Tourists vs locals

One thing that continues to surprise me is the seemingly caste system between tourists and locals. We eat at different places, we pray at different places (sort of), we travel in different ways, and we stay in different places. It is so strange to me that there is such a gap between us, but there you have it. We pay $25 or more on a room some nights, when a C$40 bus ride is often a big expense for a local.

Exhibit A - The differences between the Municipal and the “Artesian” market in Masaya

While I spent my time in Masaya, not doing too much of anything except trying to find the FedEx office in Managua, I happened to visit both markets. I ended up first seeing the Municipal market. It reminded me a lot of the markets in Thailand. People selling belts, notebooks, glue, watches, wedding rings, butchered meat, fruit, and clothing. Everything a local could seemingly want or need. When I walked through there, donned with all my gear, you could tell I was an outsider. I didn’t belong in this group of locals trying to sell children’s underwear. But at the same time, I kind of loved it.

I loved seeing just how raw everything was. People would bicker, people would laugh, people would make jokes between each other. It was natural, it was dirty. While perhaps if I were not in a state of culture shock of the differences just of being in a city again versus a farm, I would have loved it more. As it was, I wanted nothing more than to drop my stuff and just explore. Instead I had to depart. Always with the sound of taxi’s seeking my business.

On the other hand, the next day I went to the Artesian market. Which essentially caters directly to tourists. Selling handicrafts, leather machete coverings (with the machetes), hats, bags, hammocks, etc. Even the most random baskets made of chickens. It was clean. It was pleasant. It was orderly. If I had to pick a country for this market to be, it was Switzerland. All the buses ran on time. While the locals were there selling their stuff, it was not the same. It felt so different. It was orderly, it was pleasant. And while I enjoyed it after the nauseating smells of meat left in the heat from the Municipal market, it did seem lack lustre to me too.

Conclusion

What I ultimately wish were different, was that there was middle ground. I’m not suggesting that the Municipal market clean up its act or that the Artesian market dirty itself up. I’m sure both have their merits. Somehow I just wish there wasn’t a stigma attached to either. A foreigner in the Municipal market is crazy, stupid or lost (or all three). A local in the Artesian market is a vender.

Is this modern day racism? Or is the the way of our times? What do you think?

What are you lookin' at?!

Sometimes no words are needed

"Please feed the models"

I wish I had taken a photo of this woman. She was waiting for a bus in Managua as I was headed back to Masaya after a moderately successful mission to find the Managua FedEx office. The other funny one was “BLAME MY SISTER”. One thing I have noted here is the hilarity of the t-shirts that people wear here. Not in terms of style, but in terms of the weird English phrases on them. I highly doubt that they know that the t-shirts mean.

Having left the island a few days ago, I am definitely feeling a reverse culture shock of being back in a “city”. Especially when I am starting to realize that I really am not a fan of cities in general. I miss Totoco and my naturally air conditioned bed. I miss my non-flush toilet (even with my problems with emptying and cleaning said toilet). I miss the clean air. I miss the work too. And while it was time for me to leave, a part of me is wondering why I have to spend time in the cities in the first place. And then I remember...FedEx.

This is the situation. I am waiting for a much awaited package from home with such awesome things as a new t-shirt, vegan soap and toothpaste (yes I am that ridiculous), my glasses, and a guitar tuner. My issue has been a bit of “where in the world is this package?” I have spent countless hours and dollars on trying to find out where my package is and how to best get it. I thought it was in Rivas, which started a four hour search looking for it. Although it also meant that I sat on a Farmacia’s doorstep eating a watermelon half for an hour too, which was quite awesome.

It resulted in me finding out that they couldn’t send it to Rivas or Mayogalpa and that my phone is a piece of crap. I missed their telephone call because the ring was too quiet and the traffic too loud. Again, stupid city. So this morning after more dollars were spent calling, I ended up finding out that I needed to head to Managua for the package. Not exactly heading in the direction I wanted. Although it is still North, so I’ll keep that in mind.

I arrived in Masaya and again spent another hour and a half wandering through the municipal market searching for...something. What I really wanted was a taxi to take me to the FedEx office. But I didn’t want to ask one from the market. Then I realized that I was without lodgings. So perhaps I should look for that first. It took me another hour to find lodgings. And it’s expensive here too! I’m paying $25 a night for a room. But I won’t complain, it’s better than nothing.

