t lie. I feel like people should know what they are getting into.
Afterwards, we all sat down and they finally gave an affirmative that they would come on board. I would be lying if I said that a wave of relief washed over me. I would no longer have to worry about not fumigating for five days or not watering the beans. I would have more hands to help. And company, a very important benefit to new volunteers.
They arrived Friday night and the weekend was essentially a crash course in Totoco. I taught them the names of the plants, I taught them where some of the garden essentials were, and we got to work. More importantly, I think the best thing was having people again with whom I could share Totoco with. In part because it is nice to have someone who understands how annoying the big pig is or who can help give Donald some love so he doesn’t return to Finca Magdalena. While it is great to share with you part of the experience here, at the same time it is not the same as having someone completely understand just how annoying the squeal of the big pig is.
I also have the opportunity to shoot the breeze with someone again. Talking about such taboo things as politics, religion, history, organics, family, and life. Not to mention different opinions and different realms of experience. And recipes too! It is definitely always more fun to cook with and for more people. This weekend alone we made pesto, gallo pinto (rice and beans--but awesome), and Indian inspired dish with eggplant and potatoes.
There is also the wonderful part of no longer having to listen to Pablo and Tobias say how terrible it is for me to be alone. No more sad little shakes of the head from Tobias. No more offers of them sleeping here to protect me. The strangest part is that nothing has ever happened here before to a solo volunteer, but obviously these parents are just as afraid of the boogeymen, real or imaginary, which chase children in the dark.
All I can say is that while I may not believe in the boogeyman, I am not going to turn down the extra hands and the company.
The long and short of it I suppose is that it really was a bad day to be showing two new volunteers the lovely Totoco farm. Partially because I felt my bad temper would infiltrate the attitude and energy of the farm. However, I spent two hours of my day showing them the farm, the lodge, and filling them in on whatever information I could give them. I didn’t sugar coat things, I didn’t lie. I feel like people should know what they are getting into.
Afterwards, we all sat down and they finally gave an affirmative that they would come on board. I would be lying if I said that a wave of relief washed over me. I would no longer have to worry about not fumigating for five days or not watering the beans. I would have more hands to help. And company, a very important benefit to new volunteers.
They arrived Friday night and the weekend was essentially a crash course in Totoco. I taught them the names of the plants, I taught them where some of the garden essentials were, and we got to work. More importantly, I think the best thing was having people again with whom I could share Totoco with. In part because it is nice to have someone who understands how annoying the big pig is or who can help give Donald some love so he doesn’t return to Finca Magdalena. While it is great to share with you part of the experience here, at the same time it is not the same as having someone completely understand just how annoying the squeal of the big pig is.
I also have the opportunity to shoot the breeze with someone again. Talking about such taboo things as politics, religion, history, organics, family, and life. Not to mention different opinions and different realms of experience. And recipes too! It is definitely always more fun to cook with and for more people. This weekend alone we made pesto, gallo pinto (rice and beans--but awesome), and Indian inspired dish with eggplant and potatoes.
There is also the wonderful part of no longer having to listen to Pablo and Tobias say how terrible it is for me to be alone. No more sad little shakes of the head from Tobias. No more offers of them sleeping here to protect me. The strangest part is that nothing has ever happened here before to a solo volunteer, but obviously these parents are just as afraid of the boogeymen, real or imaginary, which chase children in the dark.
All I can say is that while I may not believe in the boogeyman, I am not going to turn down the extra hands and the company.
Creature comforts
I must admit that for a moment there, life was fairly bleak. By this I mean that I was literally frustrated at the fact that I couldn’t get Tom’s toothpaste or shampoo lacking in crazy chemicals. I realized that I couldn’t just stop by the nearest supermarket for curry powder or vegan cookies. I couldn’t just call up a friend and go to my favourite vegetarian restaurant. I also couldn’t buy new-to-me vintage clothing.
Essentially I was dealing with a crisis of a loss of creature comforts. While I probably had a good portion of that shocked out of me my first day here realizing I would be sleeping in a loft with spiders, but really I hadn’t gotten over my attachment to a different type of creature comfort.
In North America, it is so shockingly easy for people to buy things. Even more sustainable products are easy to purchase now! Hell you can even buy them online and have them delivered. Sure it’s at a price (what isn’t these days?) but in the end, it is possible. And more importantly, so shockingly simple.
This is something that almost all of you take for granted. This ability to have these products available to you. Any, and all, supermarket has everything you could possibly need or want. From all parts of the globe. You can get Thai sauce, curry powder, cinnamon, tomatoes all year round, mangos--some of these even organically.
For me the biggest lesson has been realizing that while this initial moment of discomfort was a shift for me, inevitably it was a worthy shift. I now find myself trying creative solutions. For example, instead of purchasing more soap for hand washing our kitchen is supplied with the consistent (and never ending) supply of ash from the burning of pig food. I have, with difficulty, baking soda which can be used to clean everything from my teeth and hair to the compost toilet. *Insert cliche joke about hopefully not at the same time*
Ultimately, I guess I will be the better for it. Partially because toothpaste here costs significantly more than my package of baking soda for eight cordobas.But more importantly, in a way I find it freeing. While it took something truly isolating such as working in a farm in Balgue, but I realized that I don’t need to buy toothpaste. I don’t need a lot of things.
While I might still want a hair cut by my favourite hair stylist from back home, and while I may want a vintage t-shirt, I know I can survive without them. And I hope that I will never take it for granted when I go back to “civilization” that I can walk into a store and buy clearly defined organic fruits and vegetables.
Essentially I was dealing with a crisis of a loss of creature comforts. While I probably had a good portion of that shocked out of me my first day here realizing I would be sleeping in a loft with spiders, but really I hadn’t gotten over my attachment to a different type of creature comfort.
In North America, it is so shockingly easy for people to buy things. Even more sustainable products are easy to purchase now! Hell you can even buy them online and have them delivered. Sure it’s at a price (what isn’t these days?) but in the end, it is possible. And more importantly, so shockingly simple.
This is something that almost all of you take for granted. This ability to have these products available to you. Any, and all, supermarket has everything you could possibly need or want. From all parts of the globe. You can get Thai sauce, curry powder, cinnamon, tomatoes all year round, mangos--some of these even organically.
For me the biggest lesson has been realizing that while this initial moment of discomfort was a shift for me, inevitably it was a worthy shift. I now find myself trying creative solutions. For example, instead of purchasing more soap for hand washing our kitchen is supplied with the consistent (and never ending) supply of ash from the burning of pig food. I have, with difficulty, baking soda which can be used to clean everything from my teeth and hair to the compost toilet. *Insert cliche joke about hopefully not at the same time*
Ultimately, I guess I will be the better for it. Partially because toothpaste here costs significantly more than my package of baking soda for eight cordobas.But more importantly, in a way I find it freeing. While it took something truly isolating such as working in a farm in Balgue, but I realized that I don’t need to buy toothpaste. I don’t need a lot of things.
While I might still want a hair cut by my favourite hair stylist from back home, and while I may want a vintage t-shirt, I know I can survive without them. And I hope that I will never take it for granted when I go back to “civilization” that I can walk into a store and buy clearly defined organic fruits and vegetables.
Sunday, 8 January 2012
Tobias' house
For the past few days I have been trying to visit the house of Tobias. Tobias is the old man who faithfully delivers ice to our farms thermals everyday. Literally everyday he climbs up to Totoco to give us ice. Since I have been here alone, he keeps trying to encourage me to spend time with locals. Not sure how leaving all my treasured belongings behind is any better, but alas, perhaps to them it is. Take the stuff, leave the girl?
In any case, after a lot of offers from him to come stay up at the farm to protect me, he finally came up with a new direction. He asked me to come see his house. I want to reiterate that this is an old man, with nothing more sinister motives than introducing the lonely foreigner to his family. He invited me to go to his house for the past two days, but for one reason or another it didn’t work out. Either it was due to pigs needing to be feed or the necessity of buying a weeks worth of vegetables from the once-a-week delivery truck.
However, today it finally happened. I found myself walking down with Tobias and his grandson to his house. Along the way I was asking him questions about his business. For instance, why he got into delivering ice to Totoco in the first place. But what I discovered is that Totoco is his only customer! And for the past four years, he has brought ice to Totoco after working at another organic farm run by expats in the morning.
As we walked along the main road leading to Totoco, Tobias finally diverted his path to a nearly invisible trail heading away from Balgue. We crossed the main highway into Balgue and then once again onto a seemingly hidden path behind several boulders left from some previous explosion of Volcan Maderas. Once through a small little fence, Tobias mentioned that this was the beginning of his property.
For Nicaragua, Tobias’ plot of land is large. Large enough seemingly to support his children, his children’s children, and probably more! We walked down this rocky path, until finally amidst the vail of greenery I saw the beginnings of houses. Up on the highest part of the property, also known as a hill, resides the homes of Tobias’ family. The structure which held the all important refridgerator, was a simple yet beautiful structure made out of the local caramel coloured wood, partnered with the rusty red bricks. To add to this, the standard star patterned blocks were placed near the roof to allow a fresh breeze to enter the home.
Inside I could see one of Tobias’ daughters watching a tele novella on a fuzzy screen. The fridge, while four years old now, looks brand new. Tobias showed me the ice being made inside, and told me that the bottom half was for food and juice for his family. After this quick tour I was introduced to Tobias’ wife and given a plastic lawn chair to sit in. I was quickly given a glass of water and two grapefruits which were grown on the property.
While I sat and Tobias introduced members of his seemingly large family, I was consistently interrupted in my usual politeness by the male turkey behind me. Apparently he is without a girlfriend, and therefore when new people arrive he puffs out his chest (with a horrid noise) and struts like a model on the dirt floor. Just when I was getting interested in the conversation in frount of me, the turkey would puff up again and my concentration was a thing of the past.
However, not even the turkey could save me from the following situation. While I was meeting more of Tobias’ family, some of his grandsons came running with bags of red kidney bean plants, freshly harvested. The last to arrive was a wizened old man, who was promptly offered another plastic chair to sit on. Within two seconds of him securing his seat he turned to me and asked me if I spoke some Spanish. I had just managed to get the words “Si” out of my mouth, and then the rant began.
While my Spanish comprehension is improving, it by no means is perfect. I will say that this man literally spent five minutes solidly talking to me about Jesus and how I needed to accept him into my life, while not enjoying cigarettes, alcohol or dancing, in order to save my soul from the devil and hell fires. I wish I had been in the presence of mind to laugh at this situation, but mostly I could not believe the ludicrous-ness of the situation. This man was trying to save my soul.
In fact, when Tobias finally asked me if I wanted to see the lake, I was more than happy to leave the old man and his talk of hell fire. I asked Tobias if that old man was trying to save my soul, and he said yes. I had to laugh, shake my head, and then return to watching out for foot holds on the uneven path ahead of me.
Tobias and three of his grandchildren showed me their access to the lake, which was an incredible spot! Two wooden canoes, clearly hand carved, held a vigil over the currently turbulent waters of Lago Nicaragua. This is where Tobias goes fishing for his family, when the water isn’t so rough. I managed to snap a few photos of his adorable grandchildren and Tobias, as well as the natural beauty of the lake, before heading to a different vantage.
We walked past the house of the old man and his hell fire rants, before reaching the other access to the Lake. This was the “beach” portion, which really meant that the rocks weren’t giant boulders, but instead smaller fist sized stones. From here, I was able to watch the beauty of Cocibolca (the local name for the lake) from my stone in the horseshoe shaped bay. While I sat in complete wonder, Tobias’ grandchildren played in the canoe painted with stars and stripes. They would beam anytime I threw a glance in their direction, which was often as they were playing around like little monkeys! Tobias also managed to ask me if Canada was covered in ice all the time, I told him no. He then asked if I would be sad to leave, I told him yes.
I sat and enjoyed some fresh coconut water and meat, lakeside, before realizing that it was probably time for me to go. When I left his family, after saying my final goodbyes and ultimately left Tobias at the main entrance to his home, how lucky I have been. I am so grateful to see these little glimpses of the daily lives of the locals here. I feel so lucky that Tobias took pity on me, and was kind enough to show me his home.
