Life On The Oregon Trail

Yesterday our car got stuck fording the river, and I almost ate an iguana.

Let me explain.

Kenny got a bunch of people together to go to the river. Pablo and I came late, after we left work around noon, so we took a cab. I hope for your sake you never travel on a road with more sharp and frequent turns than the road we took to get to the river. I think I turned green. When we got to the river, we didn't see our friends, so we called them. They were at a different part. We would have to cross the river with our car. Now, we're in the dry season, so the vast river bed has been reduced to a rocky tundra-like terrain through which a modest and shallow stream flows languidly. But. The cab was an old sedan. We crossed the river once. We crossed the river twice. Then, we crossed the river a third time in the most secluded area we had been to so far, and we got stuck.

Ok, so the water was less than a foot deep, but our front tires were at least six inches deep in gravel. I took this opportunity to point out that where I'm from, we get stuck in SNOW. At this point water began seeping into the car through the floor and there were puddles where our feet should have been. But, our feet were outside of the car because we were pushing it, along with a man who had been biking past and stopped to help. Just as we got out of the river, we saw a white, fluffy dog in the distance! Casper! We had found our friends.

If I had to give one piece of advice on traveling, in Central America or really anywhere, it is that inconvenience MUST be funny. You MUST laugh when these sort of things happen. Really, everything that is not physically painful or damaging has to be funny or else you will end up like an apple left in the sun, shriveled and cranky and bitter.

They went iguana hunting and cut it up and boiled it. I had pledged to myself that I would eat it because that's the kind of person I am. Also, I would have been able to say on my blog, "I ate an iguana". Unfortunately, we left before it was ready.

The river was beautiful to swim in, with a bottom of polished stones. I made friends with Maria, my 13-year-old neighbor. The neighbor's boys showed me a big fallen tree you could sit on like a see-saw. Maria wants to be a forensic scientist when she grows up. Her dad is the town judge.

The day at the river was super typical: grilled beef stakes wrapped in corn tortillas, soda, Pablo singing on guitar, people sitting and lying around, and me feeling like a large adult retard. I mean literally at one point I was sitting in the river, while everyone else was chatting and joking, just putting handfuls of little rocks on my legs and watching the current take them away. For probably at least 5 minutes. And I suddenly realized that I must seem like I am so totally handicapped- after all, I barely talk or understand anyone, and I wander around silently and touch nature. What a life.

We went home in the back of a cattle truck in the moonlight, which was fun. When I got home, I was dying for french fries, and guess what? You can get them in San Pablo! I got those french fries. I got em good. Except, of course, they were bad. Undercooked, so they didn't have the outside crispiness that is essential. I think about New York City a lot. I think about this one night, last spring, when I was staying with Eric, and it was 10 or 11 at night, and I said, "I want pizza", and 15 minutes later I was sitting down at the counter of a pizza place eating pizza. New York is so unbelievably magical, you can get anything you want. Do you know, in SoHo, there is a macaroni and cheese restaurant?!!? That's all they serve. Gourmet mac and cheese.

Luckily, I live in what appears to be the mango capital of the world. The mangoes on the trees proliferate like cancer. They will all be ripe within the month.

Unluckily, I am allergic to mangoes. I learned this. I get a horrible, terrible rash for days. Not worth it.

Bob has started hoarding desserts in the fridge, in tupperwares that say, "Roberto's, don't eat". I mean, like, sheets of cake the size of a book. And his new year's resolution was to lose weight! What a prick. I am afraid that their negative attitudes and childishness will rub off on me and I will become a horrible person. I am appealing to my higher self to stay good.

I only have 9 days, including today, left. I am feeling so unimaginably impatient, so I have instituted a three-pronged survival plan:

1) Stoicism

2) Meditation

3) Studying Spanish

Stoicism means I am trying not to get riled, or believe in the urgency of leaving. It means staying patient and trying not to fantasize about the future.

Meditation is the act of meditating. Which I am not really doing, even though it is part two of my plan, which means I plan on meditating. A lot.

Studying Spanish is the only fun and enjoyable activity sometimes. I love it. My brain is like a sponge. Although I still speak at the proficiency level of an adult retard.

Do you know what else I've been thinking about a lot lately? How much I love the two home alone movies. They were the best, and I haven't seen them for years. When I get home, I'm totally going to have a home alone movie marathon.

Back to the Future

So the idea of returning to the hotel made me want to throw up. Laura would leave me, I would be lonely, Jill and Bob and Kenny would be assholes, and every day would feel like Groundhog's Day.