My afternoon was spent heading onto the bus to Managua in order to “find” the FedEx office. Because apparently sending my package to a PO box or an apartment is too difficult, they are making me go to the following address: 4.5 km outside Managua on the highway to Masaya. Thanks. Shouldn’t be difficult to find at all.

Traveling has also made me feel like I speak no Spanish. When in reality it’s just difficult to ask people if they need help, where is the shovel, and talk about our stupid pigs. Although I suppose I could still use the pig one. The other thing I don’t like is that I am back to being a stranger. I am back to being a nameless face. While that was true to an extent too in Balgue, I am once again thrust into unfamiliarity. Which is probably good for me, if I am honest.

I guess the juxtaposition between the two are getting to me right now. Peaceful ecolodge/farm awesomeness to being alone looking for a hostel. I think I also know what I find offensive about cities here, is how much better off the Balgueans are, and don’t even appreciate it. They have easy access to food that is grown on the island or in their friends/relatives backyards. Whereas there are people who hop on the bus and try to sell you cookies, donuts, juices, etc. While this might sound nice, I found it really tragic. Someone spends their days hoping that someone buys their C$2 donut, somehow was really disheartening.

The hardest ones to deal with are the beggars. The first one I saw today was a blind man on the bus from Rivas to Masaya. He just walked up and down the bus jingling the one cordoba coins in his hand. The next was an old man with some wild scars on his elbows and stomach, who also walked with a cane.

I suppose what really irritated me about these things was that it all felt so unnecessary. What irritates me the most is that aren’t these the people we want to take care of? Or rather why are they falling through the cracks in the first place. Why do we have a surplus of food and people starving? Why do we have beggars and not places or family structures (i.e. communities) capable of looking after these people. Why do we have a world where it is necessary for someone to earn a supposed respectable wage trying to sell cheap shit made in China to Nicaraguans at the Masaya market.

While I may be on my soapbox a little bit, especially when I’m bitching about how I have to take a bus and then a taxi to get to the FedEx office for my vegan toothpaste, but at the same time why aren’t people more angry? Why aren’t people more willing to do more. Recently my friend Aimee wrote a blog piece on why aren’t we, the lucky few, on the frountlines trying to do what we can to help out the needy. While she was talking about  within her own community, I feel she has a point.

When did we become so complacent. When did we decide that we’d look after our own first and forget the rest. Is this what we are sowing? No wonder we are not reaping what we want. What I am noticing more and more is a growing frustration within myself that we continue to perpetuate systems that I know and you know don’t work. Our education system, our health system, our food system, our community systems, even our justice systems are flawed. And yet we don’t really have the communal force to do something about it.

One day, I hope people get angry. I hope one day people realize that the world they are leaving for their kids isn’t better. It is more disparity between excess and poverty and more destruction. This doesn’t mean I am a pessimist and think that it can’t change, I think it will because it has too. My question is when. What will it take for people to start shifting their beliefs?

While I don’t have any answers right now, I certainly hope that I do soon. I hope that I find my own way of contributing to the change I want to see in the world. If it is one painstaking person at a time, then that will be enough. I am a believer in small scale change, I just wish sometimes that it didn’t have to be so small scale. That we could just get over ourselves and do it. But I know that I am talking to a slim minority who’d be willing to do what I thought was necessary.

So in the meantime I’ll keep on learning and growing and figuring out where I come in, in all this mess we’re in.

Goodbyes and an epiphany

My second attempt to leave Totoco was much more successful, but so much harder on me emotionally. To this day, it is still difficult for me to talk about it all.

I returned because I didn’t get a chance to really say goodbye to Pablo before I left. Walking up to the lodge and seeing his beaming face hit me hard. Not because it is horrid to see Pablo happy, but to know that I had to say goodbye to that now cheery man nearly broke my heart. For those confused, Pablo is a 49 year old man who has become one of my favourite people on this planet. While we had our cultural differences, and language barriers, I know that I have a solid friend in Pablo for the rest of my life.

All in all I managed to say goodbye to Yolanda, Pablo’s wife, and hug her before she left work. I also managed to say goodbye to the cute and wonderful Andy, Pablo and Yolanda’s son. All in all by the time Pablo left I could not stop crying. I had to sit for nearly 30 minutes alone in order to pull myself together. Then as soon as I saw Jenny I lost it all over again.