He looked so proud when he showed me the two pineapple tops I had given him the day before so he could propagate them. Equally he took so much delight in explaining the Nicaraguan terms for turkey and chicks, while he shook his head at the strange sounding English words for them. These moments, are the ones that make being so far from my family worth while.
Equally worthwhile was seeing Pablo take his midday break taking a rest in a wheelbarrow. Priceless.
In any case, after a lot of offers from him to come stay up at the farm to protect me, he finally came up with a new direction. He asked me to come see his house. I want to reiterate that this is an old man, with nothing more sinister motives than introducing the lonely foreigner to his family. He invited me to go to his house for the past two days, but for one reason or another it didn’t work out. Either it was due to pigs needing to be feed or the necessity of buying a weeks worth of vegetables from the once-a-week delivery truck.
However, today it finally happened. I found myself walking down with Tobias and his grandson to his house. Along the way I was asking him questions about his business. For instance, why he got into delivering ice to Totoco in the first place. But what I discovered is that Totoco is his only customer! And for the past four years, he has brought ice to Totoco after working at another organic farm run by expats in the morning.
As we walked along the main road leading to Totoco, Tobias finally diverted his path to a nearly invisible trail heading away from Balgue. We crossed the main highway into Balgue and then once again onto a seemingly hidden path behind several boulders left from some previous explosion of Volcan Maderas. Once through a small little fence, Tobias mentioned that this was the beginning of his property.
For Nicaragua, Tobias’ plot of land is large. Large enough seemingly to support his children, his children’s children, and probably more! We walked down this rocky path, until finally amidst the vail of greenery I saw the beginnings of houses. Up on the highest part of the property, also known as a hill, resides the homes of Tobias’ family. The structure which held the all important refridgerator, was a simple yet beautiful structure made out of the local caramel coloured wood, partnered with the rusty red bricks. To add to this, the standard star patterned blocks were placed near the roof to allow a fresh breeze to enter the home.
Inside I could see one of Tobias’ daughters watching a tele novella on a fuzzy screen. The fridge, while four years old now, looks brand new. Tobias showed me the ice being made inside, and told me that the bottom half was for food and juice for his family. After this quick tour I was introduced to Tobias’ wife and given a plastic lawn chair to sit in. I was quickly given a glass of water and two grapefruits which were grown on the property.
While I sat and Tobias introduced members of his seemingly large family, I was consistently interrupted in my usual politeness by the male turkey behind me. Apparently he is without a girlfriend, and therefore when new people arrive he puffs out his chest (with a horrid noise) and struts like a model on the dirt floor. Just when I was getting interested in the conversation in frount of me, the turkey would puff up again and my concentration was a thing of the past.
However, not even the turkey could save me from the following situation. While I was meeting more of Tobias’ family, some of his grandsons came running with bags of red kidney bean plants, freshly harvested. The last to arrive was a wizened old man, who was promptly offered another plastic chair to sit on. Within two seconds of him securing his seat he turned to me and asked me if I spoke some Spanish. I had just managed to get the words “Si” out of my mouth, and then the rant began.
While my Spanish comprehension is improving, it by no means is perfect. I will say that this man literally spent five minutes solidly talking to me about Jesus and how I needed to accept him into my life, while not enjoying cigarettes, alcohol or dancing, in order to save my soul from the devil and hell fires. I wish I had been in the presence of mind to laugh at this situation, but mostly I could not believe the ludicrous-ness of the situation. This man was trying to save my soul.
In fact, when Tobias finally asked me if I wanted to see the lake, I was more than happy to leave the old man and his talk of hell fire. I asked Tobias if that old man was trying to save my soul, and he said yes. I had to laugh, shake my head, and then return to watching out for foot holds on the uneven path ahead of me.
Tobias and three of his grandchildren showed me their access to the lake, which was an incredible spot! Two wooden canoes, clearly hand carved, held a vigil over the currently turbulent waters of Lago Nicaragua. This is where Tobias goes fishing for his family, when the water isn’t so rough. I managed to snap a few photos of his adorable grandchildren and Tobias, as well as the natural beauty of the lake, before heading to a different vantage.
We walked past the house of the old man and his hell fire rants, before reaching the other access to the Lake. This was the “beach” portion, which really meant that the rocks weren’t giant boulders, but instead smaller fist sized stones. From here, I was able to watch the beauty of Cocibolca (the local name for the lake) from my stone in the horseshoe shaped bay. While I sat in complete wonder, Tobias’ grandchildren played in the canoe painted with stars and stripes. They would beam anytime I threw a glance in their direction, which was often as they were playing around like little monkeys! Tobias also managed to ask me if Canada was covered in ice all the time, I told him no. He then asked if I would be sad to leave, I told him yes.
I sat and enjoyed some fresh coconut water and meat, lakeside, before realizing that it was probably time for me to go. When I left his family, after saying my final goodbyes and ultimately left Tobias at the main entrance to his home, how lucky I have been. I am so grateful to see these little glimpses of the daily lives of the locals here. I feel so lucky that Tobias took pity on me, and was kind enough to show me his home.
He looked so proud when he showed me the two pineapple tops I had given him the day before so he could propagate them. Equally he took so much delight in explaining the Nicaraguan terms for turkey and chicks, while he shook his head at the strange sounding English words for them. These moments, are the ones that make being so far from my family worth while.
Equally worthwhile was seeing Pablo take his midday break taking a rest in a wheelbarrow. Priceless.
Donde esta el gato?
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| Awe, Donald! |
I walked to Magdalena and was able to easily spot Donald sitting prettily on the patio of the hostel. I grabbed a hold of him and off I walked, with Donald sitting uncomfortably in my arms. I walked back from Magdalena with this squirming little bugger. On two occasions he managed to free himself from my grasp, yet never went far. He walked three feet away. When I called his name, he'd meow to acknowledge me, but never made attempts to walk back my direction.
So I would trudge into the thicket, pick him up and walk back again. I think both of us were thoroughly relieved when we finally returned to Totoco and he could take up his rightful place, suntanning in the hammock chair.
What does our town need to make it stand out?
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| A volcano replica with the Virgin Mary? Hell Yes! |
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| How about a replica of Isla de Ometepe? Double the fun! |
Sunday, 1 January 2012
Happy 2012 Everybody!
Happy New Year!
On this joyous, first day of what some believe to be the last year of our history I have several things I want to say. For starters, I hope that I don’t have the typical problem of writing “2011” beside the date for the first few weeks of the year. I know that it is now 2012, but my brain has formed a particular affection for 2011 and I know that it will take time to heal this. I just hope it takes less time than usual.
As is common on these seemingly monumental days in the year, I have been reflecting on the vast difference in direction my life has taken over the past year. Graduating university, leaving home for the first time, traveling solo for the first time, leaving behind a loving and caring family, and a career I now know I never wanted. Although it was a struggle to get to this point, I know that that I could not be happier with how this year turned out. Even if I have more bug bites and currently sleep in a loft, I feel like I have grown immensely as a person in my time away.
What I find most impressive is how strange the world works some times. I had never thought in my life that I would be embarking on an adventure of living in Balgue, Nicaragua for the next couple months. While my original plans to travel may have changed, the spirit of the trip remains the same. I still want to expand my knowledge, grow as a human, and continue exploring this world around me.
More importantly, I feel like I have been on a journey of self-discovery of epic proportions. The people I have met here have been teaching me a lot about my own strengths and weaknesses. And while learning about your biggest flaws are not always easy or comfortable, I feel like I have never been in a better time or place to deal with them.
Case in point, I really hate those pigs. But really, there is a part of me that loves them too. Loves them for being so blissfully ignorant of their gross ways. In many ways I resent having to feed animals that I see as unnecessary food and having to devote my weekends to lighting fires to cook their food. In short, they are high maintenance divas, without knowing they are. But every time I drop food into their pen, I stand and watch in utter amazement how they consistently act like utter buffoons. How greedy the big, mean pig is. How they consistently howl and squeal for food, like I have been starving them their whole life when I actually fed them two hours ago. Yet something in their interaction is utterly compelling. Even as you stand and watch the big pig take a dump on the piglets.
Life is a crazy, strange world. Where one moment you are talking to the investor and his family about the merits of working on an organic farm and the next you are talking to some fellow Canadians about West Edmonton Mall.
What I do know is that I have loved every minute of this wild ride I’m on. Even the pigs. And thank you, to all of you, for reading all about it.
On this joyous, first day of what some believe to be the last year of our history I have several things I want to say. For starters, I hope that I don’t have the typical problem of writing “2011” beside the date for the first few weeks of the year. I know that it is now 2012, but my brain has formed a particular affection for 2011 and I know that it will take time to heal this. I just hope it takes less time than usual.
As is common on these seemingly monumental days in the year, I have been reflecting on the vast difference in direction my life has taken over the past year. Graduating university, leaving home for the first time, traveling solo for the first time, leaving behind a loving and caring family, and a career I now know I never wanted. Although it was a struggle to get to this point, I know that that I could not be happier with how this year turned out. Even if I have more bug bites and currently sleep in a loft, I feel like I have grown immensely as a person in my time away.
What I find most impressive is how strange the world works some times. I had never thought in my life that I would be embarking on an adventure of living in Balgue, Nicaragua for the next couple months. While my original plans to travel may have changed, the spirit of the trip remains the same. I still want to expand my knowledge, grow as a human, and continue exploring this world around me.
More importantly, I feel like I have been on a journey of self-discovery of epic proportions. The people I have met here have been teaching me a lot about my own strengths and weaknesses. And while learning about your biggest flaws are not always easy or comfortable, I feel like I have never been in a better time or place to deal with them.
Case in point, I really hate those pigs. But really, there is a part of me that loves them too. Loves them for being so blissfully ignorant of their gross ways. In many ways I resent having to feed animals that I see as unnecessary food and having to devote my weekends to lighting fires to cook their food. In short, they are high maintenance divas, without knowing they are. But every time I drop food into their pen, I stand and watch in utter amazement how they consistently act like utter buffoons. How greedy the big, mean pig is. How they consistently howl and squeal for food, like I have been starving them their whole life when I actually fed them two hours ago. Yet something in their interaction is utterly compelling. Even as you stand and watch the big pig take a dump on the piglets.
Life is a crazy, strange world. Where one moment you are talking to the investor and his family about the merits of working on an organic farm and the next you are talking to some fellow Canadians about West Edmonton Mall.
What I do know is that I have loved every minute of this wild ride I’m on. Even the pigs. And thank you, to all of you, for reading all about it.
The eating habits of monkeys
The past week has been busy. On the farm we are doing maintenance, or essentially making the farm look pretty. I’ve been pulling weeds for 10 days straight. Out of the crevices of rocks, on the foot beaten paths, in the vegetables beds. And the ones out of reach taunt me with their very existence. But very soon, it will all be over and I can stand tall once again!
Yesterday I was talking to Pablo in one of my “back breaks” and he came up and said let’s have a small break. We stood and admired the hard work done and tried to ignore the sheer amount that still had to be done. While Pablo stared into space all of a sudden he said “monos”. What about the monkeys? Well apparently they have taken to eating the leaves of our papaya trees.
I noticed this on Christmas as well, because I watched a howler monkey climb down and try to eat some leaves. My presence however had limited him from really going too close, because he was timid and I was very close by. I thought nothing of it until I was awoken from my inadvertent nap by the sound of a loud crash. I looked up to see a devious howler monkey trying to reach a papaya tree from the jackfruit tree. A distance of say, 4-5 feet.
I was able to watch as this brave, cheeky monkey devoured some papaya leaves while a mother and her young child watched in the scene unfold. I stood there transfixed. Something about what I was seeing was so foreign, so exotic, and yet so custom to this life here in Ometepe. For about 30 minutes I stood outside watching the monkeys slowly try to reach all of our papaya trees.
One monkey had been chased by Dukie into remaining in the tall Papaya tree, as he happily chewed on some leaves. When I grabbed Dukie and took him back to the house, I watched this cheeky thing get down to the ground and run up the trellis for the passionfruit and into a flowering plant. At this point Dukie couldn’t stand it anymore and came crashing through chasing the monkey away.