It was actually not so bad. The food, for one thing, was great. I convinced the kitchen to give me an entire sashimi-grade tuna stake completely raw. Also, I had never noticed this before, but my sheets were super soft and my bed was super comfy and hard. Casper was happy to see me. Laura was exited about her return to the States. The guests were pleasant. I did a lot of yoga, which felt good.

I finally got to meet Angela, the massage therapist who came to work here for 3 weeks. She came the night before I left, and then the day after I got back she and Kenny went on vacation for a few days, but when she got back, we became great friends. Angie is 31 and from Minneapolis. We bonded over our shared experiences of working at Amatierra and dating men.

It turns out, she and Kenny have been having a romance! Now, I have to give her a lot of credit, because Kenny is not an easy guy to deal with, and she was in up to her elbows in dealing. I think for the most part they made one another happy. The three of us spent a lot more time together, which was great.

I had just the best Valentine's day. I mean really, I think it was the best one of my life. This is funny because since it was hot and sunny, I basically forgot about it until it was upon me, and since I am on a different continent than my sweetheart. Which just goes to show, we don't have any idea what will actually make us happy.

I had a totally decent day at work, and we had tres leches cake for dessert, which was DELICIOUS. I mean, really really delicious cake that was moist and didn't taste fake or like trans fats. I received a very sweet email that made me blush and just die inside for a little while, which was great, and even better, because Angie teased me, in the good way. I got to sunbathe. Then, when we got home, Angie and I had a surprise for Kenny! We "took Casper out for a walk", which we really did do in reality, but it was just a guise for going to find firewood. You see, Kenny has never had s'mores before. That's because he is not American. So we scoped out the sides of the road for good firewood, while meanwhile Casper finds a totally flattened, dried frog. This dude is paper-thin and dessicated, and also squashed so artistically front to back, so that each of his little frog legs sticks straight out from his body. Casper is super into this leathery hunk of jerky, and carries him around in his mouth for the rest of the walk. Later, he proceeds to roll in it. Because Kenny is bad cop with Casper, good cop Rachel lets the dog roll in roadkill while we sneak back to the house with wood.

We built that fire! Thanks to Kenny, really, who gave me some paper. You know me, I am a fire purist and a fire snob, and I do not use newspaper. But there are times when it is the only way, and this was one of those times.

The marshmallows were fruit-flavored. No joke, colors, too! And so we made our s'mores, which Kenny "liked" but wouldn't eat because they were too sweet (I believe there is no such thing, except in ice cream, which should not be sweetened at all). Angie and I at lots of them, and then went to bed.

The next day we went to the waterfall! We took a beautiful hike to the most majestic waterfall with a totally clear, rock-bottom pool at the bottom. Excuse me. It was a *double* waterfall with two pools. We climbed up the first waterfall to get to the second one, actually, and there was a rope swing and everything. I had never been to a real waterfall before. It was like heaven. I really sounded like a broken record, saying "this is like heaven" about every two minutes. It's not the kind of thing you can talk about, or explain, but you get the sense that this is why you were born, to appreciate being a human with these kinds of props. Angie was awesome because she appreciated it just as much as I did, and so we were very happy and played in the water for a couple of hours.

We also baked chocolate chip cookies together! Because we missed them. They have so many baked goods in this country, but not those. Kenny "liked" them, but they were too sweet.

Also, another thing that happened since I got back: Bob and I got into a scream-fight. I haven't had a fight in probably 3 years. My definition of a fight being, a disagreement that escalates to the point where you are no longer focused on solving the problem but just on hurting the other person. There was a miscommunication/misunderstanding in which hotel stuff did not run smoothly. Unfair accusations were made. Insults were launched. Voices were raised. Crying erupted. More accusations and insults. Leaving the room. Apologies. Many, many apologies. In the end Bob *promised* that he would be nicer and more respectful and think about others' feelings more.

The funny thing about the fight is that ever since, Bob and I have been SUPER nice and respectful to one another. It's great. We're almost friends, or something.

Another funny development is that I now have secondary lactose intolerance. This happens sometimes after food poisoning because the cells in your small intestine which produce lactase, the enzyme that breaks down lactose sugars from dairy products, are damaged from the sickness. It can take some time for them to heal and regrow, and then they start making lactase again and you can go back to eating dairy. But for now, it is way not worth it.

Luckily, cheese is not this country's strong point.

