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.
Tuesday, 27 December 2011
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.
What is a guitar doing in the lobby?
After the slightly traumatic experience (for me) of watching the pigs death as well as the continued aggression by the other big pig left, today was definitely more than needed. The day started off as usual and we had a relatively good day of typical chores and working on the new bed for the jamica (hibiscus) plants. This also included collecting more horse and cow manure, thankfully it was less “fresh” than last time.
However the real glory came from several small differences which added up to a wonderful day. The first being that it was cloudy and I was not melting in the heat today. Strangely this made me want to go use the pool. And that I did. Once we finished with work I quickly ate some food and made my way up for the pool. A fine way to celebrate a shitty day...
But the most amazing part was when Sara told me that there was a sighting of something truly rare. A guitar. Not only just one, but two. I was like a little kid at Christmas, if only I could somehow end up playing one. I ended up heading to the lodge later that afternoon and while I was using the Internet, lo and behold, the guitars were taken out of their cases and I was hooked. I was enjoying listening to these two men playing the guitar and picking the twelve bar blues.
As luck would have it, we started talking and when one of the guys left to go use the pool I was offered a chance to play. About three or four hours later we were still playing and I was in heaven. I have really missed having a guitar here and frankly I believe that it will be essential for me to buy a guitar here for my continued sanity. Because there is nothing more wonderful than playing a guitar and being able to use some of your creativity and making music. Especially when electricity here is so precious (i.e. has the terrible habit of just turning off...) so having a guitar and some written out songs would be absolutely wonderful. One step at a time.
However the real glory came from several small differences which added up to a wonderful day. The first being that it was cloudy and I was not melting in the heat today. Strangely this made me want to go use the pool. And that I did. Once we finished with work I quickly ate some food and made my way up for the pool. A fine way to celebrate a shitty day...
But the most amazing part was when Sara told me that there was a sighting of something truly rare. A guitar. Not only just one, but two. I was like a little kid at Christmas, if only I could somehow end up playing one. I ended up heading to the lodge later that afternoon and while I was using the Internet, lo and behold, the guitars were taken out of their cases and I was hooked. I was enjoying listening to these two men playing the guitar and picking the twelve bar blues.
As luck would have it, we started talking and when one of the guys left to go use the pool I was offered a chance to play. About three or four hours later we were still playing and I was in heaven. I have really missed having a guitar here and frankly I believe that it will be essential for me to buy a guitar here for my continued sanity. Because there is nothing more wonderful than playing a guitar and being able to use some of your creativity and making music. Especially when electricity here is so precious (i.e. has the terrible habit of just turning off...) so having a guitar and some written out songs would be absolutely wonderful. One step at a time.
So long Big, Big Pig
Today was the day we had to say goodbye to the end of the Big Big Pig. According to Martijn, after six months the pig has reached the optimum point whereby the animal no longer is gaining muscle. So this morning, at the early hour of 6:00 am, we found ourselves discussing what was about to happen with all the men gathered (and us two females).
According to local legend no more than four people should be on hand to witness the actual killing portion. Apparently the more people, the longer it takes for the animal to die. I was only able to watch the throw of the axe and the rush of men after it connected. As someone who spends a great deal of time advocating eating less meat, I knew I was into a very intimate encounter to how pork arrives on the plates of many. More than anything, I strangely am very grateful for the experience.
The most difficult part for me was when they hauled the body to the work station. I could see his big brown eyes looking at me and his body was still convulsing with the last bits of his nervous systems claim to life. These things made me remember that thankfully this pig only required one hit to the head. Then it was the efficient removal of the external hair using hot water.
You could see the last remains of the blood mix with the cooling water and the freshly pulled bristles of hair as it fell of the work station. They collected, and remain, to be a reminder of the activities that occurred. Then it was the fascinating breakdown of the pig from four legged animal to organs and eventually into meat. I watched the entire process of hanging the animal from the rancho’s main pillar and the cutting through the animal. I saw every part that you could possibly see. The removing of the heart, liver, lungs, digestive tract, and more. The hardest to watch was the removal of the head. I won’t go into too much details, but hearing the sharp knife grind against the teeth (in order to get the cheek meat for pancetta). Disgusting.
While the more normal parts of meat were being butchered, I couldn’t help but find my gaze drift to the odd parts. The head and the organs. But then equally it was mesmerizing to watch this 80 pound animal be divided up into parts to serve as hams, roasts, loins, and turn into stock. About halfway through the process I realized that the “shock” of watching this all go down had finally subsided and I once again discovered my hunger. I sat and watched them finish off the other half of the pig while I sat and ate watermelon.
I’m sure some of you will marvel at the fact I was able to eat anything, but I think I needed to do something normal. Like sit and eat watermelon amidst the strangeness of watching the entire process unfold. Additionally, I felt like if I were going to hurl, it would be better with a full stomach. At least you’d have something to have come up. However none of these things happened and in a way I felt some relief remembering my commitment to not eating meat.
Throughout this process I cannot say that my opinion on meat consumption has changed. I still believe that overall if people cannot eliminate eating meat entirely, they should at least reduce the amount they do. And in many ways I feel like I have been very fortunate to see the full cycle and cost of eating meat. The amount of work to get the pig raised and fat enough. The process of killing and essentially dismembering the animal into useable parts.