With Jenny sitting next to me, kleenex in hand, I was able to talk about how I felt and she helped provide me with some important insights. Even Dookie’s presence helped calm me down. As per usual, this lovely creature followed me up from the farm to the Lodge. He was there for a belly rub, ear scratch, scraps from my samosas (which were amazing as always), and in the end of it all, he slept with me up at the lodge. Curled up on the floor at the foot of my bed. What a dear.

I also was able to say a more proper goodbye to the rest of the staff, like Eric, Erica, Esaura, Angela, and Mercedes. I will never take that for granted. And even though I went to bed and woke up emotionally exhausted, I know that I had not quite learnt my lesson yet. That morning, while waiting to pay my bill (which I now realize that they were trying to make me forget to pay) Erica brought me two pieces of the heavenly Totoco bread with a bit of butter, marmalade and several other toppings. And coffee.

Martijn showed up to open reception. And whether you view it as good or bad timing, but just as I was packing up my stuff Erica brought me a sandwich which Esaura and Mercedes had made for me for the road. I lost it once again. As I was leaving I was crying, and Martijn caught me. I told him that the money in his hand was for my bill and the rest was for tips for the staff. He asked me why I was so upset, and without getting too much into it I just told him it was hard to leave. He shocked me by bursting into a giant smile and laughing, saying “it was awesome1”

I looked at him aghast! How was this awesome? Because apparently it is better for me to leave feeling sad to leave, then being ready to leave and feeling nothing. And while he was right, a part of me (a non-wanting-to-grow-emotionally part) wanted to say that at this moment I wish I cared less.

To really tip the scales, I ran into Silvia, whose family lives at the bottom of the Totoco road and whose family always receives a “Buenas” from me as I pass. She told me that I was always welcome and I dissolved into tears once again. Both us women stood on the Totoco main entrance road, crying. I gave her a hug and told her to hug each of the other women and tell them all that I considered the Totoco staff my family in Nicaragua.

I passed the farm to see Pablo Lopez, one final time. The last hug and the last smiles. He informed me that I was a beautiful person, inside and out and then I was gone. I cried during the entire walk from Totoco to just outside of Santa Cruz, a solid 45 minute to one hour walk. I had my epiphany here:

After that, I felt ready to keep going. I felt like I had achieved a breakthrough that was earth shattering. At the end of the day I know that I cannot possibly explain to you so each and everyone of you understand how powerful the wave from sadness to at ease was. I had never felt so at peace with my life.

In a strange way, my moment on the beach makes me feel like my time here in Central America is done. I came here to learn and grow and I did that. Now I feel a bit torn between staying and pursuing more of Central America and eventually South America or if I should cut and run and go somewhere else. India? Israel? Bhutan? Egypt? I don’t know.

All I can say is that I highly recommend a good emotional crisis every now and again.

Nights spent watching the sunset

Kayaking the Rio Istian

People of Balgue

Ruben, Hilda, Javel & Tobias. Getting ready to pose.

The patriotic canoe on the public beach.

Two coconuts and one baby later...

During what was widely believed to be my last day in Balgue, I spent the afternoon at Tobias’ house with Ali. Naturally part of our reason for going was purely selfish in that he has coconuts to give away. And they are picked right from the tree and completely scrumptious. For me though, it was a good reason as any to see the beautiful place that Tobias calls home.

There is something really magical in what Tobias has. While many people would look at it and call it backwards or plain, what you don’t see is just how content the people are. Tobias lives on a relatively large plot with a good portion of his family. They all have homes, showers, bikes, ice, and a community around them. It is absolutely beautiful. The babies are always in someone’s arms. The kids are playing with the ducks, chickens, turkeys, dogs, and cats. And they are all happy.

That Saturday I met little Orlandito. This chubby cheeked wonder with four months under his belt. Or rather under his diaper. Nelda, one of Tobias’ many grandchildren, passed him over to me and I did what any person would do. I made that baby laugh by lifting him up into the air and bringing him back down. Occasionally with a light jump in between. That giggle was as precious as anything. Also Ali’s comment that he looked like a miniature old man made me laugh so hard I was crying.

This munchkin liked to be thrown into the air.

I loved eating the jocotes as the children gathered around to watch the hornets try building a nest. Every once in a while there would be too many on the roof and a portion of them would fall and disperse before hitting the ground. I watched as one of the grandchildren gave the chickens the dead termites from a termite nest. I watched as another grandchild threw the cat in the air like I did with Orlandito. I watched as two of them played soccer together, one being around 9 years old and the other 3. She would get flustered every time I watched her.