Nicaragua Pt. 3

So Laura threw up 15 times that night. My stomach did not feel the best as I was falling asleep, but I gave myself a little tummy massage and told it to feel better. It grumblingly complied.

I am a very deep sleeper, so deep that emergency situations often go unnoticed by my unconscious body and mind. For example, fire alarms. Or, my best friend heaving and booting all over herself.

When I found out in the morning, it made no sense. We had eaten THE SAME THING for dinner. Anyway, I went to the front desk to get her some more bottled water. I also asked for a coconut, because in the absence of civilized medicine, coconut water is a fabulous way to replenish electrolytes. The hotel people were super helpful. Natalie lent us her private room while she left for the day to climb the volcano. Laura and I set her up in Natalie's room and I checked on her a couple of times before I left to meet Cassie and Thomas for our adventure. I kind of abandoned her because there was nothing else I could do for her, and I really didn't want to sit around the hotel all day, and she wanted to be left alone, but it turned out that she had really not wanted me to go and had been really scared because she had never been so sick in her whole life. I'm not great at anticipating people's needs. Sometimes people need to verbally hit me over the head with what they want from me. I don't pick up hints real well. And Laura is *subtle*. So she unfortunately ended up feeling really hurt and then I ended up feeling like a shitty friend. It's hard to have two such totally different operating systems in a crisis.

Cassie and I walked down to Thomas's house with Jorge, where we sat around on the porch with Thomas and Leia, his pregnant free-range dog who is even better behaved than Casper. Raoul and Jorge made a delicious breakfast for us all, the most delicious food I ate in Nicaragua, and they wouldn't even let me help wash dishes to thank them. Cassie is a little bit of a sour whiner, which I resented, but I liked hanging out with Thomas so much that I tolerated her. He thought she was just great. She loves birds and is a bartender in London, and has a crippled snake back home. She doesn't like Ometepe, which offends me, and she is extremely thin, which triggers my voluptuous inferiority complex.

We walked to the place where they rent horses, and, lo and behold, there were three horses for three friends! Cassie and Thomas had never ridden before. I assured them it would be grand, and that I was experienced and would protect them. I went up to one of the horses and did the little horse greeting, blowing gently into his nostrils. He jerked his head up at mine, as if to hit me in the face with his skull. This is a horse who wants to be the boss. So, I took one for the team and rode that guy because I have the most experience.

Cassie got a fat old mare who had a little filly with her. When we went off for the ride, her filly followed us and no one made to stop her. She was the most joyful little creature who just leaped around and pranced the whole journey, following mom. Thomas's horse had no personality. Leia came too.

We went exploring on the island, which meant we didn't really know where we were going and so we got lots of dead ends. We had to open and close lots of fences, so I tried to be generous and get off my horse and deal with the gates. Unfortunately, every time I tried to swing back into the saddle my horse tried to buck me off. What an asshole. But I found that if I brought him up alongside a big volcanic rock, which offered themselves to the purpose in abundance, I could use it as a mounting block and he'd be pretty chill.

Then there was the time when we practically bushwhacked up a really steep hill and got bitten by lots of ants and at the top there was a string of barbed wire. If someone got off the horse and lifted it, the other horses could pass through. Thomas lifted because I couldn't find any big rocks, and Cassie, mom, and baby got through. My horse didn't want to go. Finally after lots of agitating in circles, he went for it. Then there was the split-second realization that my horse was very tall and the barbed wire was not very high off the ground, so I had to drop back in a radical improvised limbo onto the horse's back as we went through. It was very exhilarating and impressive and I felt like Harrison Ford.

Thomas found the experience totally inspiring and now he wants to buy a horse and ride it through the Darien gap, Panama's uncharted jungle wasteland of narcotics smugglers and Columbian military. He'll probably die, which is too bad.

Laura stopped throwing up but was still extremely ill. The next day I went to the clinic to get her lots of drugs, which were, amazingly, free, and I got to use all my Spanish words to tell the doctor what was wrong. Then I hung out with Thomas and Cassie. We decided to go out for pizza at Zopilote, an eco-hostel down the road. My stomach was not doing so hot. By the time we got to Zopilote, it was doing really badly. In fact, it got so bad that I decided to home, which was a pain in my ass because it was a 45 minute walk through the dark. It was totally safe, but it's just that I didn't have a flashlight. Not to mention the fact that I threw up and then felt dehydrated and dizzy and had to walk uphill through the dark while I felt like I was going to collapse AND my mouth tasted like vomit acid which was burning my throat. Bad night.