Definitely never a dull moment when the monkeys are around. Especially when they are defecating on Dukie. Never a dull moment.
Yesterday I was talking to Pablo in one of my “back breaks” and he came up and said let’s have a small break. We stood and admired the hard work done and tried to ignore the sheer amount that still had to be done. While Pablo stared into space all of a sudden he said “monos”. What about the monkeys? Well apparently they have taken to eating the leaves of our papaya trees.
I noticed this on Christmas as well, because I watched a howler monkey climb down and try to eat some leaves. My presence however had limited him from really going too close, because he was timid and I was very close by. I thought nothing of it until I was awoken from my inadvertent nap by the sound of a loud crash. I looked up to see a devious howler monkey trying to reach a papaya tree from the jackfruit tree. A distance of say, 4-5 feet.
I was able to watch as this brave, cheeky monkey devoured some papaya leaves while a mother and her young child watched in the scene unfold. I stood there transfixed. Something about what I was seeing was so foreign, so exotic, and yet so custom to this life here in Ometepe. For about 30 minutes I stood outside watching the monkeys slowly try to reach all of our papaya trees.
One monkey had been chased by Dukie into remaining in the tall Papaya tree, as he happily chewed on some leaves. When I grabbed Dukie and took him back to the house, I watched this cheeky thing get down to the ground and run up the trellis for the passionfruit and into a flowering plant. At this point Dukie couldn’t stand it anymore and came crashing through chasing the monkey away.
Definitely never a dull moment when the monkeys are around. Especially when they are defecating on Dukie. Never a dull moment.
I’m dreaming of a Spinster Christmas
This morning I woke up to the sound of Pablo’s voice and the thwack of an axe on wood. An interesting alarm clock I can assure you. Without a clock, I had no idea how late (or early) it was. So I stumbled out of my borrowed pj’s and I put on my old clothes and headed out to the main area. I could see Oneyda in the kitchen and see the vague outline of Pablo outside of the kitchen making the racket. When I groggily said good morning, I couldn’t believe how chipper everyone was!
Pablo came in and assured me that I should stay for breakfast, which was made by Oneyda. Andy, Oneyda and myself sat down for our breakfast together. Which included rice, a salad (for me) and orange juice. Afterwards I played with Andy once again, in part waiting for cues on when I could go. You see, to protect my belongings they had locked my bag in the most secure thing Oneyda had, a suitcase. But this meant this morning that my bag was still inside said suitcase, and thus a captive of it.
While waiting for the correct moment to politely ask for my stuff, I decided to play with Andy some more. He had held onto the balloon he found at mass last night and he threw at me in an air of “let’s play”. However due to the balloon’s small size it was difficult for little Andy and his yet fully developed dexterity to play with real gusto.
So I blew up another balloon. However I had not considered that a very full balloon will ultimately pop very quickly with repeated bashings by a 4 and 22 year old. Thus it suddenly exploded in my face with a fury only balloons can deliver. Then we returned, for a brief period of time to baseball throwing, with my continued amusement at Andy’s genuine discomfort at a hard ball being thrown in his face.
In what appeared to be a “how to amuse Andy” morning, I ended up then pushing him on his bike outside. For 10 minutes of bliss, Andy could be seen chasing the sleeping dogs, beaming like a child on Christmas. That all lasted until I pushed with a little bit too much gusto and he toppled over. Like any stoic young man, he managed to hold himself together. I do what I do best at that point. I spun that kid around, superman style, until a smile reappeared on his face. Once Oneyda cleaned him up, he was ready to go back on.
Pablo was trying to convince me to stay for the afternoon so I could partake in the true Balguean Christmas experience. Bull riding. However, I had some duties back at the farm. These related to feeding the animals. Pablo, being the sweet man he is (and possibly to ensure my attendance at the festivities), offered to go feed the pigs. Yet when I reminded him of my obligation to Dukie as well, he resigned with a sigh. And off I went back to Totoco.
In fairness, I had also neglected watering the plants and fumigating. And so it was with these tasks to consider I made my walk back through Balgue. Made a safe return to my humble abode and got my work clothes on. The pigs were fed. The plants watered and freshly fumigated. Then just before I decided to start doing laundry I took a seat in the hammock. A fools mistake. Within seconds I was asleep.
When I woke up I had lost most of the light, and I still had dishes to do. Being the lame person I am and not really wanting to go through the effort of leaving my comfortable lodgings and head into town, I stayed home. While certainly I could have headed up to the Lodge or down into Balgue, I was perfectly content to stay and read my new book.
The book I am reading is “The Joy Luck Club” by Amy Tan. In a perfectly serendipitous moment, I found this book. The same day my family back home was gathering for Christmas Eve at my Grandmothers house. The reason this is serendipitous and incredibly strange is that one of the last times I saw my cousin we started watching “The Joy Luck Club” movie. To have found that book on the same day that that side of my family would be gathering somehow made me feel like somehow I was with them in spirit.
And so, with a book in hand and food on my plate I sat down to eat my Christmas Day feast. My companions? The howler monkey not 10 feet away in the tree. I feel this was an entirely welcome addition.
Seasons Greetings!
Pablo came in and assured me that I should stay for breakfast, which was made by Oneyda. Andy, Oneyda and myself sat down for our breakfast together. Which included rice, a salad (for me) and orange juice. Afterwards I played with Andy once again, in part waiting for cues on when I could go. You see, to protect my belongings they had locked my bag in the most secure thing Oneyda had, a suitcase. But this meant this morning that my bag was still inside said suitcase, and thus a captive of it.
While waiting for the correct moment to politely ask for my stuff, I decided to play with Andy some more. He had held onto the balloon he found at mass last night and he threw at me in an air of “let’s play”. However due to the balloon’s small size it was difficult for little Andy and his yet fully developed dexterity to play with real gusto.
So I blew up another balloon. However I had not considered that a very full balloon will ultimately pop very quickly with repeated bashings by a 4 and 22 year old. Thus it suddenly exploded in my face with a fury only balloons can deliver. Then we returned, for a brief period of time to baseball throwing, with my continued amusement at Andy’s genuine discomfort at a hard ball being thrown in his face.
In what appeared to be a “how to amuse Andy” morning, I ended up then pushing him on his bike outside. For 10 minutes of bliss, Andy could be seen chasing the sleeping dogs, beaming like a child on Christmas. That all lasted until I pushed with a little bit too much gusto and he toppled over. Like any stoic young man, he managed to hold himself together. I do what I do best at that point. I spun that kid around, superman style, until a smile reappeared on his face. Once Oneyda cleaned him up, he was ready to go back on.
Pablo was trying to convince me to stay for the afternoon so I could partake in the true Balguean Christmas experience. Bull riding. However, I had some duties back at the farm. These related to feeding the animals. Pablo, being the sweet man he is (and possibly to ensure my attendance at the festivities), offered to go feed the pigs. Yet when I reminded him of my obligation to Dukie as well, he resigned with a sigh. And off I went back to Totoco.
In fairness, I had also neglected watering the plants and fumigating. And so it was with these tasks to consider I made my walk back through Balgue. Made a safe return to my humble abode and got my work clothes on. The pigs were fed. The plants watered and freshly fumigated. Then just before I decided to start doing laundry I took a seat in the hammock. A fools mistake. Within seconds I was asleep.
When I woke up I had lost most of the light, and I still had dishes to do. Being the lame person I am and not really wanting to go through the effort of leaving my comfortable lodgings and head into town, I stayed home. While certainly I could have headed up to the Lodge or down into Balgue, I was perfectly content to stay and read my new book.
The book I am reading is “The Joy Luck Club” by Amy Tan. In a perfectly serendipitous moment, I found this book. The same day my family back home was gathering for Christmas Eve at my Grandmothers house. The reason this is serendipitous and incredibly strange is that one of the last times I saw my cousin we started watching “The Joy Luck Club” movie. To have found that book on the same day that that side of my family would be gathering somehow made me feel like somehow I was with them in spirit.
And so, with a book in hand and food on my plate I sat down to eat my Christmas Day feast. My companions? The howler monkey not 10 feet away in the tree. I feel this was an entirely welcome addition.
Seasons Greetings!
Tuesday, 27 December 2011
Christmas Eve in Balgue
And a Merry Christmas Eve it was...
This morning was a late morning after the festivities of Yolanda’s mother’s birthday party and my decision to watch a movie when I got back to the lodge. While the party was lively and the multitude of relatives was impressive, both the Grandmother and I spent the night in each others company. With my mood, my comprehension was near nil. So the two of us sat in silence, she wishing that more of her family could have come to her party and I wishing I could have had some glimmer of Christmas back home.
My day was spent trying to complete chores. This included feeding the pigs, cleaning out their hut, watering, and more such mundane tasks. My afternoon was equally thrilling, I took a nap. However, I was feeling like perhaps I should spend the day alone and that I shouldn’t leave the farm for another night. So when Pablo and Yolanda arrived to take me into town, I said perhaps it was better for me to stay and watch the farm. They left looking sorry for me, and I went back to sleep hoping to pass the day.
The excitement of the day really happened when I found two of the guests from the lodge walking through the farm. The woman paused to tell me she saw water flowing out of our water line. Always a good thing to hear at 4:30pm and only one hour of daylight left. I went to investigate the damage and instead of freaking out, I remembered that just the day before a similar issue had happened and how Pablo dealt with it.
I walked up to the Lodge and asked the kitchen where the main key was for the water line so I could make the repairs. Luckily one of the workers still happened to be around and was able to show me where to turn off the water for the rest of the line, Lodge down. Then I returned down to the farm, grabbed the necessary tools I would need and the bag of miscellaneous pipes and connectors I would need to fix it. I threw the bag over my shoulder like a continental soldier (or Santa, given the timing) and trudged up to fix the water leak.
I was able to saw off the affected area, and put in a new connector for the pipe. Not without getting substantially wet. By the time I had corrected the issue I figured, I need to do something to life my spirits. So I went up to the Lodge to use the Internet and had high hopes to update this blog of mine. I turned back on the water and headed to the restaurant. While chatting to Eric, he told me Pablo and Yolanda were here.
In what seemed to be a sign I couldn’t ignore, I went to say hi to Pablo and he invited me once more to come for the Christmas festivities. At this point, I was more than happy to go see his family and just be in the presence of other humans. I had just enough time to pack up, feed Dukie, and meet up with them on the way into Balgue.
Yolanda made a quick stop inside a shop to purchase a new shirt for Church. Pablo and I stood in the entrance way, making jokes about the little girls outfits that Pablo should buy for us. I told him we needed to match.
Then I played with Andy once again while Pablo and crew prepared themselves for Church. Being rather unprepared, I only had my not-so-clean clean pants and my t-shirt. A great look for Church. But at least it was a good outfit for throwing a baseball with Andy. The best part of the entire night for me was watching Andy freak out when the baseball actually came within striking distance. By this I mean he would throw up his hands in the air and close his eyes, even turning away. Not exactly effective. But the overall look was just so hilarious that I was laughing hysterically. And had no words in Spanish or English to properly explain why it was so funny.
We headed out to watch as Mary and Joseph sought room. I kid you not, these two young Nicaraguans were dressed up as the Holy Parents themselves and wandered the streets of Balgue looking for a room. They went up to several different houses singing what Yolanda said was a traditional song. Then we followed the couple to the Church, where the Holy Parents finally found a “room”. When they did, about 12 other kids started shaking these balloon covered sticks and sang to Joseph and Mary. I still don’t understand what it was all about, but I enjoyed watching the young kids chase the balloons that went flying off!
While the mass itself was rather uneventful, mostly because I wasn’t able to follow it, there were some great moments. The first was when Mary was formally presented with a fake baby Jesus in frount of the whole congregation in the middle of mass. The second was when Andy had found a small orange balloon and was playing during the mass with one of his older cousins. The third, and my personal favourite part, was watching a one year old boy throwing his sweater at his sister and father with a ferocity that was both stunning and hilarious. Mostly because as soon as the sweater made impact, his one year old giggle melted my cynical heart in an instant. It wasn’t long until his infectious giggle had spread past his immediate family.