We made our way down to the lake where we spent some time watching kids playing in the lake. I watched as Tobias’ grandchildren played with a half inflated soccer ball, and laughed when the game kicked up a notch in intensity when it became wet in the lake. The throws were faster and more malicious. It was highly entertaining.

Beach critters. Who wants the crab?

I truly cherished that last afternoon with Tobias. Especially now that I’m back to living out of a backpack and staying in hotel rooms. What I really wish for people like Tobias to realize is just how fortunate they are. While many of you may think that his life is too simple, you have already failed to see the beauty in the simplicity. I hope that one day I can live as contentedly as Tobias does. I hope too that you get to experience that kind of peace as well.

Leading up to the end of an era

I wish there were some easy way to fill you in on the hecticness of my last few weeks here on Ometepe. All I can say is that they have been a whirlwind. Finishing up the permaculture course, discovering and eating loads of jackfruit (including jackfruit jam, and jackfruit seed hummus), making meaningful connections, and getting a nice burn on my hand.

What I can say about my last two weeks is that they taught me a lot about myself. Whether it was saying goodbye to Bruce, Peter, Jessica, Emily, Alex, Mike, Steven, Jan, Stephanie, Danielle, Andrea, Sara, and Marco. Or spending one last afternoon at Tobias’ house, eating coconuts, playing with his grandchildren, and loving the simplicity of humans and their animals living together in one small space. There really is something so magical about Ometepe.

The more I write about my last two weeks, the more I realize just how hard I was hit. Long timers on the island say that you can usually tell with people who “caught the bug”. Who wants to set up roots here in Ometepe. I know that many of these long timers could see a glimmer of that in my eye. And as I write this from a hotel in Masaya, the more I can see how incredible Omtepe really is.

I do want to impart on some of the best and worst of my last few days there. The first was finally reaching a rapport with the girls in the kitchen at Campestre. I always felt like my slow Spanish just didn’t cut it in the fast paced kitchen. However, through it all we managed to find a way. Sure it was a lot of physical humour, and a lot of simple language, like “where is the thing for ice cream?” but we did it. I also think that I buttered them up nicely with the watermelon I would bring in from time to time when I found it in the store.

I will remember the time I was talking to this big bearded man about how wonderful the salad was at Campestre while I ate potato chips out of a bag. I will remember meeting a Danish couple and a woman who lived in the neighborhood next to mine. We both knew of Nottingham’s Pub and I was informed of its recent facelift. I will remember Karin (one of the cooks) way of saying “yes” in a way that always made me think she was saying “diez” or 10. Hence many confusing conversations.

I will remember how touched the people of the course were that I made an effort to learn their names. I will remember how many of them were as interested as why I was in Balgue as I was interested in their reasons for being here. I will remember learning how to do the “Marco” dance, one of Marco’s many talents”. I also highly recommend his interpretive dance skills.

The people I met in the course were inspirations to me. And all it took was remembering a name or beer preference, a single conversation where we cut through the bullshit and talked about things that mattered, comparing music likes, or showing some extra kindness when it was really needed. And I know that although I didn’t partake in the course itself, I was a huge part of the experience for the people there.

One of the things I also appreciated during my last two weeks was having time to meet likeminded people. While people who challenge you is great for your growth, every once in a while we need someone to have those “OMG I know exactly what you  mean” moments. And yes, yes I did just use OMG. If you don’t know what it means, google it.

There are two  people who really made my time here worth while. The first was Bruce, with whom I shared a brief conversation about what brought me to Ometepe. This turned into a long conversation about how we both connected to the idea of living in a desert. A lack of ideas, a lack of inspiration, a lack of likeminded individuals. We both talked of our search for “greener pasture” where we could find these things and feel inspired once again. We talked about abundance and wealth, poverty and excess. We talked about how we felt food could be the answer to many of the worlds problems (when done slightly differently than “conventional” methods).

My parting words to Bruce were those of encouragement. That small scale change is needed and as long as he lived out his passion and acted with integrity he would be successful. He put it a bit better than I could “a single microbe in the soil can not possibly save the world. But the world can not be saved without that single microbe.” He has left me with my own thoughts on how I can start affecting small scale change and be part of the solution to the change I want to see in the world.