Laura was darling and got me blankets and a bucket (two things I never thought to ask her if she might like) and then I curled up with a terrible chill. I woke up again and threw up, and then Laura came in with some medicinal tea that Jorge had made for me from fresh baby guava leaves that he went outside and picked. Seriously, Jorge is the fucking coolest dude. I don't know if my body was just satisfied that it had emptied the offending matter from my stomach, or whether the tea fixed everything, or whether God pitied me now that I had learned my lesson which was that food poisoning is horrible and having someone to talk care of you makes all the difference, but I was better after that.

The next day Laura was well enough to travel, as was I. Our stomachs were both...funny. Our intestines were both....crampy. Our poops were... anyway. We were not feeling our normal selves but at least we were not sick any more. We headed off for the Pacific side of the island, a town called Merida. On the way there, we walked to an eco-commune where I had thought about living. It was very sustainable and spiritual and non-violent and natural. But I have to say, neither of us were that impressed. It looks great on paper, but nothing about being there called to me to stay. The people were sort of boring or mean or stressed, and it felt hot and boring and overwhelmingly claustrophobic. Its such a hermetically sealed community, they really don't get out, and that's what I'm already living and it sucks. Yes, it would be better if the people and I had the same mission statement, etc, but still. I gotta get out more.

In Merida we checked into a nice hostel with a dock and delicious coconut ice cream. We met two unspeakably cool travelers who were incidentally here to take an ecovillage building workshop for the next month at the farm we had just been at. Ari and Dannii were young, vibrant, vivacious, enthusiastic, and totally sweetly in love. Laura and I fell head over heels in love with them and wanted them and wanted to be them. I went swimming in the lake, and Laura stayed on the dock reading me the Hepatitis C riot act. Then who should come by but Thomas and his friend Marlo! This was funny because the day before Laura and I had run into him on the way to Merida. So I said goodbye to him, altogether, three times. That's a lot of goodbyes. Anyway, Marlo was very taken with me, and we chatted a lot, and then I made a mistake. I said, si dios permite, which means, God willing, because that's what people always say around here, and this inspired a God speech. Marlo was enchanted that I was not an atheist, although I insisted I was not Christian, and he prosthelytized to me for about 20 minutes, and Thomas did nothing to save me from the story of the parrots and the man with a machete and they all talked to God and I nodded, wide-eyed and miserable. I think I need a new policy for these situations. Maybe I will not use the word God any more, even in sayings, and also if someone wants to talk about God I will say I don't want to talk about God that's not something I do.

The hacienda was super lovely, but unfortunately the smell of burning trash was inescapable. Laura and I still felt sick every time we ate, and the smell made us way sicker. We decided maybe we would go to the other side of the island, to start our trip back home, but we found out that because it was Sunday there was only one bus and we had missed it. So we found another place that also burned its trash but for some reason it was better even though it was less nice and kind of isolated. Laura liked it a lot. Then she wanted to find somewhere to buy cereal. We walked around a lot and asked people who looked like they had stores. The first lady said, "You can eat at the hostel". The second lady said, we don't have cereal. I asked where you could get it. She said, "Afuera", which basically means, over there. Which, because she made no effort to point or designate further, meant nothing. People are VERY indirect in Latin America, which drives me crazy. We went to a further store and Laura had me ask for cereal. The lady brought me a little corn and chocolate instant milkshake packet. Laura deliberated for an embarrassingly long time and then had me ask if there was fruit juice. I asked. The lady said no. I gestured, I see you have apple juice right there. Yes, she said, but you asked for fruits juice (fruit cocktail). We have apple juice and pear juice. Oh, the language barrier! Laura thought for a few minutes and then said, no, I only want pineapple juice. We went back to the hostel. Only to find out the hostel has a full restaurant! We ate and felt sick, but then we lay down and played "Kill, Marry, Fuck" with all the people we had met on our trip.

We were running into serious money problems at this point. A) We extended our trip by 3 days. B) There is only one cash machine on the island, in Moyogalpa, which we couldn't get to by bus because it was Sunday C) The one cash machine only accepts Visa cards and I have a Mastercard D) But really neither of us could withdraw money, even though Laura has a Visa, because neither of us remembered to call our banks to tell them we would be traveling to Nicaragua because E) There are no international phone cafes except in Moyogalpa or Altagracia which we couldn't get to because it was Sunday.