Strangely I feel like the locals here have a much better understanding of eating meat than most North Americans. Here you cannot walk into a store and buy a packaged chicken breast. There are no advertisements telling you how lean turkey is. There is nothing but the act of raising, killing, and preparing the animal for human consumption. There is a beauty to the transparency. And overall I feel people here have a greater understanding of what it takes for animals to be consumed.
I think that people always assume as a vegan that you want to convert the masses to your way of thinking. However, what people fail to realize is that all I want is for people to awaken their own knowledge. Beef is cow. Pork is pig. I think if people had more respect for the food they buy and where it comes from, at the end of the day I could live with that. I could respect that someone understands how the meat ends up on their table and can life with that. I could not life with the notion of killing and that subsequent learning of where my food came from has inspired my current trek.
While the world works in strange and mysterious ways, I think it is moments like this that make me glad I have had the opportunities here that I have. Even though I intentionally tried to avoid working on farms with animals, I think that I can honestly say that it was something I needed to learn. If I ever want to learn how to change how people see food, it needs to start with how I see food.
According to local legend no more than four people should be on hand to witness the actual killing portion. Apparently the more people, the longer it takes for the animal to die. I was only able to watch the throw of the axe and the rush of men after it connected. As someone who spends a great deal of time advocating eating less meat, I knew I was into a very intimate encounter to how pork arrives on the plates of many. More than anything, I strangely am very grateful for the experience.
The most difficult part for me was when they hauled the body to the work station. I could see his big brown eyes looking at me and his body was still convulsing with the last bits of his nervous systems claim to life. These things made me remember that thankfully this pig only required one hit to the head. Then it was the efficient removal of the external hair using hot water.
You could see the last remains of the blood mix with the cooling water and the freshly pulled bristles of hair as it fell of the work station. They collected, and remain, to be a reminder of the activities that occurred. Then it was the fascinating breakdown of the pig from four legged animal to organs and eventually into meat. I watched the entire process of hanging the animal from the rancho’s main pillar and the cutting through the animal. I saw every part that you could possibly see. The removing of the heart, liver, lungs, digestive tract, and more. The hardest to watch was the removal of the head. I won’t go into too much details, but hearing the sharp knife grind against the teeth (in order to get the cheek meat for pancetta). Disgusting.
While the more normal parts of meat were being butchered, I couldn’t help but find my gaze drift to the odd parts. The head and the organs. But then equally it was mesmerizing to watch this 80 pound animal be divided up into parts to serve as hams, roasts, loins, and turn into stock. About halfway through the process I realized that the “shock” of watching this all go down had finally subsided and I once again discovered my hunger. I sat and watched them finish off the other half of the pig while I sat and ate watermelon.
I’m sure some of you will marvel at the fact I was able to eat anything, but I think I needed to do something normal. Like sit and eat watermelon amidst the strangeness of watching the entire process unfold. Additionally, I felt like if I were going to hurl, it would be better with a full stomach. At least you’d have something to have come up. However none of these things happened and in a way I felt some relief remembering my commitment to not eating meat.
Throughout this process I cannot say that my opinion on meat consumption has changed. I still believe that overall if people cannot eliminate eating meat entirely, they should at least reduce the amount they do. And in many ways I feel like I have been very fortunate to see the full cycle and cost of eating meat. The amount of work to get the pig raised and fat enough. The process of killing and essentially dismembering the animal into useable parts.
Strangely I feel like the locals here have a much better understanding of eating meat than most North Americans. Here you cannot walk into a store and buy a packaged chicken breast. There are no advertisements telling you how lean turkey is. There is nothing but the act of raising, killing, and preparing the animal for human consumption. There is a beauty to the transparency. And overall I feel people here have a greater understanding of what it takes for animals to be consumed.
I think that people always assume as a vegan that you want to convert the masses to your way of thinking. However, what people fail to realize is that all I want is for people to awaken their own knowledge. Beef is cow. Pork is pig. I think if people had more respect for the food they buy and where it comes from, at the end of the day I could live with that. I could respect that someone understands how the meat ends up on their table and can life with that. I could not life with the notion of killing and that subsequent learning of where my food came from has inspired my current trek.
While the world works in strange and mysterious ways, I think it is moments like this that make me glad I have had the opportunities here that I have. Even though I intentionally tried to avoid working on farms with animals, I think that I can honestly say that it was something I needed to learn. If I ever want to learn how to change how people see food, it needs to start with how I see food.
Saturday, 10 December 2011
Be careful where you stand
Sometimes life throws you strange curve balls. Working on this organic garden with pigs has given me lots to think about. But more than anything, I find on a day-to-day basis something or another directly challenges me in ways I never thought possible.
This past week, I did something I never thought I would. I harvested cow and horse shit. Literally. Now when it was first proposed we go collect such droppings, I was not exactly thrilled, but wasn’t quite ready to comprehend just exactly this would entail. Likewise I was not prepared for when Pablo comes around asking us to grab our gloves.