The other person who meant a great deal to me during the past three weeks was Jenny. Our plucky 58-year old volunteer hailing from the British Isles. In her own way she was exactly what I needed. A motherly figure, a friend, and a clown. She always seemed to know which I needed. She was with me at the San Ramon waterfalls and when I was praying to the travel fairy for help. She was with me as I talked out my change of heart for working for Ben and helped shape my future plan about heading on. She was with me after I said, what I thought was my final goodbye to Pablo.

She helped me bring to light one of the fundamental truths about myself that I hadn’t really ever acknowledged. She told me I needed to be incredibly proud of myself that after three short months I was able to cause so much heartbreak within this small community. Not in a negative way, but in that I was such a wonderful person that people found it so hard to say goodbye to me. What she really showed me was that I was a lovable person.

What you probably don’t know about me is that I had a hard time believing that I deserved love. In all ways. I never really understood why I had such awesome friends, why I became a second daughter to my best friends Mom, or why I caused such a stir here in Nicaragua. As you probably could grasp from the title of my last blog, I felt like a nobody. I couldn’t understand why Faber here seemed to enjoy that I was so “complicated”. I couldn’t understand why Pablo kept telling me I was a beautiful person on the inside and outside.

This isn’t to say that I didn’t have self esteem. I did. I always had a high idea of the characteristics that made me who I am and I was always proud of that. I guess I could say though that somehow it was never enough. I always felt I needed to do more. Yet, everything about this trip is showing me otherwise. That just by being myself, I could impact people.

One thing I’ll never forget, this past Tuesday when I really did leave Totoco was I ran into a worker from the lodge, Silvia. I never really thought that we had made a large connection, but as I walked she opened her arms for a hug. She told me that she wished me a good journey and that I was always welcome here as part of the Totoco family. By the end we were both crying and I was telling her how much my time at Totoco meant to me.

Jenny put the idea in my head, and the subsequent leaving of Totoco it hit me. When I left on Tuesday I cried all the way from Reception to just past Santa Cruz, a walk of 40 minutes. I stopped to eat a snack on one of the most stunning beaches I’d seen on the island. While the wind whipped my face and the waves crashed onto the sand, I had a breakthrough. My twenty-two years of feeling like I was never enough finally crumbled. I finally had a moment of realization that it was okay to let people love you. To let people be impacted by you however they are.

She also told me to tell my parents that they deserved to be proud of me. That they had raised a daughter who had done what I had. So Mom and Dad, I have it on good authority that I’m fairly awesome. I felt like you needed to know this.

In many ways my experience here at Totoco can be summed up by another goodbye. That of me and Adelyda. The last time I talked to her was on Saturday and I didn’t think I would see her before I left. When I saw her, I told her it was my last day and we both teared up. She took my hand as we walked up the Totoco hill. Somehow the whole incident was so poetic. I was walking with Ali and she was beside her own daughter. Our hands forged a bridge between two worlds. The tourists and the locals.

What I realized then was just how different my entire experience at Totoco was then every other volunteer I’ve met here. I was welcomed in immediately by the workers I met. Pablo, Adelyda, Tobias, etc. in ways that they never have been. I realize now that the bond I made with these locals was because of something that we both gained from each other, a glimpse into each others lives, and a friendship based on something more than shared cultural experience. I was given an insight into their lives I doubt many people ever get to see.

The people of Balgue are a special breed. Perhaps not all of them, but of the ones I got to know and love, they will all hold a special place in my heart. I will never forget their hospitality, kindness, and the richness they brought to my life. I also know I will always wish I could have done more for these people. In some way I wish that I had more to offer them than friendship.

Glories of Cafe Campestre

Weird 24 hours

After the wonders of The Adventures of Jenny & Madison, we ended up getting to do all the chores on Sunday while the rest of the volunteers climbed Volcan Maderas. This would typically mean nothing more sinister than watering the garden and feeding the pigs. However, today’s plan was different.

I opted to do the watering by watering can, which meant I got to give the liquid of life to the kalalas (or passionfruit). While these thirsty plants were receiving their water, I noticed in the corner of my eye, something like a black ball of fuzz. Being a rather uncommon sight I went to investigate further. To my horror I had discovered an injured juvenile Howler Monkey. But I must admit my first thoughts were that this little bugger was dead.