So we had to have an intricate and elaborate money plan based on all sorts of potential costs and cash withdrawal opportunities. We talked about it for probably an hour and it was agonizing, but at least we knew what we would do NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENED. The next day we began our journey at 5AM, and went back to Costa Rica, and stayed at a posh San Jose hostel with money in our pockets and food, squirming, in our bellies.

Nicaragua Pt. 2

So we walked across town (the town of Granada) to go to the ferry, pretty early to get tickets because if it was sold out, we would essentially be fucked because ferries only leave Granada for the island twice a week. We went to get our tickets, which was an embarrassment. First I had to unpack my entire bag on the floor in front of the ticket counter because I had brilliantly buried my passport. Then Laura made me ask if we could get second class tickets, even though there was a very clear sign in English that said tourists could only purchase the more expensive first class ticket, which is reasonable because tourists ruin local economies with inflation.

We waited for the boat to board, and decided to purchase some very questionable street food for $1.50 instead of walking back into town. Then we sat in a beautiful park that looked like Roman ruins, and we watched the birds. Then we got on the boat.

We sat on the boat for 4 hours. There was an air-conditioned inside with bench seats where they played a very violent horrible movie very loudly. Then there was outside, which was sunny and hot but most people were out there. At one point Laura and I went downstairs (to steerage) to the concessions stand. The man at the concession stand asked me how my fish was at lunch. This freaked me out until I realized that the concession stand man was the street vendor who had sold us lunch! Small world. We bought sodas. I asked what flavors do you have. Cola, orange, and red. I said, I would like a red flavored soda please. The sodas came in tall glass bottles, which made it feel like the fifties, and then we climbed back up to the sticky seats on the boat, which made it feel even more like the fifties. I do not drink soda, and am actually militantly against soda because I put it in the category which also includes hair dryers, air conditioning, pedicures, SUVs, video games, and bug spray. These are stupid things that were only invented so that the economy could keep growing and they are ruining the environment and/or people's health. Unlike many of these things, soda is not even convenient and comfortable- it makes you burp, rots your teeth, and dehydrates you. If I was a dictator soda would be illegal, except you could buy root beer on Sundays as a special treat because root beer is delicious. Also my mother could buy Diet Pepsi because it is her only remaining vice, but if it got out maybe there would be a coup because it would be unfair. Also we would need tonic water for gin and tonics. But anyway, it was feeling like a special trip in the 1950's so I went ahead and had a soda. I don't know much about soda in the United States because I don't drink it, really, except root beer, which is delicious, but I am not familiar with red-flavored soda. It tastes...red. It doesn't specifically correspond to any particular fruit. It's weird. Also, question: you know blue flavored candy? Like blue raspberry or whatever they call it? Why don't they make a soda that is blue flavored? I bet it would be delicious! I would even let a blue soda be sold on Sundays, because blue is the most popular favorite color, in polls, and also it is a great flavor, and also it changes the color of your tongue, which is cool unless you have someone to act like a grownup around, in which case it is embarrassing.

Anyway.

The boat ride was long and boring. And Laura and I had to make an important and difficult decision. Here is what happened: I went outside and this nice Nica man approached me and said, Hi, I am a volcano hiking guide are you looking to climb the volcano? I explained we were not. Then he gave me a flyer for his hostel, which was a really good deal, and I said I would have to consult with my friend, thanks. So I consulted. And we were plagued by LACK OF INFORMATION. Once again. Is it a nice hostel? Is there even a hostal at all? Or is this man trying to kidnap us because the man said he would bring us in his car when we all got off the boat together. Scam? Laura said, I saw him approach people and I don't like his body language. It's squirreley. I said, oh, I thought he was lovely, but what do I know? You're very critical, but also a good judge. And she said, yes, but you speak Spanish, so you probably got a better sense of him. And I said, see, I want to support the local economy. And she said, but the Lonely Planet guides visit all the hostels and say which are the best, so let's go to the best. If this man's hostel was good it would be in the book. And I said, I think it's unfair that Lonely Planet has the last word on everything and how their vote makes or breaks a place. And she said, well before I met up with you I traveled by word of mouth and people still recommended the best places, which were often the Lonely Planet picks. This was not an argument we were having. We were honestly trying to figure out what to do, and bringing to bear all the information we both had. This process is exhausting, entertaining two people's questions, concerns, and preferences, and taking the time to verbalize everything and deliberate. It's not an issue as a solo traveler, at least for me. I make a gut decision and go from there. But it's also great to have the support. I would be asking so many of these questions, alone, in my head without anyone to give me any perspective. Laura gives me lots of perspective because she is both different than I am and also extremely intelligent.