After the mass, we followed the procession of balloon sticks and Joseph and Mary. With a live band as well. We walked around listening to the music as some young men set off fireworks. This was the first time in Nicaragua I have seen the fun part of fireworks, the visual display. Not the loud bang that makes me think I’m in the middle of a battle re-enactment.
We headed back to the Lopez’s home early (meaning we didn’t go to the dance party), where I promptly fell asleep on Oneyda’s bed. They were very sweet and offered me the private room, while they share two mattresses for four people.
As close as I got to “white” Christmas music this year was seeing Harry Connick Jr. sing a song about children and christmas toys or something. I had a hearty laugh at seeing such a strangely familiar sight on anything but a typical Christmas for me.
This morning was a late morning after the festivities of Yolanda’s mother’s birthday party and my decision to watch a movie when I got back to the lodge. While the party was lively and the multitude of relatives was impressive, both the Grandmother and I spent the night in each others company. With my mood, my comprehension was near nil. So the two of us sat in silence, she wishing that more of her family could have come to her party and I wishing I could have had some glimmer of Christmas back home.
My day was spent trying to complete chores. This included feeding the pigs, cleaning out their hut, watering, and more such mundane tasks. My afternoon was equally thrilling, I took a nap. However, I was feeling like perhaps I should spend the day alone and that I shouldn’t leave the farm for another night. So when Pablo and Yolanda arrived to take me into town, I said perhaps it was better for me to stay and watch the farm. They left looking sorry for me, and I went back to sleep hoping to pass the day.
The excitement of the day really happened when I found two of the guests from the lodge walking through the farm. The woman paused to tell me she saw water flowing out of our water line. Always a good thing to hear at 4:30pm and only one hour of daylight left. I went to investigate the damage and instead of freaking out, I remembered that just the day before a similar issue had happened and how Pablo dealt with it.
I walked up to the Lodge and asked the kitchen where the main key was for the water line so I could make the repairs. Luckily one of the workers still happened to be around and was able to show me where to turn off the water for the rest of the line, Lodge down. Then I returned down to the farm, grabbed the necessary tools I would need and the bag of miscellaneous pipes and connectors I would need to fix it. I threw the bag over my shoulder like a continental soldier (or Santa, given the timing) and trudged up to fix the water leak.
I was able to saw off the affected area, and put in a new connector for the pipe. Not without getting substantially wet. By the time I had corrected the issue I figured, I need to do something to life my spirits. So I went up to the Lodge to use the Internet and had high hopes to update this blog of mine. I turned back on the water and headed to the restaurant. While chatting to Eric, he told me Pablo and Yolanda were here.
In what seemed to be a sign I couldn’t ignore, I went to say hi to Pablo and he invited me once more to come for the Christmas festivities. At this point, I was more than happy to go see his family and just be in the presence of other humans. I had just enough time to pack up, feed Dukie, and meet up with them on the way into Balgue.
Yolanda made a quick stop inside a shop to purchase a new shirt for Church. Pablo and I stood in the entrance way, making jokes about the little girls outfits that Pablo should buy for us. I told him we needed to match.
Then I played with Andy once again while Pablo and crew prepared themselves for Church. Being rather unprepared, I only had my not-so-clean clean pants and my t-shirt. A great look for Church. But at least it was a good outfit for throwing a baseball with Andy. The best part of the entire night for me was watching Andy freak out when the baseball actually came within striking distance. By this I mean he would throw up his hands in the air and close his eyes, even turning away. Not exactly effective. But the overall look was just so hilarious that I was laughing hysterically. And had no words in Spanish or English to properly explain why it was so funny.
We headed out to watch as Mary and Joseph sought room. I kid you not, these two young Nicaraguans were dressed up as the Holy Parents themselves and wandered the streets of Balgue looking for a room. They went up to several different houses singing what Yolanda said was a traditional song. Then we followed the couple to the Church, where the Holy Parents finally found a “room”. When they did, about 12 other kids started shaking these balloon covered sticks and sang to Joseph and Mary. I still don’t understand what it was all about, but I enjoyed watching the young kids chase the balloons that went flying off!
While the mass itself was rather uneventful, mostly because I wasn’t able to follow it, there were some great moments. The first was when Mary was formally presented with a fake baby Jesus in frount of the whole congregation in the middle of mass. The second was when Andy had found a small orange balloon and was playing during the mass with one of his older cousins. The third, and my personal favourite part, was watching a one year old boy throwing his sweater at his sister and father with a ferocity that was both stunning and hilarious. Mostly because as soon as the sweater made impact, his one year old giggle melted my cynical heart in an instant. It wasn’t long until his infectious giggle had spread past his immediate family.
After the mass, we followed the procession of balloon sticks and Joseph and Mary. With a live band as well. We walked around listening to the music as some young men set off fireworks. This was the first time in Nicaragua I have seen the fun part of fireworks, the visual display. Not the loud bang that makes me think I’m in the middle of a battle re-enactment.
We headed back to the Lopez’s home early (meaning we didn’t go to the dance party), where I promptly fell asleep on Oneyda’s bed. They were very sweet and offered me the private room, while they share two mattresses for four people.
As close as I got to “white” Christmas music this year was seeing Harry Connick Jr. sing a song about children and christmas toys or something. I had a hearty laugh at seeing such a strangely familiar sight on anything but a typical Christmas for me.
Monday, 26 December 2011
All by myself
This morning Sara left. And perhaps it has been the cloudy days, or it was the sudden realization that I would be spending the holidays alone, but I was incredibly sad. While I know that we had our initial misunderstandings and clashes, I felt that by the last week we finally understood. Or rather learned to laugh at our differences and focus on the things we had in common. Namely the weird, strange, wonderful place that Balgue is.
More than anything Sara’s disappearance was difficult because I felt like I lost my sister. One thing Sara always reminded me of, in a weird you-only-look-like-so-and-so-because-I-am-in-a-foreign-country way, my sister. And when she left, I finally realized that I would be alone this Christmas. No new volunteers, no Sara, no family and friends. Only Dukie and Donald. This realization kept hitting me with new and stronger waves that morning.
It started, as all my mornings do, with the pigs. While conversing with Pablo and talking about Sara, I felt my emotions hit my throat making a desperate plea for my eyes. I managed to hold myself together that time. However I was not so lucky the next time. While I sat in the garden pulling weeds from the paths to make it more presentable, when Pablo passed and started talking to me about Sara I lost it. I was not really crying at losing her, but in my own selfish way, crying because she left. I had left my family. And I was really sad, as my friend Michelle would say.
Pablo, being the wonderful human he is, sat me down and asked me what was wrong. He would not take my “I’m fine” answer anymore. So I told him that I missed Sara, not entirely true, but close enough to the truth for this conversation. He told me that he found it hard too, but he had developed a hard heart. A big heart, as he always joked, but a hard one. That is why he wasn’t upset. He told me I had a soft heart, and perhaps one day I would have a hard heart, like stone. This did not make me feel better.
Nor did Pablo’s continued efforts to raise my spirits. In truth, I was so touched by his continued efforts that it made me lose it all the more. Pablo has no real reason to offer me kind words and a fatherly bear hug. He has no reason to sit there and tell me that he is going to make me tea with orange leaves and dill. Or tell me to sit down and have a break. He has no reason to bugger off and give me some space to have my little pity party and get back to work.
In the end, Pablo’s kindness is what really blew me away. He didn’t have to sit there and tell me it was going to be alright. He didn’t have to do these things. But he did. He even offered to hang out with me that afternoon so I wouldn’t be alone. While this is probably what I should have done, I just couldn’t help but say sure.
After Pablo finished lighting the fire for the pig food, I was ready to go and off we went. With no Sara to fill the silence and with my mood being about as high as a canyon it is any wonder that we conversed at all. He took me around Balgue to meet new people I could talk to when I was lonely. First it was the tienda that Orlando, Pablo’s wife’s brother, owned and talk to him and his wife. Then it was to meet Catalina, a woman who Pablo used to work with at Totoco.
At every stop, I just could not believe how welcoming and loving the people are. You may think this means I have this idea that people are naturally cold hearted people. Really, I am just so pleasantly surprised that these people are all so willing to open their lives up to a complete, gringa stranger who misses home. I was just so incredibly touched.
Thus I found myself at Pablo’s house, getting a bear hug from Yolanda who knew instantly what was wrong. She told me “you miss your mom” and gave me a hug only a mother can. We sat and talked for a bit, but my comprehension of Spanish had waned greatly. They talked rapidly amongst themselves and came to the conclusion that I couldn’t be by myself. Thus I had found myself invited to the birthday party of Yolanda’s mother for the next night, Christmas Eve festivities, as well as Christmas Day.
More than anything Sara’s disappearance was difficult because I felt like I lost my sister. One thing Sara always reminded me of, in a weird you-only-look-like-so-and-so-because-I-am-in-a-foreign-country way, my sister. And when she left, I finally realized that I would be alone this Christmas. No new volunteers, no Sara, no family and friends. Only Dukie and Donald. This realization kept hitting me with new and stronger waves that morning.
It started, as all my mornings do, with the pigs. While conversing with Pablo and talking about Sara, I felt my emotions hit my throat making a desperate plea for my eyes. I managed to hold myself together that time. However I was not so lucky the next time. While I sat in the garden pulling weeds from the paths to make it more presentable, when Pablo passed and started talking to me about Sara I lost it. I was not really crying at losing her, but in my own selfish way, crying because she left. I had left my family. And I was really sad, as my friend Michelle would say.
Pablo, being the wonderful human he is, sat me down and asked me what was wrong. He would not take my “I’m fine” answer anymore. So I told him that I missed Sara, not entirely true, but close enough to the truth for this conversation. He told me that he found it hard too, but he had developed a hard heart. A big heart, as he always joked, but a hard one. That is why he wasn’t upset. He told me I had a soft heart, and perhaps one day I would have a hard heart, like stone. This did not make me feel better.
Nor did Pablo’s continued efforts to raise my spirits. In truth, I was so touched by his continued efforts that it made me lose it all the more. Pablo has no real reason to offer me kind words and a fatherly bear hug. He has no reason to sit there and tell me that he is going to make me tea with orange leaves and dill. Or tell me to sit down and have a break. He has no reason to bugger off and give me some space to have my little pity party and get back to work.
In the end, Pablo’s kindness is what really blew me away. He didn’t have to sit there and tell me it was going to be alright. He didn’t have to do these things. But he did. He even offered to hang out with me that afternoon so I wouldn’t be alone. While this is probably what I should have done, I just couldn’t help but say sure.
After Pablo finished lighting the fire for the pig food, I was ready to go and off we went. With no Sara to fill the silence and with my mood being about as high as a canyon it is any wonder that we conversed at all. He took me around Balgue to meet new people I could talk to when I was lonely. First it was the tienda that Orlando, Pablo’s wife’s brother, owned and talk to him and his wife. Then it was to meet Catalina, a woman who Pablo used to work with at Totoco.
At every stop, I just could not believe how welcoming and loving the people are. You may think this means I have this idea that people are naturally cold hearted people. Really, I am just so pleasantly surprised that these people are all so willing to open their lives up to a complete, gringa stranger who misses home. I was just so incredibly touched.
Thus I found myself at Pablo’s house, getting a bear hug from Yolanda who knew instantly what was wrong. She told me “you miss your mom” and gave me a hug only a mother can. We sat and talked for a bit, but my comprehension of Spanish had waned greatly. They talked rapidly amongst themselves and came to the conclusion that I couldn’t be by myself. Thus I had found myself invited to the birthday party of Yolanda’s mother for the next night, Christmas Eve festivities, as well as Christmas Day.
A day in the life...
The other day I sent my friend the following text “Howler monkeys have GIANT balls. Seriously. I saw them.”. And I meant every word. It all started when Sara came up to me and said something along the lines:
I was getting dressed and the howler monkeys were above me. Then I noticed that one of them had GIANT balls. Seriously, so big that I wondered how they were able to move at all. It was like another limb. I watched them for about ten minutes.