We headed to the field next to our property where there were already a number of the animals in question lazing about in the mid-morning heat. While donned with two rice sacks, a bucket, one trowel, and two pairs of gloves, Pablo, Sara and I wandered off to the field. Perhaps the funniest part really was watching how much Pablo enjoyed himself. Knowing full well what we girls were in for, he was relishing a bit too much how uncomfortable we were.
Sara and I found our first mud pie and literally just stared at it. We knew what we had to do as soon as Pablo told us to bring gloves, but I don’t think we expected things to be so “fresh”. We bent down and then felt a sweep of relief when Pablo swept in before us. That was until he told us to fan out. Addition to the hilarity of the task ahead of us, we had to walk through some significant thorned weeds. I was scratched, hot, sweaty, and trying to pick up partially dried cow shit with my hands. I can honestly say, that the universe has a wonderful sense of humour.
All in a days work at the farm I guess.
This past week, I did something I never thought I would. I harvested cow and horse shit. Literally. Now when it was first proposed we go collect such droppings, I was not exactly thrilled, but wasn’t quite ready to comprehend just exactly this would entail. Likewise I was not prepared for when Pablo comes around asking us to grab our gloves.
We headed to the field next to our property where there were already a number of the animals in question lazing about in the mid-morning heat. While donned with two rice sacks, a bucket, one trowel, and two pairs of gloves, Pablo, Sara and I wandered off to the field. Perhaps the funniest part really was watching how much Pablo enjoyed himself. Knowing full well what we girls were in for, he was relishing a bit too much how uncomfortable we were.
Sara and I found our first mud pie and literally just stared at it. We knew what we had to do as soon as Pablo told us to bring gloves, but I don’t think we expected things to be so “fresh”. We bent down and then felt a sweep of relief when Pablo swept in before us. That was until he told us to fan out. Addition to the hilarity of the task ahead of us, we had to walk through some significant thorned weeds. I was scratched, hot, sweaty, and trying to pick up partially dried cow shit with my hands. I can honestly say, that the universe has a wonderful sense of humour.
All in a days work at the farm I guess.
Tang, Chickens, and other thoughts
- People here LOVE tang. They spice it up with corn and ginger, but really they love tang.
- As much as I gripe about the pigs, I really do love watching them interact. I love watching them be mean to each other. I love watching them snuggle up to each other when they fall asleep in the midday sun. I love watching the power plays come up when they are eating--who is the top pig, who is the passive pig?
- Two hour naps to avoid talking. Period. Sometimes I get sick of talking and it is really nice to just sit and enjoy some peace and quiet of my own mind. Thank you.
- Getting rides up to the lodge to use the Internet from one of the other co-owners, John, and his family. We talked about how I liked Totoco and learned a bit more about their organization. He said that their mission was to make themselves obsolete because in the end a place like Totoco should be run by local managers. This is something I totally admire and completely stand behind. A the end of it all, it is the people here who should be making the choices about how to develop tourism here in Balgue.
- Meeting other travelers is one of the greatest joys of traveling at all. I have met a couple from the UK who had traveled and worked in Africa for a micro-financing project to help farmers with agricultural businesses. I have met a couple who owned a flower plantation in California, near Santa Barbara, who had a avocado orchard and heritage turkeys on the side. Talking to these people inspire me to keep dreaming big. While I may not want to raise turkeys or fund hybrid seeds, I will settle for expanding my realm of what I thought my life could be. I thank these people for listening to my ramblings and opinions.
- The sunsets here truly never get old.
- Realizing that this is the happiest I have been since I started university. Even if I have to shovel pig shit, at the end of the day I am much happier here than I was back home. While I miss my family, friends and local community back home, I finally feel a sort of freedom I never felt in my hometown. I no longer feel like I have to defend myself, my opinions, or my views on the world. While I am surely in better place to have discussions with like minded people, I am enjoying this time away from the status quo which tells us all to go get jobs and have children. I am enjoying my time with Peter Pan while it lasts.
- A few days ago I was walking back down from the lodge after talking to my family. The sweet fresh air of the fruit trees all around me was intoxicating. The way that the clouds and trees seemed to form a sort of intricate lacework over the bright lights from the nearly full moon. Something about this walk home was magical and not something I would have stopped to appreciate back home.
- My Grandparents continually surprise me with their warmth and love.
- Ojo de Agua in Isla de Ometepe is worth the $2 entrance fee. Go, spend an afternoon in the water and sunbathing next to the pool. Enjoy the bliss that is being a tourist with money.
- Finally seeing a real chicken on a chicken bus.
- Walking from Ojo de Agua to Santa Domingo in the pre-sundown light is extraordinary.
- Watching the moon slowly become more prominent in the evening sky in Santa Domingo is a memory I will cherish. Even if it was while I waited for a bus for 45 minutes to return me to my temporary home.
- Having conversations with Pablo about why life in Balgue is so great--no gangs, no violence, and no stabbings. Clearly this is Heaven on Earth.
- Realizing that it is so difficult for those in the lower classes of society to catch a break. And the heart break that comes when talking to a mother who wants to send her child to university for a better life and realizing that both of you know how difficult that hurdle is.
- Wishing that you could really do something to change the lives of people here. The wage of a farm hand should not be $3 a day, when a beer here costs $0.88.