We decided to play it safe and go with the Lonely Planet pick. We picked up a new friend named Natalie, who writes usability guides in Zurich. She was getting over dengue fever and traveling by herself. We immediately became very protective and this came to mind. So we all went off to the hostel together in Altagracia. Laura ate dinner at a little comedor down the street, and I had chicken soup at the hostel.

The next morning we decided to try and find a cheap breakfast. After an unsuccessful venture looking for pastries, we went back to the a little comedor down the street. A comedor is basically a person's house where they make food and sell it at little plastic tables in the yard. A little boy of about 8 years old sat us down. We asked to order breakfast. Would you like coffee? Yes we would. He brought us our coffee. It was tepid. Laura and I looked at one another. DILEMMA. From lack of information, of course. Has the coffee water been boiled? If it is not boiled, will we get parasites? Does one necessarily have to boil water to make coffee? Would it be more rude to ask if they boiled the water, or more rude not to drink it? We can't chuck it, people are watching next door. We sat at the little plastic table and regarded our coffees like coiled rattlesnakes. Laura said, if you think it's ok to drink, I will drink it. I said, I don't even drink coffee. We sat in mute paralysis.

The little boy came out to inform us that they did not have breakfast. We were almost relieved. Just coffee, then, we said. He left and came back. Actually we have breakfast, gallo pinto and chicken. Fine, we said. He brought out two plates. Laura and I looked at our plates in mounting concern. Upon each plate was a replica of Laura's dinner last night. It was tepid. This means it was not heated up. However, what it also means, is that it did not come straight out of a refrigerator, either, because it was not cold. Was this food leftovers left out over night? Probably.

And then we ate it anyway. We had exhausted all our reserves of judgement amongst great uncertainty. Warily made, intelligent decisions were simply beyond us at this point.

It was delicious. We were almost done with our food when mom came home. She was mortified. She explained that she had run out for a few minutes and that the boy didn't know how to do anything. She apologized about a million times. We said, shit happens. Then we went to catch the bus to Balgue on the other side of the island. While waiting we found cheap doughnuts on sale in the park. Laura bought 10 doughnuts for a dollar, and then ate 6 of them on the bus.

The bus ride progressed at a velocity that varied between the speed at which a teenage learns to drive a standard transmission vehicle and the speed at which one might navigate a heavily-trafficked parking lot. We made it 15 kilometers in 2 hours.

Then we walked 20 minutes up a hill to Finca Magdelena. Housed in a timeless and sprawling coffee plantation, the rooms were modest at best, but everything was open to the air, there were gardens, and a nice communal restaurant area where you could order very cheap meals. The beds were cots and the mosquito nets had holes. There was a huge cement patio in back where I liked to do yoga at night, when it was cool and private. Artisans set up their wares on black clothes in the communal area. And that is how I met Jorge and Thomas.

Jorge is a 5-foot-tall Nica with a beautiful, passionate face. He wears pinstripe pants and makes the most beautiful jewelry I have seen so far in my travels. He told me the entire history of Nicaragua from 1909 to 1970. Unfortunately, we ran out of time, so I don't know what happens next. He also serenaded me with Nicaraguan revolution songs. My favorite was this one.

Thomas is French, but his father is English, so he was raised bilingual. This means that he has the most gentle and lovely British accent imaginable. He majored in linguistics in school and taught languages for a while, but recently he's been traveling. He's been on Ometepe for I think 8 months now. He's paired up with Totoco, a non-profit on the island, to sell postcards. He has the most beautiful pictures, all in sepia tone, and they're all of PEOPLE from Nicaragua, not just plants or animals or sunsets. He sells them to support himself, and gives a percent of profits to the foundation. He lives with Raoul, who makes chocolate and jewelry.

And so, here it is: I am going to move to Ometepe for a time after Jay and I go to Panama. Thomas has been staying in a room with a family, but he and a couple of other people are looking for an apartment, and also another house mate. So I am going to make journals, which I know how to do and am good at, so that I can be artistic and help support myself. I also might be able to teach some yoga classes. I am going to hopefully move in with Thomas and friends. If not, I'll work something else out. I'd like to volunteer at Totoco's organic farm. I'd also like to get my permaculture certificate at a nearby permaculture farm. Also, they burn their trash still, and I'd like to try to get in contact with local health clinics, non-profits, Ometepe's sister island of Bainbridge, WA, and the local schools and governments to see if there is some sort of trash collection campaign we can do. We'll see. Ambitious, but it's the first time I've felt capable of doing something.