Such a statement came completely out of the blue that I laughed in my typical cackle to show my true appreciation. It was the sort of thing that you could not have expected. And sure enough, I was so curious that I had to go and see for myself. Hence the text above. It is true. And while i don’t want you to google image that and scar yourself for life, you can be assured I have seen it and it is true.
Our day didn’t start off with such hilarity though. It rained the entire morning. We weeded in the rain. That was about it. In this way, we were lacking things to do really. We couldn’t fumigate, we couldn’t water (that was being done by nature), and we had fed the pigs. So we weeded. And we took breaks. That was our day. With such a lively morning, you can imagine that our minds were looking for something to liven things up a bit. Hence monkey balls.
After our chores, I ended up heading up to the lodge to check emails and investigating how to grow tropical plants. I got up and got ready to go, but somehow I ended up with one hilarious moment. Or rather one disgusting moment. I was about to start brushing my teeth when Pablo came in. Trying not to be rude, or perhaps to try something new, I attempted to brush my teeth in frount of him. I used my toothbrush with paste and my water bottle. What I should have done is put my toothbrush in first and then water, but I did the reverse. The messy result was water and toothpaste on my face and newly cleaned shirt while I laughed all the way to the sink.
In the same day, only an hour later, I was saying goodbye to Pablo as I ran up to the lodge. I had just popped one of my little cookies for a snack on the way up and was mid chew when Pablo asked if I was headed up to the Lodge. I was unable to form a viable word in either Spanish or English and ended up sort of mumbling and nodding my way out of it. Pablo sensing my inability to speak, started laughing and asking more questions. I finally managed to muster out “Adio” and a wave of my hand and I was off.
To finish off the night, Sara made mint and orange chocolate out of the cocao beans Martijn bought us in Mayogalpa.
I was getting dressed and the howler monkeys were above me. Then I noticed that one of them had GIANT balls. Seriously, so big that I wondered how they were able to move at all. It was like another limb. I watched them for about ten minutes.
Such a statement came completely out of the blue that I laughed in my typical cackle to show my true appreciation. It was the sort of thing that you could not have expected. And sure enough, I was so curious that I had to go and see for myself. Hence the text above. It is true. And while i don’t want you to google image that and scar yourself for life, you can be assured I have seen it and it is true.
Our day didn’t start off with such hilarity though. It rained the entire morning. We weeded in the rain. That was about it. In this way, we were lacking things to do really. We couldn’t fumigate, we couldn’t water (that was being done by nature), and we had fed the pigs. So we weeded. And we took breaks. That was our day. With such a lively morning, you can imagine that our minds were looking for something to liven things up a bit. Hence monkey balls.
After our chores, I ended up heading up to the lodge to check emails and investigating how to grow tropical plants. I got up and got ready to go, but somehow I ended up with one hilarious moment. Or rather one disgusting moment. I was about to start brushing my teeth when Pablo came in. Trying not to be rude, or perhaps to try something new, I attempted to brush my teeth in frount of him. I used my toothbrush with paste and my water bottle. What I should have done is put my toothbrush in first and then water, but I did the reverse. The messy result was water and toothpaste on my face and newly cleaned shirt while I laughed all the way to the sink.
In the same day, only an hour later, I was saying goodbye to Pablo as I ran up to the lodge. I had just popped one of my little cookies for a snack on the way up and was mid chew when Pablo asked if I was headed up to the Lodge. I was unable to form a viable word in either Spanish or English and ended up sort of mumbling and nodding my way out of it. Pablo sensing my inability to speak, started laughing and asking more questions. I finally managed to muster out “Adio” and a wave of my hand and I was off.
To finish off the night, Sara made mint and orange chocolate out of the cocao beans Martijn bought us in Mayogalpa.
A day in the life...
The other day I sent my friend the following text “Howler monkeys have GIANT balls. Seriously. I saw them.”. And I meant every word. It all started when Sara came up to me and said something along the lines:
I was getting dressed and the howler monkeys were above me. Then I noticed that one of them had GIANT balls. Seriously, so big that I wondered how they were able to move at all. It was like another limb. I watched them for about ten minutes.
Such a statement came completely out of the blue that I laughed in my typical cackle to show my true appreciation. It was the sort of thing that you could not have expected. And sure enough, I was so curious that I had to go and see for myself. Hence the text above. It is true. And while i don’t want you to google image that and scar yourself for life, you can be assured I have seen it and it is true.
Our day didn’t start off with such hilarity though. It rained the entire morning. We weeded in the rain. That was about it. In this way, we were lacking things to do really. We couldn’t fumigate, we couldn’t water (that was being done by nature), and we had fed the pigs. So we weeded. And we took breaks. That was our day. With such a lively morning, you can imagine that our minds were looking for something to liven things up a bit. Hence monkey balls.
After our chores, I ended up heading up to the lodge to check emails and investigating how to grow tropical plants. I got up and got ready to go, but somehow I ended up with one hilarious moment. Or rather one disgusting moment. I was about to start brushing my teeth when Pablo came in. Trying not to be rude, or perhaps to try something new, I attempted to brush my teeth in frount of him. I used my toothbrush with paste and my water bottle. What I should have done is put my toothbrush in first and then water, but I did the reverse. The messy result was water and toothpaste on my face and newly cleaned shirt while I laughed all the way to the sink.
In the same day, only an hour later, I was saying goodbye to Pablo as I ran up to the lodge. I had just popped one of my little cookies for a snack on the way up and was mid chew when Pablo asked if I was headed up to the Lodge. I was unable to form a viable word in either Spanish or English and ended up sort of mumbling and nodding my way out of it. Pablo sensing my inability to speak, started laughing and asking more questions. I finally managed to muster out “Adio” and a wave of my hand and I was off.
I was getting dressed and the howler monkeys were above me. Then I noticed that one of them had GIANT balls. Seriously, so big that I wondered how they were able to move at all. It was like another limb. I watched them for about ten minutes.
Such a statement came completely out of the blue that I laughed in my typical cackle to show my true appreciation. It was the sort of thing that you could not have expected. And sure enough, I was so curious that I had to go and see for myself. Hence the text above. It is true. And while i don’t want you to google image that and scar yourself for life, you can be assured I have seen it and it is true.
Our day didn’t start off with such hilarity though. It rained the entire morning. We weeded in the rain. That was about it. In this way, we were lacking things to do really. We couldn’t fumigate, we couldn’t water (that was being done by nature), and we had fed the pigs. So we weeded. And we took breaks. That was our day. With such a lively morning, you can imagine that our minds were looking for something to liven things up a bit. Hence monkey balls.
After our chores, I ended up heading up to the lodge to check emails and investigating how to grow tropical plants. I got up and got ready to go, but somehow I ended up with one hilarious moment. Or rather one disgusting moment. I was about to start brushing my teeth when Pablo came in. Trying not to be rude, or perhaps to try something new, I attempted to brush my teeth in frount of him. I used my toothbrush with paste and my water bottle. What I should have done is put my toothbrush in first and then water, but I did the reverse. The messy result was water and toothpaste on my face and newly cleaned shirt while I laughed all the way to the sink.
In the same day, only an hour later, I was saying goodbye to Pablo as I ran up to the lodge. I had just popped one of my little cookies for a snack on the way up and was mid chew when Pablo asked if I was headed up to the Lodge. I was unable to form a viable word in either Spanish or English and ended up sort of mumbling and nodding my way out of it. Pablo sensing my inability to speak, started laughing and asking more questions. I finally managed to muster out “Adio” and a wave of my hand and I was off.
Grocery shopping madness
With Martijn gone and the supposed arrival of new volunteers, our little finca was in need of some new things from the “big city” on the island. So Sara and I embarked on a trip of what turned out to be one of those seemingly simple days where nothing much happens, but everything seemed to happen.
For starters, we managed to get our chores done early and we may have skimped on others in order to leave. After all it was still farm work we were doing. So while we gathered the harvest and I brought it up, Sara started our day off right with vegan crepes with tomatoes and okinawa spinach from the garden. Delicious.
We walked down to the bus, with only moments to spare in English time. We zoomed past Faber, one of our neighbors who always has a reason to stop by our place, off to catch the bus to Altagracia. We arrived at the main road at a sprint, causing the dogs near us to fly into a passion and chase after us. But luckily for us, buses run on Nico time and we were there early. And then it started to rain.
Sara and I ran for cover of a nearby locals house and we played “I Spy” and 20 Questions while we waited. The woman whose home we were using as an umbrella was gracious enough to give us two chairs to sit in and wait for the bus. An entirely sweet gesture which is so commonplace here in Nicaragua. Perhaps my favourite moment however was when a family of tourists passed by on bicycles with mud splatters looking like they had eaten something that disagreed with them and had to exit their bodies very rapidly. I laughed heartily, or more appropriately to those who know me, cackled.
Once on the bus, it was not long until we were joined by a rather large pig. Now I will state that while we were not strictly on the typical chicken bus, I never expected to be on a pig bus either. However the pig was probably as normal as the massive bunch of bananas in the back as well. In that way, I feel I have finally witnessed a hilarious new addition to the types of livestock possible on a Latin American bus.
We arrived in Altagracia and had about 30 minutes to kill before our bus arrived. The main plaza in Altagracia has a sort of mock-up model of Isla de Ometepe, including live turtles. Sara and I snatched photos while a Nicaraguan man and his daughter were watching the turtles. Together, in the shade of Concepcion, both real and miniture, we watched as turtles surfaced for air and submerged again in the tinted water. We also walked past the christmas tree made up of dried moss. It had the look of a once much loved christmas tree that fell into disrepair. A few years later those same people who once loved it realized that perhaps if they jazzed it up with ornaments, it would be beautiful again. But it was not as beautiful as it once was, it just had that sort of Nicaraguan charm that I find so intoxicating.
We opted after our sightseeing to see what we could buy in the “supermarket” in Altagracia. I say this with quotations because it is nothing really like a supermarket, but compared to the other stores in Balgue it had what we needed. Specifically, spicy peanuts, “natural” laundry soap (which the woman told us had less chemicals), pasta, raisins, chickpeas, and 2 kg of sugar. We made it just in time to get good seats on the Altagracia to Mayogalpa bus. While we waited, a young Nico boy played some classics from the Back Street Boys and other such catchy tunes. Ordinarily I would have turned the radio station or plugged my ears, but somehow even something like the Back Street Boys brings back a sort of “expat” nostalgia that tickled at my heart that day. Sara and I sang along like fools.
Once in Mayogalpa it was down to business to find cumin, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda, a colander, lighters, brown rice, notebooks, and other such fine things. The difficulty was not knowing the word for baking soda. Which I finally was able to determine is bicarbonata de soda. Interesting though was the conversation that was needed to determine this. With my limited Spanish I walked into a supermarket and said “I need something for making bread, but I don’t know the word. It is small and white. Like sand.” Eventually she had that inspired look and said “bicarbonata” and I said that must be right. She wrote it down for me because she didn’t happen to have any in her shop.
Once all was said and done, and I had purchased my last find, baking soda, we headed to the Cornerhouse for some TLC. This came in the form of a smoothie. A delicious pineapple and papaya concoction which was cool and smooth and absolutely delightful. Then it was time to head to catch the bus headed to Balgue, perfectly late, like us. We sat at what I now realize was a casino and watched a single white man with 4 Nicaraguan men drinking rum at 3:45pm on a Monday afternoon. Oh, Nicaragua.
One thing I found particularly enlightening about our trip back was the following observation. Why is it okay to sing on a bus so long as you are sitting next to someone else? Both Sara and I took our moments to shine and sing nonsense songs, and took a moment to realize that if we had found ourselves alone, we would not be enjoying such a thing. Somehow the sheer fact you are not alone, suddenly gives you permission to talk nonsense or sing a tune without impunity. Other people don’t glare at you and tell you to shut up. They know you aren’t singing to your friend either, yet somehow it is acceptable. Common place. Strange.
Our arrival was greeted only by Dukie and the satisfaction of a day completed, where it was strangely one of the best days I had here. Something about the combination of the bus adventure, the grocery shopping, and hilarious conversations made it a perfect sort of day.
