Nica

You can find pics of Nicaragua, in the town of San Juan Del Sur here:

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It’s been quite an effort so far to keep up with posting to the blog. I’m finally at a place where I can give you a bit more meat and potatoes about what living abroad has been like for Erin and me. Firstly, we are intimately acquainted with the condition of each other’s bowels. Sickness, and mild forms of it, have passed through our adventures several times, and there is very little privacy left in our relationship. I remember when we first started dating I would go back home to my house, only across the street, to poop because I was shy. Well, there aren’t even doors on the bathrooms here. And I digress…

 

GETTING THERE

We started our journey from Honduras to Nicaragua on a 1^st class bus because we wanted the bathrooms. What an experience! There was a bus attendant who would serve shot sized glasses of a drink and then come by a minute later with another drink, and come by again with tiny sandwiches. It was as if being luxurious and excessive was all that was important. The movies were in English but the volume was too low. The experience felt like a service trying to be more than it was, without seeing the true importance of comfort. We jokingly called the service “Honduran Airlines.” But for being on a bus for two days straight, we were happy to not be on the chicken bus. By this time we have gotten much more savvy about crossing the border and Erin did a great job negotiating exchange rates for our Honduran Limpiras to Nicaraguan Cordobas. We had a strange, border line scary experience on a connecting bus: a bus driver told us to wait until the 2:15pm bus to a town near by where we could catch our last bus to San Juan Del Sur (our destination for the past two weeks). When we got on and the bus left we were the only people on the entire luxury bus. At first this was interesting and sweet, but soon became disconcerting as our imaginations led us to believe we were being taken some where to be robbed. The bus driver was being a little weird and not fully answering our questions, but eventually dropped us off exactly where we wanted to go. We were confused and relieved and travel weary. We arrived in San Juan Del Sur during sunrise and were amazed to watch the small town bathed in brilliant yellow light slowly turn into a party place (it was Saturday night).

We dropped our bags off and walked around town exhausted. I was shocked, there were at least 10 people in town who recognized Erin from her travels here in the past. From her host family to teachers to her old buddies, I kept meeting new people. We ended up staying with the same family Erin stayed with in the past. They are an incredible group of Nicaraguans (grandmother and grandfather, 4 children and two spouses, and 4 grandchildren, 2 dogs, two cats and a parrot). They were excited to see Erin again, and welcomed me into their home with enthusiasm. We quickly got into the swing of things and spent our mornings in school and our afternoons relaxing with the family or surfing and discovering the area.

 

THE PEOPLE

Spending two full weeks in this small and sleepy town, turned tourist spot, really opened our eyes to the finer details of living abroad and being more immersed. The locals here make such a miniscule amount of money. The tourist factor was driving up the price of living in San Juan but there is no compensation for it in the pay of the workers, who by the way work 6 days a week, which is standard for all Nicaraguans. In many places there is also no retirement, people work until they die. You will quickly notice here that women work extremely hard. You never see them in the bars or discotecs, but in the yard washing and scrubbing clothes or in the kitchen (and always with multiple kids hanging around). Watching so many women washing clothes all day with such crude conditions feels like we’ve stepped into another era. Being a wife and a mother here is hard work.

It is also worth noting that the majority of women over 21 years of age, at least those with kids, are completely over weight. It seems as though these women do not have time to take care of themselves. The food isn’t the healthiest I’ve seen. The only exercise I see people getting is kicking a soccer ball around, and women don’t play soccer here. It was also interesting to see how roles played out in our house, because there are so many people living under one roof. All the women help in the kitchen, some more than others. Occasionally they got in each other’s way and we got to witness bad times too. A particularly hard moment was when the oldest daughter beat her 4 year old with a belt for pretty much no reason. She’s been under a lot of stress and her husband recently left her for another woman in Costa Rica, and left the son behind. It was a hard event to watch and Erin got upset enough to get their attention, which make the situation more awkward. We spoke with the family about it, and later the daughter, but it was so hard to experience the deep distress and dysfunction of the situation. Here we are, privileged and from another culture, and we don’t even have our own kids…and we’re giving them our point of view, how not to hit children. Still, it was better to make a scene than to do nothing. I’m very proud of Erin for standing up to it.

We were also challenged by the food situation: the same greasy food over and over again. There was so much starch. One meal I ate my rice and potato’s with a piece of white bread! Erin’s system had trouble digesting it and was an unhappy camper for most of our stay there. We had to sneak out and buy vegetables! Don’t let me paint to much of this town and it’s people with a negative tint. The warmth and hospitality we have received is unparrelled. The high light of my time in San Juan was coming home from school and sitting at the kitchen table, which was actually outside on a porch over looking a jungle of fruit trees (including bananas, papaya, coconut, guanabana, and fruit I’ve never heard of), and hanging out with who ever happened to be home while I did my home work or spent time drawing them.