Anyway.

Laura and I went for a walk after we got to the finca, to go in the lake. The rain had flooded the lake so that there were these ficus trees growing out of the water, it was perfect, the way you imagine heaven. I went swimming out to the trees, which Laura insists was a low point, because she watched a man hose out his manure filled pasture, which flowed in little rivulets into the lake. Oh well. Also while I was exploring the submerged grove, a man was accosting her and trying to steal all my stuff. Then we went to a little cafe, and Laura had a beer. Then, a SECOND crazy beggar accosted us! This time I decided to deal with things more forcefully, which ended up with me yelling at him and pounding my fists into my thigh for hysterical emphasis. He was deaf to my cries, insisting that I give him some of my trail mix. Finally, he went away.

That night, Laura and I watched Jorge make jewelry, and we made plans to go horseback riding with Thomas and this Kiwi named Cassie. But that is a story for another time.

Nicaragua Pt. 1

We began our day of travel at 5:30 in the morning on Saturday, taking a bus to San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica. Then we took a taxi to another bus terminal and took a 4 hour bus to Liberia, the capital of the Guanacaste region of northwestern Costa Rica. From there we walked to another terminal and took a 2 hour bus to Penas Blancas, a border town. Each bus we took was progressivly older and more rattlely. At Liberia I did something I have always wanted to do: I bought one of those enourmous round flat colorful lollipops. It was as delicious as it looked.

I just re-read that last paragraph. And it makes the trip look simple. Please, consider, everywhere, we were accosted by taxi drivers who wanted to take us to our destination, ¨good price¨. Everywhere we went, we had to ask directions. We had to figure out if we had enough time to go pee before the next bus. We had to find food and potable drinking water. We had to make sure our things didn´t get stolen. The weather was sweltering. We had to wait for buses. Every time I had a question, I had to ask it in Spanish. Every time Laura had a question, she had to ask me and then I had to ask it in Spanish. Travel is exhausting.

When we got to Penas Blancas it was raining. A young boy handed us an entry form and we went into a building to get our passports stamped. All this was among a barage of people trying to get us to change our money with them and take their taxis to tourist places we didn't want to go. When we left the little building, the boy tried to make us pay for the paper he had given us. No way. And we also don´t want your taxi. Thanks. We crossed the border on foot and had our bags searched in such a way that if we had been seriously trying to smuggle anything it would never have been found. Then we filled out another paper which a boy insisted we pay for and then we walked around aimlessly while people shouted at us and pointed where to go next. The border does not have signs, or pathways, or lines. It is a 1km large complex of buildings, trucks, fences and people. Some of these things have to do with getting across the border. Some don´t. It´s like a game, you have to collect stamps, which you ¨pay for¨by filling out papers, in the correct order. You use your passport and your words, and your American dollars. Some people are friends. Some are enemies. Some are whistlers. Some are taxi pushers. Some are neutral.

We went through a plaza and came to another small office where we had to pay them and they were rude to us. Then we tried to find the bus to Rivas, but it was too late in the day and so we had to take a taxi. Again, this sounds simple. But. A. we did not factor a taxi ride into our budget. B. were they lying? Do the buses actually not run this late, or are they manipulating us because we have the money and they have the local knowledge? After about 40 minutes we got to our hostel. The building was very nice with antique decorations and an open-air courtyard in the center. We had to hang my lollipop from the ceiling fan with dental floss because it was being attacked by ants. I thought the ants would get it anyway, but they didn't! So I finished the lollipop for breakfast the next day.

It was around dinner time the first day that Laura´s and my differences began to surface and challenge us. For example, we had just gotten to Rivas in the dark and it was dinner time. We went out to go find food. Laura found a bar-restaurant that she wanted to go to. I don´t like bars. Bars are Laura´s favorite thing. We saw a little restaurant that I thought might be ok. Laura also thought it might be ok. But I wanted to see what else we could find, so I led the way down the dark, unfamiliar city street. Laura felt unsafe. I felt free and totally secure. She resented that I was endangering her by walking around a foreign city we had never been to before after dark. I resented that she was preoccupied with safety and I couldn´t explore when my gut instincts said it was safe. We compromised and had dinner for two dollars each at the little restaurant and I said I would try to be more sympathetic to the fact that while I feel at home in Latin America, she does not. While I have lots of information and linguistic power, she does not. I need to defer to her before making decisions for both of us.