For starters, we managed to get our chores done early and we may have skimped on others in order to leave. After all it was still farm work we were doing. So while we gathered the harvest and I brought it up, Sara started our day off right with vegan crepes with tomatoes and okinawa spinach from the garden. Delicious.
We walked down to the bus, with only moments to spare in English time. We zoomed past Faber, one of our neighbors who always has a reason to stop by our place, off to catch the bus to Altagracia. We arrived at the main road at a sprint, causing the dogs near us to fly into a passion and chase after us. But luckily for us, buses run on Nico time and we were there early. And then it started to rain.
Sara and I ran for cover of a nearby locals house and we played “I Spy” and 20 Questions while we waited. The woman whose home we were using as an umbrella was gracious enough to give us two chairs to sit in and wait for the bus. An entirely sweet gesture which is so commonplace here in Nicaragua. Perhaps my favourite moment however was when a family of tourists passed by on bicycles with mud splatters looking like they had eaten something that disagreed with them and had to exit their bodies very rapidly. I laughed heartily, or more appropriately to those who know me, cackled.
Once on the bus, it was not long until we were joined by a rather large pig. Now I will state that while we were not strictly on the typical chicken bus, I never expected to be on a pig bus either. However the pig was probably as normal as the massive bunch of bananas in the back as well. In that way, I feel I have finally witnessed a hilarious new addition to the types of livestock possible on a Latin American bus.
We arrived in Altagracia and had about 30 minutes to kill before our bus arrived. The main plaza in Altagracia has a sort of mock-up model of Isla de Ometepe, including live turtles. Sara and I snatched photos while a Nicaraguan man and his daughter were watching the turtles. Together, in the shade of Concepcion, both real and miniture, we watched as turtles surfaced for air and submerged again in the tinted water. We also walked past the christmas tree made up of dried moss. It had the look of a once much loved christmas tree that fell into disrepair. A few years later those same people who once loved it realized that perhaps if they jazzed it up with ornaments, it would be beautiful again. But it was not as beautiful as it once was, it just had that sort of Nicaraguan charm that I find so intoxicating.
We opted after our sightseeing to see what we could buy in the “supermarket” in Altagracia. I say this with quotations because it is nothing really like a supermarket, but compared to the other stores in Balgue it had what we needed. Specifically, spicy peanuts, “natural” laundry soap (which the woman told us had less chemicals), pasta, raisins, chickpeas, and 2 kg of sugar. We made it just in time to get good seats on the Altagracia to Mayogalpa bus. While we waited, a young Nico boy played some classics from the Back Street Boys and other such catchy tunes. Ordinarily I would have turned the radio station or plugged my ears, but somehow even something like the Back Street Boys brings back a sort of “expat” nostalgia that tickled at my heart that day. Sara and I sang along like fools.
Once in Mayogalpa it was down to business to find cumin, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda, a colander, lighters, brown rice, notebooks, and other such fine things. The difficulty was not knowing the word for baking soda. Which I finally was able to determine is bicarbonata de soda. Interesting though was the conversation that was needed to determine this. With my limited Spanish I walked into a supermarket and said “I need something for making bread, but I don’t know the word. It is small and white. Like sand.” Eventually she had that inspired look and said “bicarbonata” and I said that must be right. She wrote it down for me because she didn’t happen to have any in her shop.
Once all was said and done, and I had purchased my last find, baking soda, we headed to the Cornerhouse for some TLC. This came in the form of a smoothie. A delicious pineapple and papaya concoction which was cool and smooth and absolutely delightful. Then it was time to head to catch the bus headed to Balgue, perfectly late, like us. We sat at what I now realize was a casino and watched a single white man with 4 Nicaraguan men drinking rum at 3:45pm on a Monday afternoon. Oh, Nicaragua.
One thing I found particularly enlightening about our trip back was the following observation. Why is it okay to sing on a bus so long as you are sitting next to someone else? Both Sara and I took our moments to shine and sing nonsense songs, and took a moment to realize that if we had found ourselves alone, we would not be enjoying such a thing. Somehow the sheer fact you are not alone, suddenly gives you permission to talk nonsense or sing a tune without impunity. Other people don’t glare at you and tell you to shut up. They know you aren’t singing to your friend either, yet somehow it is acceptable. Common place. Strange.
Our arrival was greeted only by Dukie and the satisfaction of a day completed, where it was strangely one of the best days I had here. Something about the combination of the bus adventure, the grocery shopping, and hilarious conversations made it a perfect sort of day.
New opportunities and a change of plan
It’s official. I have a new opportunity to work and live in Balgue. One of the other expats here, Ben, runs a restaurant Cafe Compestre. This is the same place I enjoy going for their hummus, dahl, and made to order tortillas. Ben originally asked me to look after his new venture with Comprestre, two rooms to make a small hostel. All because I told him I had a business degree. I had to admit, at this point I wasn’t certain I wanted to spend another chunk of time in Balgue.
Upon further discussion Ben told me about how he needed someone to house sit. Now this was something I could get behind. The reason? Because his house sits on an organic farm, with producing fruit trees. And only one pig. I know this because I asked him to show me around. I was really curious about what types of things he had on his farm and that is really what sparked this dialogue. For me it represents a chance to manage a farm, live and eat off of the land, and help run a hostel/restaurant. Essentially it gives me an opportunity, I feel, I would not get anywhere else.
When Ben showed me around the farm, I just had a feeling that this was the place where I would be able to put into practice what I had learned at Totoco. Or really it would be the best place for me to learn about permaculture and organic farming in practice. Getting my hands dirty and being able to implement some of my own ideas. But really I just loved his vision for the farm and the ideas he had generated. It means I could explore new greens, implement new crops to grow, and just in general eat mangos and jackfruit to my hearts content.
Part of the other reason I’m excited about this is because it is all encompassing. Not only do I get to learn about farming and tourism, but I get practice. I get to learn by doing, which means that there will be both highs and lows. But I will have some autonomy to learn and do, which is an incredible gift. For me, something about this opportunity seems perfect. I also know that in three months time I could be writing that I am getting the hell out of here. But I am going to shoot for optimism while I still can, and say that I couldn’t be happier with the prospect ahead of me.
So I’ll be living in Balgue, with three dogs I get to care for. And I get to explore organic farming intimately for a good chunk of time. I just hope that my friends and family take it upon themselves to join me from time to time and keep me company. My trip started as a journey to see Central America and to learn about farming. I hope that they can travel to come see me and gain an appreciation for this new home of mine and the wonderful people who live here and the beauty of Nicaragua.
Upon further discussion Ben told me about how he needed someone to house sit. Now this was something I could get behind. The reason? Because his house sits on an organic farm, with producing fruit trees. And only one pig. I know this because I asked him to show me around. I was really curious about what types of things he had on his farm and that is really what sparked this dialogue. For me it represents a chance to manage a farm, live and eat off of the land, and help run a hostel/restaurant. Essentially it gives me an opportunity, I feel, I would not get anywhere else.
When Ben showed me around the farm, I just had a feeling that this was the place where I would be able to put into practice what I had learned at Totoco. Or really it would be the best place for me to learn about permaculture and organic farming in practice. Getting my hands dirty and being able to implement some of my own ideas. But really I just loved his vision for the farm and the ideas he had generated. It means I could explore new greens, implement new crops to grow, and just in general eat mangos and jackfruit to my hearts content.
Part of the other reason I’m excited about this is because it is all encompassing. Not only do I get to learn about farming and tourism, but I get practice. I get to learn by doing, which means that there will be both highs and lows. But I will have some autonomy to learn and do, which is an incredible gift. For me, something about this opportunity seems perfect. I also know that in three months time I could be writing that I am getting the hell out of here. But I am going to shoot for optimism while I still can, and say that I couldn’t be happier with the prospect ahead of me.
So I’ll be living in Balgue, with three dogs I get to care for. And I get to explore organic farming intimately for a good chunk of time. I just hope that my friends and family take it upon themselves to join me from time to time and keep me company. My trip started as a journey to see Central America and to learn about farming. I hope that they can travel to come see me and gain an appreciation for this new home of mine and the wonderful people who live here and the beauty of Nicaragua.
Presentacion de Miss Balgue de Diciembre
December is sort of a big deal here in Nicaragua, but more specifically Balgue. Seriously these people love their feistas. At any and all hours of the night you can hear the thumping of a beat of pop songs sung in Spanish. While I am the last person who really enjoys the whole “bump and grind with stranger” scene, or as Martijn puts it “dance with 17 year olds”, I have yet to see a Balgue fiesta for myself.
On Friday, Pablo informed us of the Miss December party and invited us to join him and his family for the festivities. Having not seen a fiesta yet and Sara’s departure this upcoming, we both opted to finally experience such an important party...The complicating factor as always is the pigs.
The weather here has been quite overcast for the past few days, which I certainly don’t mind as it keeps me less sweaty and more happy. However it does mean we have the occasional rain shower during the afternoon or evening. This meant that all of the firewood Pablo cut Friday afternoon were soaked. So when Sara and I had to light a fire and cook the pig food, we ran into a slight problem. An incredibly smokey fire.
It took us about 30 minutes longer than typical to finally get the fire going. After some severe smoke inhalation I was overjoyed to see some flames finally glower. By that time however we were running low on time. Having told Pablo we would stop by his house around 7 pm, our plans to head to Cafe Compestre for food was a problem. We either had to not eat the food there or be late, in true Nicaraguan style. We opted to be like the Nicaraguans and be fashionably late.
We arrived to find Cafe Compestre packed though! This meant that we would be more fashionably late than originally anticipated. We waited a very long time for our food to finally arrive while those customers who were first were served. This meant though that we didn’t miss the parade for Miss Balgue of December. With one drummer, one giant paper mache head with mustache, and a very tall lady dancing to the beat, the patrons of Compestre headed out to the streets. We watched the “tall lady” dance for 5 minutes while the heavy drum beat set the pace. It was an incredibly hilarious site, seeing the woman facing the wrong direction than her legs.
Finally after our bellies were full and our bill paid, we finally headed to Pablo’s. Two hours late. We walked in on the family watching Lord of the Rings Return of the King in Spanish. They showed us some photos of when Oneyda and Andy when they were young. Something about it was just so touching seeing these treasured photos of their kids. While Yolanda was showing me the photos, Pablo went seeking out a letter a former volunteer wrote him. He asked us to translate her note.
Sara and I translated this beautiful letter whereby this young lady told Pablo in English about how she was sorry she couldn’t write this letter in Spanish. She reminded him of a time when he essentially saved her when a tree had fallen on her tent during the night. All she remembered was that Pablo said “tranquilla” and helped her out. She wrote that she knew how much he cared about her. She also said just how grateful she was to both Pablo and Yolanda for their kindness. The entire note was really moving, and I could tell that Pablo was just as touched as she must have been.
We ended the night however on a more uplifting note. At least for some. After our time at Pablo’s reading sad notes and playing with Andy, we went to the Presentation of Miss Balgue. Or really it is the competition to determine who is Miss Balgue December. It also meant that I had to dance. Now I will admit I am not a horrendous dancer, I have at least enough rhythm to not look like a fool. However my problem is dancing with Nicaraguan men all around me. Watching. In particular, the style of dance is really more of “hip waving” and salsa. Neither of which I can accurately describe or easily mimic. So mostly I felt like a fool. And a fool that everyone was watching.
Or perhaps it was because I was dancing with Pablo’s brother Yunisio (definitely NOT the correct spelling). He also works at Totoco, and something about dancing suggestively with someone you have to continue working with yet have no feelings for to me seems wrong. Then Yolanda grabbed me and said it was time for the presentation. Which essentially meant watching 14 and 15 year old girls dancing around. I hope this was just the “dancing” part of the selection and that there was more to the entire process than the dancing and their small outfits. In typical Nicaraguan fashion I felt like there was more than what met the eye.
For all the flashy outfits and the young girls dancing, somehow there seemed to me more than just the flash and show. Perhaps it was when I heard Pablo say that he hoped the last girl would win because she was intelligent. Now those cynics reading this probably also think “her short shorts also helped”, but you don’t know Pablo. Or rather his strange sincerity sometimes. This was one of those moments. So it doesn’t matter apparently if you gyrate and dance really well, sometimes it is the merit of your mind and not the length of your shorts that determine character. Finally, something I can agree with.