Christmas was a real experience. It started 9 days early being woken up at 2:30am to 4am by drums and noise makers to rally people to go to 4am mass. Keep in mind that this lasted for 9 nights. I was not happy about this. The processions, combined with the wild cats and dogs fighting in the street in the middle of the night, aided in the worst consistent and consecutive bad sleep I have ever had. But xmas day itself is worth noting. The family bought two chickens two days earlier, which they kept in a rebar cage (note: every thing in central America is made of rebar: buildings, street grates, cages, anchors, etc) in the front yard. Emilio and myself had the honors of killing the chickens, something I have always wanted to do to get in more in touch with my food. I feel that if I’m not willing to do the dirty work myself, and to see where my food comes from, than I shouldn’t eat it. So I grabbed a chicken by the head and twirled it around. It was pretty intense. We later plucked and dissected them for the women to cook. I was honored to help.

Xmas dinner wasn’t until midnight, however, so by the time we actually sat down to eat everyone was exhausted. In fact, a bunch of people had fallen asleep and were too tired to join us for the meal. But the chicken was delicious! After the meal, I donned a santa hat and Erin and I gave gifts of toys, icecream, and rum and coke to the family. They loved it, and we had a wonderful evening of bonding together. This meal was extra special for us because we felt more a part of the family than as privileged guests. Usually we felt as though the family was being subservient and overly polite to us, which made us uncomfortable. All we wanted was to be treated as equals, and xmas felt closer to that than ever.

 

 

TIME IN SAN JUAN

Getting to see the town, from tourist spots to behind the scenes, gave us a peek into a truly interesting combination of what it is to live some where between 1^st and 3^rd world accommodations. For example, every morning the milk man came on a donkey pulled cart with a giant bucked of fresh and raw milk hollering “Refresco! Leche agria!”

There were oxen and horses in the street pulling building materials, much of the roads are cobble stones, but many are dirt paths. The amenities in the kitchens are a pvc pipe and a spicket for non-potable water. Our family had a wood burning stove in the back for making giant pots of beans (which we ate 3 meals a day). To contrast all of this, every one has a cell phone, cruise ships come to port, internet is every where. It sure was interesting. One day we took the 9 year old in our host family to the rodeo. It was mesmerizing, dangerous, cruel, entertaining, horrible, and fascinating all at once. The bulls were barely aggressive, and the people would just torment them. I was amazed to see kids sitting in the actual arena and when the bull came running by they quickly would climb the fence out of the bulls way.

Can you imagine the law suits if this was in the US? San Juan Del Sur is a simple and interesting place, on the cusp of transitioning into a full fledge tourist attraction, but full of authentic Nica spirit. They only have one kind of rum, Fleur De Cana – which is delicious, and one kind of music, Reggaton – which can get annoying. This town also has the most consistently incredible sunsets I have seen. There weather is amazing, and even though it’s their dry season and it rained half the days we were there, bizarre, it still felt perfect.

One afternoon I decided that my hair was getting to long, so Erin and I went to the barber. Erin and I disagree about what happened next, but she had a conversation with the barber about how to cut my hair and a minute later I look like I’ve just enlisted in the army. “Asi son las cosas” (these are the things).

 

PERSONAL EXPERIENCE

Many mornings I woke up from dreams about past careers, and feeling freaked out about what I’ll be doing with my life when I get back. Rationally I know that worrying doesn’t make a lick of difference, so this trip has been a learning process to deal with my anxiety. I know that focusing on the trip is where I need to be. A great focus for San Juan for both of us was surfing. I was horrible, but I got watch Erin get up on some pretty big waves. The water temperature was perfect, and aside from the “agua mala” or jellyfish, the water was the best place to be. The road to the surf beach was a rugged 30 minutes dirt road adventure:

When we got home in the afternoon, I had amazing opportunities to get to know the family and play and learn from children. For me, re-establishing my connection to kids, has been really important. It’s been half my life since I took care of kids in summer camp, and next week Erin and I will be volunteering with children for 3 weeks – teaching, playing and painting a mural.

 

Walking around the town I really got to notice my own anti-gringo sentiment, as I watched white people come into town speaking English loudly in the streets and getting drunk, buying up all the property (more than 6 realty offices in this tiny town), and generally flaunting themselves in the street. But there were many exceptions, and the loud ones were usually the young 20 year olds. This trip has really helped me notice my stereotypes, especially of Canadians and Germans, who seem opposite to me. Every where we go Canadians seem so friendly, warm and open, while Germans seem more negative and cold. Obviously this isn’t the case for everyone, but most of my interactions with tourists have reinforced this stereotype. I have been noticing my feelings more too. I wasn’t expecting to feel as much sadness I have felt here, but it is amplified for us seeing the poverty and hard life that people have here. They work so hard, have so little and appreciate so much. It’s hard to see such inequality here. Lastly, if you haven’t heard of Eric Volz, look him up. He is an American who was imprisoned for horribly raping and murdering his ex-girlfriend, but has just been released from Nicaraguan prison. He’s pretty much the white OJ. I’ve read all the stories, the websites, and saw the video his family put together, and can say that this entire story has been fascinating to follow. Americans believe he is innocent, and Nicaraguans believe him to be guilty. This much is certain: the anti-gringo sentiment that comes up around the trial is seriously intense. It’s been interesting to see how people here don’t question their media and believe what they’re told. Sounds just like Americans, eh? I think some times the world just needs to get more critically aware.

 

This trip feels like a gritty experience for us with ups and downs. This is not just a vacation any more. We are on a journey much bigger.