"Well then give them cake!"
Sorry, there will be no cake in this story. The above is a reference to one of my favourite comedians. And while you may be disappointed with the lack of dessert, you will not be disappointed. This entry will discuss, candy.
Being foreigners on a small, rather isolated island, means that you stand out. Because of this people want to see you. People want you to come to their events. People want you to come to their parties.
After our invitation to go to the daughter of Adelyda’s preschool graduation, I felt blessed on a second occasion to enjoy some local festivities. Faber is a guide for Totoco who happens to pop by and hang out in the volunteer area. I think this is because he likes to think of himself as a man with many friends all over the world. Perhaps having foreign friends is a way to gain status here. In either case, the man likes to hang out with us.
Faber was telling us about the upcoming festivities surrounding December 8. This is the day for the patron saint of Nicaragua, Santa Maria, the virgin mother. To celebrate Nicaraguans spend a crap load of money on candy and other small trinkets to hand out to small children of their respective cities. Each neighborhood has a day to share the candy with the wee little ones. Faber invited us to his neighborhoods, which coincidently happens to be at his mothers house as well. In fairness we seemed destined to go as the representatives from Totoco lodge.
Sara and I headed off to collect the bag of lollipops from the taxi driver who bought them in Mayogalpa for Martijn and our 30 bananas in a bag. We arrived slightly late for English time, but early for Island time. At 3:15pm there was only three people there, Nelson (Faber’s brother), Faber’s Mother, and one of Nelson’s nephews. Already there was sugar cane in these big white buckets as well as tang in bags. In true Island hospitality they gave us some of their treasured goods (a bag of tang and a sugar cane) to each of us.
While waiting for more adults to arrive with sweets I made my first attempt to eat a sugar cane. While it is not an entirely difficult thing to do, it is a bit strange for the uninitiated. Let me inform you. First you have to peel off the outer tough bark. Then you start chewing, except you cannot swallow the tough fibres of the sugar cane. Instead you have to spit them out. Luckily for us, this is totally custom here and we were also outside. I was able to spit out all of the tough fibrous parts of the sugar cane with little impunity. And in a strange, perhaps rebellious way to Canadian manners, it felt awesome. It also kept me entertained enough to avoid drinking tang con leche.
More and more people showed up carrying more and more goodies, ranging from sweets to corn to more tang. Once again as seemingly prized guests we were allowed to try corn and more tang. I can attest that the sweet corn here is delicious, and while it may not beat the sort of corn I’m used to in Alberta, the Nicaraguans (and Central Americans in general) know their corn.
While I chewed on sugar cane and listened to Sara and Nelson talk in Spanish, I started noticing the growing number of children and adults accumulating outside. At first there were only a handful. The next time I looked there were five times that. The next time, five times the previous amount. Closer and closer to 4 o’clock and the more sugar crazed the children seemed to get. They were clambering over the rocks peering into the court yard of Faber’s Mother’s home. Slowly but surely as the time crept closer to four, the children could practically smell the candy.
Finally Nelson told me to take some photos and then proceeded to get things started, the Latin American way...with fireworks. Except there isn’t the showy fun part at the end with grand explosions. It is just a loud crack and the hilarious giggles of young kids and squeals by tourists like me, who are not used to such noises.
Before the kids get their candy, they must wait for the prayer to Santa Maria. The kids, shockingly, joined in while about five women started the prayer for the Virgin Mary. While the lyrics were lost on me amidst the continued bangs of the firecrackers, Sara and I were handed a bucket full of tang in small plastic bags to hand on “solamente por mujeres” (only for women) and off into the throng we went.
It is intensely uncommon for such a scene to be witnessed where I am from. I can only relate such festivities to the likes of teenage girls being unleashed on the popular boy group of the age. For my generation and whiteness, N’SYNC or The Back Street Boys. People were coming at you from all angles, touching your elbow in order to gain the elixir of Tang. Men would come up expectantly asking why they didn’t get to receive the pink goodness, and sadly I had to look at them and say “solo por mujeres”. Within a matter of minutes all of our bags of tang had vanished into the hands of women and girls in the crowd and we returned for round two.
I was given the task to hand out bananas and before I even made it to the children about a third of my bananas were taken by relatives of Faber. Then I really experienced the chaos. Kids were grabbing at you and pulling you towards them. Little hands were reaching into my bag of bananas. Within one minute, my bananas were gone and I had only made it three steps into the crowd. I looked up to see Adelyda implore without words if there were more bananas. I had to tell her that she had lost out on the banana quest. Walking back empty handed, a woman asked me for the plastic bag. I returned empty handed.
Next was perhaps the most illustrious candy of all, the caramel lollipops Martijn bought from Mayogalpa. These holiest of treats was definitely a prize to hand out, and I didn’t take the task lightly. I walked boldly into the crowd and started handing out lollipops. I did manage to sneak three for the three children of Adelyda. I know it was wrong to deny three other children the right to these lollipops, but seeing as we brought them I figure that perhaps I will be forgiven this favouritism. This time, they were two thirds gone by the time I reached the kids and within 20 seconds they were all gone. I had made it one step into the crowd. Afterwards I fought to Adelyda’s side and handed her three lollipops and said that they were for her children. I loved seeing her face light up and give me one of those crinkly eyed smiles. Totally worth it.