Perhaps what made me uncomfortable about this entire thing was understand how different these girls will look in 20 years. No longer will they have their flat stomachs and long limbs. Instead they will have 3-10 kids and enjoyed perhaps too much Tang. While these girls are young, I forget that their lives here are fast tracked. They are often married at 18 or 19, or at least about to have their first child. So while they are young, hot things, perhaps it is fair for them to want some attention and feel like they are the Queen’s of Balgue. Before the realities of life in Balgue with multiple kids catches up.
We got back at 1:20pm and I still had to feed Dukie. Tomorrow is going to hurt.
*I will note that tomorrow was a rough morning, waking up at 10:30am. The pigs were a little miffed at the lateness of their food. But apparently the little piglet decided to vent his frustration by humping the big pig. It was as funny as it sounds.*
On Friday, Pablo informed us of the Miss December party and invited us to join him and his family for the festivities. Having not seen a fiesta yet and Sara’s departure this upcoming, we both opted to finally experience such an important party...The complicating factor as always is the pigs.
The weather here has been quite overcast for the past few days, which I certainly don’t mind as it keeps me less sweaty and more happy. However it does mean we have the occasional rain shower during the afternoon or evening. This meant that all of the firewood Pablo cut Friday afternoon were soaked. So when Sara and I had to light a fire and cook the pig food, we ran into a slight problem. An incredibly smokey fire.
It took us about 30 minutes longer than typical to finally get the fire going. After some severe smoke inhalation I was overjoyed to see some flames finally glower. By that time however we were running low on time. Having told Pablo we would stop by his house around 7 pm, our plans to head to Cafe Compestre for food was a problem. We either had to not eat the food there or be late, in true Nicaraguan style. We opted to be like the Nicaraguans and be fashionably late.
We arrived to find Cafe Compestre packed though! This meant that we would be more fashionably late than originally anticipated. We waited a very long time for our food to finally arrive while those customers who were first were served. This meant though that we didn’t miss the parade for Miss Balgue of December. With one drummer, one giant paper mache head with mustache, and a very tall lady dancing to the beat, the patrons of Compestre headed out to the streets. We watched the “tall lady” dance for 5 minutes while the heavy drum beat set the pace. It was an incredibly hilarious site, seeing the woman facing the wrong direction than her legs.
Finally after our bellies were full and our bill paid, we finally headed to Pablo’s. Two hours late. We walked in on the family watching Lord of the Rings Return of the King in Spanish. They showed us some photos of when Oneyda and Andy when they were young. Something about it was just so touching seeing these treasured photos of their kids. While Yolanda was showing me the photos, Pablo went seeking out a letter a former volunteer wrote him. He asked us to translate her note.
Sara and I translated this beautiful letter whereby this young lady told Pablo in English about how she was sorry she couldn’t write this letter in Spanish. She reminded him of a time when he essentially saved her when a tree had fallen on her tent during the night. All she remembered was that Pablo said “tranquilla” and helped her out. She wrote that she knew how much he cared about her. She also said just how grateful she was to both Pablo and Yolanda for their kindness. The entire note was really moving, and I could tell that Pablo was just as touched as she must have been.
We ended the night however on a more uplifting note. At least for some. After our time at Pablo’s reading sad notes and playing with Andy, we went to the Presentation of Miss Balgue. Or really it is the competition to determine who is Miss Balgue December. It also meant that I had to dance. Now I will admit I am not a horrendous dancer, I have at least enough rhythm to not look like a fool. However my problem is dancing with Nicaraguan men all around me. Watching. In particular, the style of dance is really more of “hip waving” and salsa. Neither of which I can accurately describe or easily mimic. So mostly I felt like a fool. And a fool that everyone was watching.
Or perhaps it was because I was dancing with Pablo’s brother Yunisio (definitely NOT the correct spelling). He also works at Totoco, and something about dancing suggestively with someone you have to continue working with yet have no feelings for to me seems wrong. Then Yolanda grabbed me and said it was time for the presentation. Which essentially meant watching 14 and 15 year old girls dancing around. I hope this was just the “dancing” part of the selection and that there was more to the entire process than the dancing and their small outfits. In typical Nicaraguan fashion I felt like there was more than what met the eye.
For all the flashy outfits and the young girls dancing, somehow there seemed to me more than just the flash and show. Perhaps it was when I heard Pablo say that he hoped the last girl would win because she was intelligent. Now those cynics reading this probably also think “her short shorts also helped”, but you don’t know Pablo. Or rather his strange sincerity sometimes. This was one of those moments. So it doesn’t matter apparently if you gyrate and dance really well, sometimes it is the merit of your mind and not the length of your shorts that determine character. Finally, something I can agree with.
Perhaps what made me uncomfortable about this entire thing was understand how different these girls will look in 20 years. No longer will they have their flat stomachs and long limbs. Instead they will have 3-10 kids and enjoyed perhaps too much Tang. While these girls are young, I forget that their lives here are fast tracked. They are often married at 18 or 19, or at least about to have their first child. So while they are young, hot things, perhaps it is fair for them to want some attention and feel like they are the Queen’s of Balgue. Before the realities of life in Balgue with multiple kids catches up.
We got back at 1:20pm and I still had to feed Dukie. Tomorrow is going to hurt.
*I will note that tomorrow was a rough morning, waking up at 10:30am. The pigs were a little miffed at the lateness of their food. But apparently the little piglet decided to vent his frustration by humping the big pig. It was as funny as it sounds.*
Wednesday, 21 December 2011
When you give kids candy, they go CRAZY!
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| I kind of love this woman...and this photo. |
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| The children wait patiently for the goodies to be handed out |
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| The prayer to Santa Maria...pre goodies... |
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| During goodies. Complete mayhem. |
Saturday, 17 December 2011
"Friendship rocks"
Today I was still suffering post-traumatic stress from my border ordeal. Even though I had a good nights sleep, my alarm this morning made me want to shoot someone. And the closest living thing was Donald. Who has once again taken to sleeping on my bed. Right next to my head. Thanks Donald.
The day though started as well as it could have. Nothing to wild and crazy to work on. Just the regular old feed pigs, water, breakfast, harvest, plant the new hibiscus seeds and the stakes of Okinawa spinach. I had a brief conversation with Pablo when he told me of his concern over my absence yesterday, which I will take with a grain of salt. Pablo likes to joke, usually at my expense.
The only slightly “funny” thing that happened to me is that I finally experience a very potent touched-my-eye-after-cutting-chilies moment. For our natural pesticide we cut up onions, garlic and chilies to accompany the neem. Today I was the one responsible for chopping up the first three ingredients mentioned. The last one, was the obvious cause for concern. While I was cutting k’tuc for the restaurant I managed to scratch something away from my eye and all hell broke loose!
I felt the immediate burn of the chile residue on my hands and went running (and yelling) to the kitchen to flush it out with water. I grabbed a cup and started pouring water into my eye. Pablo came running to check if I was okay, but I definitely needed more water in my eye immediately. I poured water on it (and mostly down my work shirt) until the most harsh of the pain had subsided.
However due to the residue still on my fingers I still had a red face from where my hand touched my face to forcibly open my eye. The long and gist of it is that it bloody hurt. Pablo seemed relieved when I regained the ability to open my eye. My repetitions of “esta bien” or “it’s okay” didn’t seem to assuage his worry. Just as I had finished my work for the day, Martijn came by and I once again touched my eye. This time however, it was not the sort of hell-fire response that I originally had. I also had to rub some aloe on the sensitive skin in between my fingers due to the chilies. Apparently my left hand is just not able to deal with the heat.
Perhaps the funniest part of this whole thing is that you know how ridiculous you look to other people. For example, I distinctly remember a time when my Dad once took me up to Edmonton for a dance competition. We were eating at a sandwich shop and my Dad had asked for jalapenos on his, however the person making his sandwich was a little jalapeno happy, and my Dad had to remove some. In a similar fate, my Dad put his fingers to his eyes and my Dad got a little teary eyed. Perhaps all of this was karma for this incident, because I distinctly remember laughing quite loudly at the whole thing. Sorry Dad for laughing. I understand now how much of a jerk I was!
To avoid the drop-in visit of a very forward guide, Sara and I opted to head into town. I have been trying to offload the dress I bought since I got here. I wore it once in San Francisco, but here I have not found it my liking to wear dresses. And I certainly am not the dress wearing type of girl before I came here either. Balgue has one second hand shop and is the closest thing to vintage I’ll get here. I headed there with the dress hoping for an exchange, one dress for two shirts (the dress is very nice). And I was in luck! I walked in with a purple dress and I left with two shirts. The first is a boring quick drying golf shirt, the other is a dorky turquoise shirt reading “friendship rocks”, accompanied by a picture of a ship. It was essentially the best thing in there and my size.
Like most of our Balgue adventures, we had some minor successes in finding what we were looking for and also some failures. I still haven’t found shampoo that isn’t a chemical explosion or a large enough notebook for me to take notes on the permaculture book here. However we were able to find some snacks and invariably ended up back at Cafe Compestre for a late lunch. I finally tried the vegetarian fettuccine dish (the noodles are made in house), which was delicious with a spicy tomato-basil sauce.
In the spirit of the title of this entry and my newly acquired shirt, I want to have a shout out to my friend Amanda. For reasons she will understand. I’ve also been listening to a lot of Zeppelin lately...
The day though started as well as it could have. Nothing to wild and crazy to work on. Just the regular old feed pigs, water, breakfast, harvest, plant the new hibiscus seeds and the stakes of Okinawa spinach. I had a brief conversation with Pablo when he told me of his concern over my absence yesterday, which I will take with a grain of salt. Pablo likes to joke, usually at my expense.
The only slightly “funny” thing that happened to me is that I finally experience a very potent touched-my-eye-after-cutting-chilies moment. For our natural pesticide we cut up onions, garlic and chilies to accompany the neem. Today I was the one responsible for chopping up the first three ingredients mentioned. The last one, was the obvious cause for concern. While I was cutting k’tuc for the restaurant I managed to scratch something away from my eye and all hell broke loose!
I felt the immediate burn of the chile residue on my hands and went running (and yelling) to the kitchen to flush it out with water. I grabbed a cup and started pouring water into my eye. Pablo came running to check if I was okay, but I definitely needed more water in my eye immediately. I poured water on it (and mostly down my work shirt) until the most harsh of the pain had subsided.
However due to the residue still on my fingers I still had a red face from where my hand touched my face to forcibly open my eye. The long and gist of it is that it bloody hurt. Pablo seemed relieved when I regained the ability to open my eye. My repetitions of “esta bien” or “it’s okay” didn’t seem to assuage his worry. Just as I had finished my work for the day, Martijn came by and I once again touched my eye. This time however, it was not the sort of hell-fire response that I originally had. I also had to rub some aloe on the sensitive skin in between my fingers due to the chilies. Apparently my left hand is just not able to deal with the heat.
Perhaps the funniest part of this whole thing is that you know how ridiculous you look to other people. For example, I distinctly remember a time when my Dad once took me up to Edmonton for a dance competition. We were eating at a sandwich shop and my Dad had asked for jalapenos on his, however the person making his sandwich was a little jalapeno happy, and my Dad had to remove some. In a similar fate, my Dad put his fingers to his eyes and my Dad got a little teary eyed. Perhaps all of this was karma for this incident, because I distinctly remember laughing quite loudly at the whole thing. Sorry Dad for laughing. I understand now how much of a jerk I was!
To avoid the drop-in visit of a very forward guide, Sara and I opted to head into town. I have been trying to offload the dress I bought since I got here. I wore it once in San Francisco, but here I have not found it my liking to wear dresses. And I certainly am not the dress wearing type of girl before I came here either. Balgue has one second hand shop and is the closest thing to vintage I’ll get here. I headed there with the dress hoping for an exchange, one dress for two shirts (the dress is very nice). And I was in luck! I walked in with a purple dress and I left with two shirts. The first is a boring quick drying golf shirt, the other is a dorky turquoise shirt reading “friendship rocks”, accompanied by a picture of a ship. It was essentially the best thing in there and my size.