Not quite sure what I was seeing and needing to share the moment, I yelled out to Jenny. The exchange went something like this:
     “YOU’VE GOT TO COME SEE THIS!” I said
    “Why? What’s happened? Jenny replied.
    “I think there is a dead monkey.”
In mere moments Jenny was on her way and we were both standing dumbfounded at the sight of this tiny monkey. Within moments of Jenny’s arrival, we realized that we should check if he was in fact dead. With stick in hand I moved this precious little paw and we both noted that it didn’t plop down like it should if it were dead. And Jenny noticed it was breathing very quick, shallow breaths.

Without knowing really what to do and having a respect for nature, we opted to monitor the situation. This meant that I spent the rest of my time sneaking back to the kalala area to check on “Our Little Friend”. With reports like “our little friend twitched a bit,” or “our little friend is still breathing.” The hardest to see was the twitching. And all Jenny and I could do was watch as this little guy’s situation deteriorated.

With Martijn’s arrival late in the afternoon, we finally had an expert. I had just tried to set up a banana and papaya leaf for shade and food, respectively. But upon Martijn’s inspection we discovered our efforts and good thoughts were not enough. Our little friend was a goner. Sadly this also coincided with the arrival of two new volunteers. I had to give the “well this is awkward, but we have a dead monkey we need to go deal with”. So with these two new souls, we lifted up our wee friend to find a final place to bury him. We opted not to put him in the compost, but to bury him under the tree in which his family spent so much of his life.

So with my 10 minutes to spare before I left for my night shift at Cafe Campestre, Jenny and I buried the monkey. We found a little place and I dug the grave while Jenny held his little body with care. Once we had dug a significant sized hole, Jenny placed him in. I said some words to honor the occasion. The ones I feel most important are these “I am sorry little one for the end of your life. I want to thank you for your contributions during your life and for your what you’ll give back to the earth in your death”.

Truly it has been a surreal reminder, that life can be so wonderfully surprising when you open yourself up to the possibility (i.e. my day of adventure to the San Ramon waterfall) and also how quickly it can end. I spent about one hour in the afternoon watching those other monkey’s happily playing in the trees. I couldn’t get over just how cut and dry it all seemed. Watching the other monkey’s playing, eating, carrying their young.

While I will never know what happened to that little monkey. If he just fell out of a tree or whether it was natural selection at it’s meanest. All I know is that I won’t forget the feeling of seeing nature at it’s most natural and most callous. I also won’t forget having the time to observe the life and death of the monkeys here. What would my experience here be if not full circle?

That night at Cafe Campestre was a little bizarre. When people asked me how I was, I had a hard time not shouting out “I buried a monkey today. What about you?” While I think my refraining was appropriate, it still weighed heavily. All in all I guess I can just appreciate how important it is to live your life as you want it. One day you’ll be swinging from trees or praying to the travel fairy and the next day is an unknown.

I implore you to do the same. Live well. Do what you want to do with your life and forget about the rest. Life is too short.

Locals and livestock

Tobias' house

That's a nice dangly bit you have there...

Just chillin'

Meet my new little friend

Dip in the pool

Days like last Saturday have to be contemplated post-trip. To really absorb all the wonderfulness that was squeezed into the day. The day in question was when Jenny and I went to the San Ramon waterfalls for the day. With no real plan, and no great ideas on how exactly we would get there, it involved a great deal of luck. Oh and I should mention we finalized our plans that morning. At 7:00am.

We left Totoco to catch what I thought was the 7:45am bus, or rather the 8:10am bus. Upon the realization that we’d have some time to kill, we walked to “downtown” Balgue for some fun. Just kidding, we went for something to do. What we did was sit down and enjoy watching the comings and goings of the locals. There is something really magical about sitting outside a pulperia waiting for your bus watching the kids playing in the street and dancing. Being able to wave at the little munchins while they walk by with their mother.  Equally entertaining are the Nico men watching all the comings and goings, donned in their wife beaters.

But by far the mornings greatest gift was during our bus ride to Santa Cruz. What appeared to be a 70 year old (or older) Nica woman was trying to get on the bus ladden with her large satchel. With the bag safely stowed on the bus, the trick was to get this woman and her cane on the bus. The young man operating the back doors solution? To heave her on. How? By lifting her up like he was giving her the Heimlich maneuver. This resulted in this poor woman looking like an upside down turtle, not once, but twice. With her legs kicking and struggling to make a connection with the lowest stair, I couldn’t help but crack a grin and share it with Jenny.