The next morning we took a 2 hour bus to Grenada, Nicaragua's most beautiful colonial city. The buses here are all school buses with Christ's portrait painted on them. Each school bus has a name. While the bus was loading, vendors came on to sell jewelry, drinks in little plastic bags, chicken and rice in little plastic bags, coffee (in little Styrofoam cups), and candied peanuts in very little plastic bags. The men in this country are totally the worst. On the walk to the bus station, the police catcalled us and called us hotties and mares. THE POLICE.

When we got to Grenada we walked through a street market and checked into our hostel, then went looking for a panaderia to buy pastries. See, Laura is a fanatic for pastries. I have never met anyone who loved baked goods this much, especially such bad ones, who had such an eye for spotting them, and who would devote a great deal of time to seeking them out in a city where she can barely ask where to find them. But we didn´t find any acceptable ones. We checked out a few, but the pastries were unsatisfactory. When Laura asked where another panaderia was, people just glared at her and said, right here. Also we would say, where is there a panaderia, in Spanish, of course. People said, a what? A panaderia. A what? A panaderia! Oh, they would say, a panaderia! As if we had been mispronouncing the word the whole time. But it sounded exactly the same as when we said it. Impossible.

Next we went to Masaya for a day trip. Masaya is a market town close to Granada that is know for its artisenal stuff. Our plan was to buy artisenal stuff. Actually, that was Laura´s plan because I have no room or money for stuff, but I like to watch. Laura wanted me to ask the guy at the desk in our hostel if the stuff they sold was good stuff. These are the kinds of questions I refuse to ask because I think it´s rude. These are the questions Laura needs to ask in order to make decisions. But Laura can´t ask herself because she doesn´t speak Spanish. But if I ask, it sounds like I want to know, and I would be embarrassed to ask such a question. This happened to us a lot.

We went anyway.

While waiting for the bus, seated on a wall overlooking a valley of trash, we were accosted by a crazy poor person. He was not well. He wanted us to give him money. We politely declined. He would not leave. He did not touch us but he was in our personal space. He would not leave. I had to deal with him because, of course, I speak Spanish. I was polite. After all, it hurt my feelings that this man was poor and starving and crazy and that my country has repeated politically raped his country. So I was polite. While I was speaking to this man, another man rode by on a motorcycle and made salacious tongue licking gestures at Laura. Two men also waiting for the bus watched the scene without reaction, without offering help to any of the characters.

Finally, the crazy guy left. The bus came.

Masaya had a lot of cheap tourist crap, much of which was factory produced. Also they had lovely urns that I would have bought, but can´t transport. Laura was disappointed, but we still shopped for hours. Our purchases:

Dulce de leche filled doughnuts (L)

Woven rainbow headbands (L & R)

Postcards (R)

Hand made artisenally crafted earrings (L)

Locally made chocolate (L & R)

A spoon (R)

A 6 lb papaya (R)

Cute shoes (R!)

Books in Spanish (Laura is beginning a library for herself to learn from) (L)

Also, my favorite thing about the market was this: apparently very popular were widely available paintings of various people taking a shit on the toilet. They were hysterically funny, with really original and laughable characters. I wanted to buy one for my mom. But again, transport was an issue.

We made it home, carrying the extremely ripe papaya in a plastic bag which was slowly leaking overripe papaya juice down my body as its softest spots got jostled. See, papayas, like most fruits, have a slim window of perfection. Often this occurs when their outsides have turned ugly and appear to be rotting. If you catch them right at the beginning of this turn, they are absolutely lovely. The next morning Laura and I discovered that my papaya was too far gone. Laura knew this all along, while my greed and hope had woven themselves into a mask of illusion at the time of purchase which induced me to believe I was buying a perfect fruit. It was a failure, and a loss, but also a learning experience. A learning experience that was erupting like the carcass of a dead whale all over the breakfast table. Meanwhile, Laura ate pastries.

Granada is a gorgeous city. The houses are painted in bright colors with bold colonial facades and carved wooden grates and paneling. The houses are enormous, sprawling events with open aired center gardens. It felt like another world, in another century.

Next we took a ferry from Granada to Ometepe, a volcanic island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua. But that, as my parents used to say before bed, is a story for another time.