Once my job as candy distributor were over, I watched the remaining goods be handed out. Perhaps the best moment was watching Faber literally be molested by 15 children. They were grabbing at his hat, his face, this shirt, his pants, pretty much anything that would get them some attention. No matter what he had in his hands, corn or small plastic balls, he had children climbing all over him. It was perhaps one of the most hilarious sights to be seen the entire day.
Almost as soon as it started, the goods had all been handed out and people were quick to return to their normal, less frenzied life. Once people knew no more candies would be coming out of the gates, people started dispersing as if nothing had happened. Except that you could catch the characteristic Tang bag or plastic bag full of candies as they walked away.
We said our final goodbyes to Adelyda, Pablo’s two children, and made our own way back through town. When walking past Cafe Compestre I had the ingenious idea to enquire about the hummus there. And I was not disappointed this time. I finally was able to try and relish the hummus with made to order tortillas with gusto, while Sara enjoyed her portion of chocolate ice cream.
And thus, in the end, we all ended up with sweets.
Being foreigners on a small, rather isolated island, means that you stand out. Because of this people want to see you. People want you to come to their events. People want you to come to their parties.
After our invitation to go to the daughter of Adelyda’s preschool graduation, I felt blessed on a second occasion to enjoy some local festivities. Faber is a guide for Totoco who happens to pop by and hang out in the volunteer area. I think this is because he likes to think of himself as a man with many friends all over the world. Perhaps having foreign friends is a way to gain status here. In either case, the man likes to hang out with us.
Faber was telling us about the upcoming festivities surrounding December 8. This is the day for the patron saint of Nicaragua, Santa Maria, the virgin mother. To celebrate Nicaraguans spend a crap load of money on candy and other small trinkets to hand out to small children of their respective cities. Each neighborhood has a day to share the candy with the wee little ones. Faber invited us to his neighborhoods, which coincidently happens to be at his mothers house as well. In fairness we seemed destined to go as the representatives from Totoco lodge.
Sara and I headed off to collect the bag of lollipops from the taxi driver who bought them in Mayogalpa for Martijn and our 30 bananas in a bag. We arrived slightly late for English time, but early for Island time. At 3:15pm there was only three people there, Nelson (Faber’s brother), Faber’s Mother, and one of Nelson’s nephews. Already there was sugar cane in these big white buckets as well as tang in bags. In true Island hospitality they gave us some of their treasured goods (a bag of tang and a sugar cane) to each of us.
While waiting for more adults to arrive with sweets I made my first attempt to eat a sugar cane. While it is not an entirely difficult thing to do, it is a bit strange for the uninitiated. Let me inform you. First you have to peel off the outer tough bark. Then you start chewing, except you cannot swallow the tough fibres of the sugar cane. Instead you have to spit them out. Luckily for us, this is totally custom here and we were also outside. I was able to spit out all of the tough fibrous parts of the sugar cane with little impunity. And in a strange, perhaps rebellious way to Canadian manners, it felt awesome. It also kept me entertained enough to avoid drinking tang con leche.
More and more people showed up carrying more and more goodies, ranging from sweets to corn to more tang. Once again as seemingly prized guests we were allowed to try corn and more tang. I can attest that the sweet corn here is delicious, and while it may not beat the sort of corn I’m used to in Alberta, the Nicaraguans (and Central Americans in general) know their corn.
While I chewed on sugar cane and listened to Sara and Nelson talk in Spanish, I started noticing the growing number of children and adults accumulating outside. At first there were only a handful. The next time I looked there were five times that. The next time, five times the previous amount. Closer and closer to 4 o’clock and the more sugar crazed the children seemed to get. They were clambering over the rocks peering into the court yard of Faber’s Mother’s home. Slowly but surely as the time crept closer to four, the children could practically smell the candy.
Finally Nelson told me to take some photos and then proceeded to get things started, the Latin American way...with fireworks. Except there isn’t the showy fun part at the end with grand explosions. It is just a loud crack and the hilarious giggles of young kids and squeals by tourists like me, who are not used to such noises.
Before the kids get their candy, they must wait for the prayer to Santa Maria. The kids, shockingly, joined in while about five women started the prayer for the Virgin Mary. While the lyrics were lost on me amidst the continued bangs of the firecrackers, Sara and I were handed a bucket full of tang in small plastic bags to hand on “solamente por mujeres” (only for women) and off into the throng we went.
It is intensely uncommon for such a scene to be witnessed where I am from. I can only relate such festivities to the likes of teenage girls being unleashed on the popular boy group of the age. For my generation and whiteness, N’SYNC or The Back Street Boys. People were coming at you from all angles, touching your elbow in order to gain the elixir of Tang. Men would come up expectantly asking why they didn’t get to receive the pink goodness, and sadly I had to look at them and say “solo por mujeres”. Within a matter of minutes all of our bags of tang had vanished into the hands of women and girls in the crowd and we returned for round two.