With the plucky old woman in a seat, off we went. Jenny and I departed at the fork in the road that leads to Merida and started on foot to reach our destination. There too was a beauty in watching the scenery at a snails pace. Struggling on the rocky road, seeing the wooden homes alive with fluttering, drying laundry, young children, and animals. Even passing by homes which had the luxury of having a coat of paint, even if it made them look like something from Alice and Wonderland.

As chance would have it, after 20 minutes of walking Fernando, a local cab driver I had met through Cafe Campestre, went by. He stopped the car and asked his passenger if she would mind picking up us poor stragglers. She decided we didn’t look too scary, and thus we had a sweet ride. And where was this lovely New Yorker headed? The San Ramon falls.

During our ride we discussed the same typical tourist things: where are you from? How long are you traveling? What do you do back home? Blah blah. I opted instead to watch the scenery pass by. The petals falling off of the trees onto the shoreline, the old wisened faced men going by on their bicycles, the women washing clothes on soap rocks, and kids playing with toys.

We arrived after our pleasant drive at a gated community. Not quite the oasis of natural beauty you expect. After paying our $3 per person entrance fee, our real journey began. We walked through some stunning scenery of citrus trees and the yellowing grassland around them. With the pure blue sky and pure white clouds, it was an amazing sight. This also included picking three ready to eat limes the size of oranges. These were just the treat I needed on our hike up to the waterfalls.

Walking through the final bits of overgrown jungle with the sounds of the ever present Howler Monkeys, we arrived finally at the falls. We arrived with the sound of crashing water and Jenny and I shared the wonder of the falls with two other travelers. Jenny and I got ready to plunge into the water. While absolutely beautiful, the effect was ruined by something I didn’t even consider, rocks. Not nice smooth rocks but jagged and rough rocks. But the effort and pain was worth it, just to stand under that waterfall and feel the cold water on my skin. After having a bit of a hug out, Jenny and I agreed that today we were very happy and lucky individuals to be doing what we are doing.

Our hike down was without incident and we ended up heading to San Ramon, the town, to get some water to quench our increasing thirst. What we thought would be a quick jaunt turned into a 45 minute walk. Upon seeing the sign for “La Gloria” we knew we had found our place. Not because it was anything special, but it was literally the first place to stop for a drink from the waterfall. We walked up and asked Denis for two waters, grande. After guzzling down a 1.5 litre bottle, I decided that I had enough time to enjoy some food before the 3:00pm bus. In the meantime I enjoyed watching Denis, the most Asian looking Nicaraguan I’ve ever seen, be called “Chino” by the locals. While Chino generally refers to people from China, I still think that he was a local and not a foreigner. But then again, what do I know?

As we waited and waited for our rice with tostones (fried plantains), Jenny became more anxious about the “approaching” bus. I mentioned to her that we would hear the bus before it came. We apparently had plenty of time though. Denis told us that it would be better to walk than to wait for the bus. So we departed on foot. After walking all the way to Merida (about one hour) Jenny and I stopped to get some watermelons and ask about the bus (as it was pushing 3:45pm). At the tienda I asked the local woman about the bus and she said that there was no bus on Saturdays at that time. SO...

Jenny and I sat and ate our watermelon halves while watching this local family celebrate another weeks end. One of the little boys got his first school uniform and was trying it on as his family and us watched. His mother remarked that he was “gordo” or fat and that the shirt just fit. When he had the whole kit on, I made sure to tell him that he looked really handsome, which naturally went down quite well. Overall it was just really wonderful to watch this family interact. The locals who came to purchase milk and pens, the children playing with toy cars, the parents talking about the village gossip, and Jenny and I. Strangely enough it was a really beautiful moment.

Without a ride, Jenny and I set out on foot again. This time Jenny had to endure my whimperings of sore feet. Once finally in Merida, we saw the Rodeo had infiltrated this area. The tourists and locals had gathered to watch the onslaught. Jenny and I passed right by. During our walk, I had pleaded for both our sakes, in both Spanish and English, for some help. For a ride. For a magic carpet. Anything that the Travel Fairy could be so kind as to provide. Well, just outside of Merida, our prayer was answered. A tourism bus that had passed us 30 minutes prior this time finally stopped for us.