Like most of our Balgue adventures, we had some minor successes in finding what we were looking for and also some failures. I still haven’t found shampoo that isn’t a chemical explosion or a large enough notebook for me to take notes on the permaculture book here. However we were able to find some snacks and invariably ended up back at Cafe Compestre for a late lunch. I finally tried the vegetarian fettuccine dish (the noodles are made in house), which was delicious with a spicy tomato-basil sauce.
In the spirit of the title of this entry and my newly acquired shirt, I want to have a shout out to my friend Amanda. For reasons she will understand. I’ve also been listening to a lot of Zeppelin lately...
Me, without borders
This entry could also have been called "My day of hell crossing the Costa Rican border" but I felt like it might be a tad excessive. Like any good adventure, my day started at 4:00 am to catch the supposed 5:00 am bus to Mayogalpa. I ended up listening to a symphony of roosters while I waited 30 minutes for the bus to arrive. The bus ride was characteristically uneventful, the only changing thing was the smells. At first the smell was of the laundry detergent of the woman in frount of me. Then the smell of the little girl next to me’s shampoo which to me smelled like ginger. Finally the smells faded away into the smell of fumes as I left the bus.
I took the ferry from San Jose del Sur on the Island and as soon as I got there I went to secure a seat and start reading the book I’ve been slowly working through called From Beirut to Jerusalem, which is one of the most fascinating books I’ve read on the issues relating to Lebanon and Israel historically and up to the late 1980s. I wish I could have read more of it too, instead I put my head down and drool followed. Thanks 4:00 am wake up. More impressively, my tiredness seemed to entertain some of the locals also on the boat with me.
When I arrived in San Jorge, I tried to seek out of the clamouring crowd and find a collective taxi. I ended up talking to a guy telling me that he would be willing to take me to the border for C300, or $13. Which I probably should have turned down, considering the collective taxis are SO much cheaper. But I was like, this guy seems cool and told me that it was pretty easy to go through the border in a day.
On the way we chatted about wind turbines, cheese, traditional Nicaraguan food, why I don’t eat meat, and the border. I also talked to him about getting a guitar. At the border though, I got more than I had bargained for. For a small fortune I was able to get a “guide” to help maneuver me through his “friends”. The lesson learned was to try to muddle through on your own, or leave the damn country for three days.
However my instinct told me to try it this way first. At least for next time I will know where you have to try to sweet talk your way through.The border was also incredibly busy, especially when you found yourself behind two different tour buses. The first was a Gap Tour operator with 10 passports. The next guy was a Tica Bus person with 20 passports. By this time the Nicaraguans behind me were pressing in on me and were yelling at me for not jumping in. So while I had a guy breathing down my neck I was practically hugging the Tica Bus employee.
The other sad part of the Nicaraguan side of the border is the young and disabled men begging for money. Blind, disfigured, you name it. Frankly this is sadly one of the better places for them to play on the hearts of tourists. Even my “guides” at the border were saying that it is very difficult for them to get jobs in Nicaragua, which could have been a bit of a sob story to make up for the financial raping I was getting, but I am inclined to believe them about this. I don’t think many men would willingly do this type of work, getting caught, especially on the Costa Rica side could have some serious consequences.
I won’t go into too many details, mostly because I have no idea what exactly all went down when I crossed the border. But I will share my opinions.
1. Borders are a mix of the best and worst of humanity--the sinners and the saints. I would say that the sinners outweigh the saints, but at least they exist. I watched a older woman helping a group of four tourists with some issues they had. I was impressed with her. In my case I ended up getting into a shouting match with one of my guides. Not my shining moment, nor his.
2. Everyone has a price. Even me. I may have been suckered into a high price, but for the comfort of knowing I would be successful, I paid that price. Damn.
3. My curly locks and apparently just something about me, warrants Nico men to be very nice to me. The final passport guard in Nicaragua after my whole, crap day, told me I was beautiful. A fool, but beautiful.
4. In the end I realize that while slightly miffed at the loss of money, these seemingly unscrupulous men helped me understand how hard the times are. For example, my helper in Nicaragua said that you can go to school for years and years but it doesn’t really help you here get a job. I heard similar sentiments from the others.
5. To put the situation in perspective, my cab driver and I talked about gas prices. Gas here is about the equivalent in Canada, in a developing country. This means that a litre of gas is equivalent to about 2-3 hours work here.
6. At the end of the day, everyone is trying to make a living and I was the gullible one that day willing to pay a small fortune to cross the border. In the end, perhaps my driver can use my cash to help his two year old son. Or buy beers. Either way, it is no longer in my hands.
But all in all, I can say that I will never do this process again. The taxi was one thing, but frankly I am never going to have “help” again to cross the border. Next time I will rely on my own brain and my own wits. Or I will take a bloody vacation proper and go somewhere! The hassle is just not worth it.
After the whole ordeal, I felt a little defeated. I was equal parts mad at myself and mad at the craziness of the border. On the way back I felt like perhaps I was in shock. All I could really talk to my taxi driver was baseball. Apparently it is popular here. And I hate baseball. And know nothing about it. As you can imagine, the conversation was fairly small.
To continue my day of hell, I had to cross across the lake once again headed to Balgue. This meant that I needed to take a ferry ride across choppy waters. I was too anxious and mad to eat earlier, but an empty stomach wasn’t helpful this time. I felt slightly nauseous the entire way back. Once in Mayogapla I had a moment of thanks that I survived the day and at least made it somewhere safe and sound, Isla de Ometepe. I headed to get some more money (used all mine up paying crooks) and then headed to The Corner House there. I had met the owner through Martijn and figured it would be the perfect place to enjoy a little normalcy. Indeed it was a perfect place for such things.
I ate my hummus and vegetable sandwich with pan-fried potatoes while waiting for the last bus to Balgue to arrive. Had a very pleasant trip back reading my book along the way. I capped off the night at Cafe Compestre for some good food and hibiscus juice before making my way back to Totoco.
Thus the countdown begins for my next border crossing...90 days...
I took the ferry from San Jose del Sur on the Island and as soon as I got there I went to secure a seat and start reading the book I’ve been slowly working through called From Beirut to Jerusalem, which is one of the most fascinating books I’ve read on the issues relating to Lebanon and Israel historically and up to the late 1980s. I wish I could have read more of it too, instead I put my head down and drool followed. Thanks 4:00 am wake up. More impressively, my tiredness seemed to entertain some of the locals also on the boat with me.
When I arrived in San Jorge, I tried to seek out of the clamouring crowd and find a collective taxi. I ended up talking to a guy telling me that he would be willing to take me to the border for C300, or $13. Which I probably should have turned down, considering the collective taxis are SO much cheaper. But I was like, this guy seems cool and told me that it was pretty easy to go through the border in a day.
On the way we chatted about wind turbines, cheese, traditional Nicaraguan food, why I don’t eat meat, and the border. I also talked to him about getting a guitar. At the border though, I got more than I had bargained for. For a small fortune I was able to get a “guide” to help maneuver me through his “friends”. The lesson learned was to try to muddle through on your own, or leave the damn country for three days.
However my instinct told me to try it this way first. At least for next time I will know where you have to try to sweet talk your way through.The border was also incredibly busy, especially when you found yourself behind two different tour buses. The first was a Gap Tour operator with 10 passports. The next guy was a Tica Bus person with 20 passports. By this time the Nicaraguans behind me were pressing in on me and were yelling at me for not jumping in. So while I had a guy breathing down my neck I was practically hugging the Tica Bus employee.
The other sad part of the Nicaraguan side of the border is the young and disabled men begging for money. Blind, disfigured, you name it. Frankly this is sadly one of the better places for them to play on the hearts of tourists. Even my “guides” at the border were saying that it is very difficult for them to get jobs in Nicaragua, which could have been a bit of a sob story to make up for the financial raping I was getting, but I am inclined to believe them about this. I don’t think many men would willingly do this type of work, getting caught, especially on the Costa Rica side could have some serious consequences.
I won’t go into too many details, mostly because I have no idea what exactly all went down when I crossed the border. But I will share my opinions.
1. Borders are a mix of the best and worst of humanity--the sinners and the saints. I would say that the sinners outweigh the saints, but at least they exist. I watched a older woman helping a group of four tourists with some issues they had. I was impressed with her. In my case I ended up getting into a shouting match with one of my guides. Not my shining moment, nor his.
2. Everyone has a price. Even me. I may have been suckered into a high price, but for the comfort of knowing I would be successful, I paid that price. Damn.
3. My curly locks and apparently just something about me, warrants Nico men to be very nice to me. The final passport guard in Nicaragua after my whole, crap day, told me I was beautiful. A fool, but beautiful.
4. In the end I realize that while slightly miffed at the loss of money, these seemingly unscrupulous men helped me understand how hard the times are. For example, my helper in Nicaragua said that you can go to school for years and years but it doesn’t really help you here get a job. I heard similar sentiments from the others.
5. To put the situation in perspective, my cab driver and I talked about gas prices. Gas here is about the equivalent in Canada, in a developing country. This means that a litre of gas is equivalent to about 2-3 hours work here.
6. At the end of the day, everyone is trying to make a living and I was the gullible one that day willing to pay a small fortune to cross the border. In the end, perhaps my driver can use my cash to help his two year old son. Or buy beers. Either way, it is no longer in my hands.
But all in all, I can say that I will never do this process again. The taxi was one thing, but frankly I am never going to have “help” again to cross the border. Next time I will rely on my own brain and my own wits. Or I will take a bloody vacation proper and go somewhere! The hassle is just not worth it.
After the whole ordeal, I felt a little defeated. I was equal parts mad at myself and mad at the craziness of the border. On the way back I felt like perhaps I was in shock. All I could really talk to my taxi driver was baseball. Apparently it is popular here. And I hate baseball. And know nothing about it. As you can imagine, the conversation was fairly small.
To continue my day of hell, I had to cross across the lake once again headed to Balgue. This meant that I needed to take a ferry ride across choppy waters. I was too anxious and mad to eat earlier, but an empty stomach wasn’t helpful this time. I felt slightly nauseous the entire way back. Once in Mayogapla I had a moment of thanks that I survived the day and at least made it somewhere safe and sound, Isla de Ometepe. I headed to get some more money (used all mine up paying crooks) and then headed to The Corner House there. I had met the owner through Martijn and figured it would be the perfect place to enjoy a little normalcy. Indeed it was a perfect place for such things.
I ate my hummus and vegetable sandwich with pan-fried potatoes while waiting for the last bus to Balgue to arrive. Had a very pleasant trip back reading my book along the way. I capped off the night at Cafe Compestre for some good food and hibiscus juice before making my way back to Totoco.
Thus the countdown begins for my next border crossing...90 days...
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
My wee balls
One of the luxuries here is anything resembling vegan desserts. Not that I have a huge sweet tooth, but I when given the opportunity to bake something in our cobb oven, I take it. The disincentive is that it takes hours to get the oven going. Partly because you need to start the fire and get the fire to a certain point. And because of the work, we typically do it only for pizza nights. Ok, it’s really not a lot of work, however it does require something called “energy” which often I don’t have in the afternoons beyond making myself enough food to eat. All I can say is that at the end of the day, the effort is typically worth it.
After Martijn’s trip to Mayogalpa we ended up with fun ingredients, like cinnamon and cacao. This meant that we could finally have banana-oatmeal-cinnamon-cacao nib cookies, or what Sara has dubbed my “wee balls”. Apparently when I finish rolling them (into balls, oddly enough) I say something about the wee balls. And so it is that they have been called thus. Also because wee balls wabble but they don’t fall down...
In any case it is a perfect way to cap off a week and enjoy a small luxury.
After Martijn’s trip to Mayogalpa we ended up with fun ingredients, like cinnamon and cacao. This meant that we could finally have banana-oatmeal-cinnamon-cacao nib cookies, or what Sara has dubbed my “wee balls”. Apparently when I finish rolling them (into balls, oddly enough) I say something about the wee balls. And so it is that they have been called thus. Also because wee balls wabble but they don’t fall down...
In any case it is a perfect way to cap off a week and enjoy a small luxury.
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