I was given the task to hand out bananas and before I even made it to the children about a third of my bananas were taken by relatives of Faber. Then I really experienced the chaos. Kids were grabbing at you and pulling you towards them. Little hands were reaching into my bag of bananas. Within one minute, my bananas were gone and I had only made it three steps into the crowd. I looked up to see Adelyda implore without words if there were more bananas. I had to tell her that she had lost out on the banana quest. Walking back empty handed, a woman asked me for the plastic bag. I returned empty handed.
Next was perhaps the most illustrious candy of all, the caramel lollipops Martijn bought from Mayogalpa. These holiest of treats was definitely a prize to hand out, and I didn’t take the task lightly. I walked boldly into the crowd and started handing out lollipops. I did manage to sneak three for the three children of Adelyda. I know it was wrong to deny three other children the right to these lollipops, but seeing as we brought them I figure that perhaps I will be forgiven this favouritism. This time, they were two thirds gone by the time I reached the kids and within 20 seconds they were all gone. I had made it one step into the crowd. Afterwards I fought to Adelyda’s side and handed her three lollipops and said that they were for her children. I loved seeing her face light up and give me one of those crinkly eyed smiles. Totally worth it.
Once my job as candy distributor were over, I watched the remaining goods be handed out. Perhaps the best moment was watching Faber literally be molested by 15 children. They were grabbing at his hat, his face, this shirt, his pants, pretty much anything that would get them some attention. No matter what he had in his hands, corn or small plastic balls, he had children climbing all over him. It was perhaps one of the most hilarious sights to be seen the entire day.
Almost as soon as it started, the goods had all been handed out and people were quick to return to their normal, less frenzied life. Once people knew no more candies would be coming out of the gates, people started dispersing as if nothing had happened. Except that you could catch the characteristic Tang bag or plastic bag full of candies as they walked away.
We said our final goodbyes to Adelyda, Pablo’s two children, and made our own way back through town. When walking past Cafe Compestre I had the ingenious idea to enquire about the hummus there. And I was not disappointed this time. I finally was able to try and relish the hummus with made to order tortillas with gusto, while Sara enjoyed her portion of chocolate ice cream.
And thus, in the end, we all ended up with sweets.
Saturday, 3 December 2011
Grande fiestas por promocion de preschoolar
Luck of the draw:
Perhaps the most consistently rewarding experience has been with the locals here from Balgue. Whether it is Pablo, our farm manager and cheeky old man, or the little kids on the streets.
Last Monday, amid the chaos of new piglets, Adelyda was kind enough to offer us an invitation to a local fiesta. Which turned out to be the invitation to her daughters preschool, plus the ten minute conversation we had to figure out that this was what she was doing was equally priceless.
When Thursday came, we found ourselves walking down the Totoco road past Adelyda’s house to enquire about where we were supposed to go. We were told to find the Catholic church. So when we walked into town and found the Catholic Church we went just past it because there didn’t seem to be anyone inside. About ten paces away from the church we finally saw the procession of little five year olds dressed in yellow. The girls dressed in a pretty yellow dress and the young lads wearing a yellow button down with dress pants and a black vest. Their parent escorting them looked equally dapper in their finest clothes.
Thankfully Adelyda was right at the frount and she was kind enough to give us some direction. We followed the procession into the church and Adelyda joined us sitting in plastic garden chairs along the side walls. Her husband, Roberto, was sitting with their daughter. Admittedly, I’m not exactly what you’d call a religious person, however there I was listening to a Catholic service in Spanish. At no point in time did I expect to end up at a Catholic mass in Central America. I suppose that is life for you though.
I enjoyed when the power went out when they turned on the massive speakers and the electronic keyboard. They just kept going like nothing had happened. And in fairness this is probably a common occurrence that they just continued on as they always did. Microphones or no microphones. During the service I spent most of my time, as I always do, people watching. In particular this little boy who stared at a photo just above my head, the little girl behind him who was touching herself, and the other white people in attendance. Oh, and the man with one leg who came in on a sort of hand powered motorized vehicle. I really liked his glasses.
My favourite part of the entire service was when we got to go around for the “peace be with you” part. Perhaps it is the best part of the entire religion. Setting aside your problems and germaphobic ways, you shake hands with your fellow man and wish him nothing more than peace.
After the service we all made our way to the school in order to continue the festivities. Each student was called up and given a diploma, there was a traditional Nicaraguan dance done by some of the young girls from the school in traditional garb. And just generally there were some of the cutest Nicaraguan children in attendance. While I sipped on “pink drink” (a corn, cinnamon concoction) I felt entirely lucky to be able to not only be invited to see this, but to feel like I was witnessing a glimpse into the life of the people here.
Once the official ceremony ended, it was time for the real party to start. The chairs were cleared away and Adelyda found us some small desks to sit in while she found some food for us. Sara and I talked to her husband about the school and about the ceremony while some loud music came out of the massive speakers. I think there may have been a break in communication, because he said there were 800 students at that school, which seemed a physical impossibility. Perhaps 80 to 100 is what he meant to say...
When Adelyda returned with our food, we all sat together in these impossibly tiny desks sharing a meal while watching the hungry stray dogs look on desperately. We then watched the young children hit the white bear pinata with a sort of ferocity not typically seen with 5 year olds. In particular watching the young girl hit the pinata like it was someone trying to steal her candy and then watch her dance while the bear spun in the air.