On our way back we enjoyed a quiet ride, while the driver and his security guard passenger chatted away as if we didn’t exist. At Santa Cruz we got off and within minutes we were joined by a Romanian traveler walking towards, of all places, Totoco. When he asked us if we knew it, I almost laughed. Yes, we knew it. Very well. To add to our blessings, within minutes there was a broken down bus being replaced by another bus, destined for Balgue. With a few minutes wait we were off.

I stopped by  at work to say to Theora, a colleague, that I would be entirely useless. So useless that I needed to go back to Totoco. She knew she could handle the show, and thus I had my night free. To celebrate, I talked to the other volunteers for the first time that week and I went to bed. What a superb way to end a great day!

Dookie is a bad dog

Sleeping in the Okinawa Spinach bed. Bad. Bad dog.

You need more of this in your life

We both know you do.

New Beginnings

For the past four months, I have been on what can only be described as my first large adventure in life. As a recent University Grad, I decided to take a break from life and see the world. I felt, what a lot of you probably feel. I felt trapped. By obligations, expectations, and my own ideas on what I was capable of. When all of these things finally came crashing down I realized that I was capable of more. I didn’t have to have an office job that I felt unsatisfactory.

The day the walls came tumbling down was in November 2010. I just had a sudden idea that I should go to Central America. And since September 22, 2011 I have been exploring this area. My goal: organic farming. My desire: to travel. My hope: to expand and grow. You can visit my initial plans, desires and intentions here:

http://adventuresbyanobody.blogspot.com/

As someone very dear to me wisely pointed out, I am not a nobody. And while my original intent was to demonstrate that even someone as average as me could do something like this, I am slowly starting to realize that this is not possible. Not just anybody takes the money they have and decides to spend it all going to countries that most people still consider “dangerous”. And while there are elements of danger to living here, I can say with total honesty that this has been the most rewarding experience of my life.

With the realization that I was not just a “nobody”, came the notion that I could no longer endorse a blog with such a name. However, I want it to stand by on it’s own. As a testament to the growth and change in my own self during this time. Sure you may think I’m a sanctamonious schmuck for spending much of my prized time writing about how much I’ve grown, but for those of you who know me well should know just how important the subject is to me.

For those interested in a quick update on my life here in Balgue, Isla de Ometepe, Nicagarua, I will say the following. I have been very busy. Busier than I thought possible. I also call this “working two jobs”. From 7:00am-12:00pm I am “volunteering” on a organic Farm attached to the Ecolodge, Totoco. I have been doing this for the past 2.5 months. More recently, that is last Friday, I started helping out at a restaurant in town. This restaurant, Cafe Campestre, has been hosting a permaculture course, and will continue to do so until February 17th. I work from 4:00pm-10:00pm.

This is a very important lesson. If you are going to work two jobs, make sure you love them both. Or at the least can handle both. While I feel I can handle working those hours, the problem is that I’m not a huge fan of serving food to people. Not because I suck at it, but because just generally it’s not what suits my interest. Perhaps in a weird Suzy-Homebaker sort of way, I always had this notion of “how cool would it be to start a restaurant”, blah, blah, blah. And while I still think it has the potential to be awesome, I’m not dedicated to it. Nor will I be for a place that isn’t mine and doesn’t have vegan food.

Except the hummus, which is delicious.

But truly the best part about working there is talking to the travelers who come. When I worked before the course, I enjoyed a conversation with a man from Saskatchewan who told me about how he was raising pigs on a farm. We discussed how you could tell the sort of pigs we had by characteristics. Like the dangly bits on the big pig here, which I always half-joke is the source of his evil.

Now however, I am meeting “permaculture people”. Which if you don’t know what it is, probably means you are so conservative politically that this blog is probably 90% irrelevant to you, unless you happen to be my relative. But these people, while some are stereotypically long-haired hippies, some are genuinely wonderful people who have made the connection that Hippocrates puts so well “Let food be thy medicine”. And that by improving the way we grow and eat food, perhaps we too can improve our health. If you want more information you can watch things like “Forks Over Knives”.

I also want to make one promise to you, my dear readers. I will tell you about my life here on the remainders of my travels. From Nicaragua to Colombia, you will hear my perceptions about life. In the next few weeks you can expect to hear about my final thoughts on Isla de Ometepe, conversing with locals, “Hola Guapa!” and more.

Stay tuned, life just got more interesting. And hopefully with less pigs!