Adelyda then invited us to join her for some conversing at her abode. We walked through the plantain fields and reached her house. She showed us the fruit trees growing in her backyard and the ducklings they had. We had a conversation in broken Spanish about life in Nicaragua and her family. One tragic thing to notice was that the food they saved from the celebration was what they had to feed her entire family that night. I felt a bit of a jerk for eating an entire plate full of rice when her whole family was planning on eating only two small plates of food. She had been an incredible host to give us the whole plates when her family could have used it more than we did. We are incredibly well fed here, comparatively and I wish we had known to offer our food to her. Even if she turned it down.
Additionally I was really pleased to see Adelyda’s neice again, Anna. She is two years old and will melt your heart. She is really shy so all she really does is smile at you. A sort of heartbreakingly adorable smile that only behaving two year olds can instill. Plus at that age it doesn’t matter what language you speak. They think you are funny no matter what you do. This I like very much.
To top off Adelyda’s hospitality she was gracious enough to give us some juice before we left. The juice was from a tree she grew on her property and whose name I forgot. It looks like a rambutan with the seeds of a passionfruit. She gave us a huge bag and sent us on our way. The entire way back I really was blown away by her hospitality. She sat with us in Church, she explained to us what was going on, she let us eat like kings while her family did without, and she sent us on with a gift. Sara and I could not help but feel entirely blessed and lucky, and felt entirely grateful for the wonderful afternoon Adelyda showed us. Additionally she invited us to further celebrations in the week to come.
Truly these people make traveling and personality clashes entirely worthwhile.
Perhaps the most consistently rewarding experience has been with the locals here from Balgue. Whether it is Pablo, our farm manager and cheeky old man, or the little kids on the streets.
Last Monday, amid the chaos of new piglets, Adelyda was kind enough to offer us an invitation to a local fiesta. Which turned out to be the invitation to her daughters preschool, plus the ten minute conversation we had to figure out that this was what she was doing was equally priceless.
When Thursday came, we found ourselves walking down the Totoco road past Adelyda’s house to enquire about where we were supposed to go. We were told to find the Catholic church. So when we walked into town and found the Catholic Church we went just past it because there didn’t seem to be anyone inside. About ten paces away from the church we finally saw the procession of little five year olds dressed in yellow. The girls dressed in a pretty yellow dress and the young lads wearing a yellow button down with dress pants and a black vest. Their parent escorting them looked equally dapper in their finest clothes.
Thankfully Adelyda was right at the frount and she was kind enough to give us some direction. We followed the procession into the church and Adelyda joined us sitting in plastic garden chairs along the side walls. Her husband, Roberto, was sitting with their daughter. Admittedly, I’m not exactly what you’d call a religious person, however there I was listening to a Catholic service in Spanish. At no point in time did I expect to end up at a Catholic mass in Central America. I suppose that is life for you though.
I enjoyed when the power went out when they turned on the massive speakers and the electronic keyboard. They just kept going like nothing had happened. And in fairness this is probably a common occurrence that they just continued on as they always did. Microphones or no microphones. During the service I spent most of my time, as I always do, people watching. In particular this little boy who stared at a photo just above my head, the little girl behind him who was touching herself, and the other white people in attendance. Oh, and the man with one leg who came in on a sort of hand powered motorized vehicle. I really liked his glasses.
My favourite part of the entire service was when we got to go around for the “peace be with you” part. Perhaps it is the best part of the entire religion. Setting aside your problems and germaphobic ways, you shake hands with your fellow man and wish him nothing more than peace.
After the service we all made our way to the school in order to continue the festivities. Each student was called up and given a diploma, there was a traditional Nicaraguan dance done by some of the young girls from the school in traditional garb. And just generally there were some of the cutest Nicaraguan children in attendance. While I sipped on “pink drink” (a corn, cinnamon concoction) I felt entirely lucky to be able to not only be invited to see this, but to feel like I was witnessing a glimpse into the life of the people here.
Once the official ceremony ended, it was time for the real party to start. The chairs were cleared away and Adelyda found us some small desks to sit in while she found some food for us. Sara and I talked to her husband about the school and about the ceremony while some loud music came out of the massive speakers. I think there may have been a break in communication, because he said there were 800 students at that school, which seemed a physical impossibility. Perhaps 80 to 100 is what he meant to say...
When Adelyda returned with our food, we all sat together in these impossibly tiny desks sharing a meal while watching the hungry stray dogs look on desperately. We then watched the young children hit the white bear pinata with a sort of ferocity not typically seen with 5 year olds. In particular watching the young girl hit the pinata like it was someone trying to steal her candy and then watch her dance while the bear spun in the air.
Adelyda then invited us to join her for some conversing at her abode. We walked through the plantain fields and reached her house. She showed us the fruit trees growing in her backyard and the ducklings they had. We had a conversation in broken Spanish about life in Nicaragua and her family. One tragic thing to notice was that the food they saved from the celebration was what they had to feed her entire family that night. I felt a bit of a jerk for eating an entire plate full of rice when her whole family was planning on eating only two small plates of food. She had been an incredible host to give us the whole plates when her family could have used it more than we did. We are incredibly well fed here, comparatively and I wish we had known to offer our food to her. Even if she turned it down.
Additionally I was really pleased to see Adelyda’s neice again, Anna. She is two years old and will melt your heart. She is really shy so all she really does is smile at you. A sort of heartbreakingly adorable smile that only behaving two year olds can instill. Plus at that age it doesn’t matter what language you speak. They think you are funny no matter what you do. This I like very much.
To top off Adelyda’s hospitality she was gracious enough to give us some juice before we left. The juice was from a tree she grew on her property and whose name I forgot. It looks like a rambutan with the seeds of a passionfruit. She gave us a huge bag and sent us on our way. The entire way back I really was blown away by her hospitality. She sat with us in Church, she explained to us what was going on, she let us eat like kings while her family did without, and she sent us on with a gift. Sara and I could not help but feel entirely blessed and lucky, and felt entirely grateful for the wonderful afternoon Adelyda showed us. Additionally she invited us to further celebrations in the week to come.
Truly these people make traveling and personality clashes entirely worthwhile.
My displeasure with pigs
 |
| I hope you feel my loathing from here |
“What about bacon!” I hear you cry, well I suppose you may think it’s all worthwhile. However I doubt many people really have an appreciation for all the effort it takes to raise animals. Now by no means am I an expert, but from my observations here all I can say is that the pigs take more time than the vegetable garden chores. They are also the reason I am continually covered in dirt.
I am not at the point of resenting this hairy creatures, yet at the same time I have my issues with them. For starters I hate their squeals. Perhaps it is because they squeal at everything: dogs, each other, when they are hungry, when they are annoyed with each other, when they sleep, when they are attacked by vampire bats (okay that one is probably fair game), etc. They squeal anytime they think you have food for them. They squeal the entire time you are preparing food. And mostly I think they are just completely annoying. And while it is fun to watch the “family” dynamic while they eat and when they bask in the sun, these are not enough to make up for the fact that I have to walk into their pen with a stick to keep them from jumping on me when I try to feed them.
In particular with the arrival of the new piglets we learned very quickly that they can escape the pen. I was not exactly feeling on top form that day and subsequently was not successful in capturing the pig back. Complicating matters Dukie, the resident dog, decided that all the commotion was a fun place to hang out. This also meant that when the piglet escaped Dukie went after him. Now if you were to put yourself in the position of a piglet, I would imagine that a giant dog chasing you would accelerate your movement. Thus, one pig was now gone.
With the other two tied up and squealing for their pig god, Pablo and another worker went to try to find the pig. We continued on with our work and just sort of hoped everything would work out. To my intense surprise, I went back to the pen later in the morning to find three piglets! Sara and I tried to capture the little one once again, but he was too fast. Away he ran and we were left unsuccessful a second time. Pablo returned empty handed (obviously) as well.
Straight after work, I headed to Finca Magdalena to meet up with a fellow Canadian I had met traveling. She also showed me the farm she had been staying at, Project Bona Fide, a permaculture farm with lots of volunteers. I enjoyed listening to her “I’m not cut out to be a farmer” rant and her rant about the people she was currently living with. While overall she said it was a positive experience, I could see in her eyes she was ready for something different. Which turned out to be the last two weeks of her trip through Costa Rica and Panama.
While I was enjoying a bit of a social life here, apparently that little pig returned twice and Pablo and crew were again unsuccessful. This little pig was definitely making us all look bad. In the end, Pablo spent most of the afternoon trying to get the pig pen secure enough with barbed wire that the other little pigs couldn’t get out. When Pablo left, I once again noticed the free piglet return to his brothers, but this time he couldn’t get in! Sara and I tried to help him out, but were unsuccessful once again. This time I opted to put in a little log through the barbed wire to help him get in.
Lo and behold, my plan worked! The piglet returned once again to reunite with his brothers and he made his way into the pen. I went back to the pen, cautiously, and took the log out. Thus, we finally caught our last little piglet. It only took an entire day...
The other issue we were having is that the big pigs we already had, didn’t exactly take warmly to these new additions. While not aggressive to the point of murder, I noticed the biggest pig biting at the snout of the piglet tied up to the middle tree in the pen. This piglet could probably move about one foot away from the tree, and thus was unable to run away or defend himself. This, more than anything, was perhaps the saddest thing to see. While I understand this is the nature of life and blah, blah, blah, it is not exactly the most comforting thing to see a tied up animal being harassed by a bully. On several occasions I found myself inside the pig pen brandishing a stick to shoo away the big pigs.
Overall, while I enjoy the new additions of frolicking little pigs the whole experience has been a bit of a disaster. To add insult to injury, the biggest pig here will be slaughtered this week. While I am not exactly excited at the prospect of seeing a pig die in real life (rather than the multiple documentaries I have watched on the subject of mechanized slaughter houses), I think it is still something I want to see. I set out on this trip to understand where food comes from. While for me I have made the personal choice to not consume animal products, at the same time I feel it is something I need to see for myself. At the end of the day, I feel I would regret not witnessing this and understanding what it takes to eat pork.
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