Jonesin Nicaragua

Can You Spare A Little Change?

2011-03-06T17:05:00.001-06:00

In my former life (no, not one that involves being an Indian rice farmer in the 1800’s….I’m referring to my pre-Nica life), I lived in a large suburban area on the outskirts of Denver. The official name was Highlands Ranch, a title that no doubt arose from a combination of its altitude relative to the surrounding area and its primary usage prior to catching the eye of a successful land developer in the early 1980’s. It was the typical western suburb, one characterized by its endless rows of cookie cutter houses (yes, on at least one occasion, I do admit to pulling into the wrong driveway thinking I had arrived home), cute little shopping centers with the uniform big box stores, fast food chains, and roofs covered with faux “Spanish tile”, and lines of enormously large vehicles carrying loads of mid to upper class white Americans watching movies on their built-in DVD players while running behind schedule and telephonically connecting with similar vehicles through their increasingly sophisticated cellular devices.

Most of those who lived in the area found the experience to be quite positive overall. In fact I think that the majority of the residents considered their community to be near utopian, as they adorned their vehicles (large SUV’s of course….it WAS Colorado) with license plate covers carrying such slogans as “Highlands Ranch, The PRIDE of Colorado”. After all, who really cared if you couldn’t park an RV in the driveway, select the paint color of your house, or hang wind chimes on the back porch? The school system was excellent, there was a relatively high level of safety, and although labels consisting of such words as DIVERSITY may not have been particularly appropriate, all apparent negatives were more than made up for by the overlying blanket of CONVENIENCE.

Those who found themselves living outside its borders, however, tended to hold a slightly different view of this self proclaimed western version of Mecca, and for that reason there were a number of derogatory nicknames attached to this community as well. Some may not have been particularly fair or accurate, but as is usually the case in such matters, others were certainly based on an element of truth. I remember one common reference that hinted at the apparent perfection of the community (emphasis given to “apparent”). It was “THE BUBBLE”, a name pointing to the fact that in Highlands Ranch, all aspects of life were predictable, defined, controlled, and absolutely perfect. Of course this was nowhere near the real truth of the matter. In fact, as a result of my daily brushes with the area’s “less than positive” side through my job in emergency services, I used to say that “behind the well manicured lawns and white picket fences of Highlands Ranch, there lies a whole lot of good old fashioned darkness”. But whether or not the actual level of perfection was, in the end, achieved, I do believe that there was a consistent effort on behalf of the community to create the appearance of just such a world.

We’ve all experienced it. The light turns red. We look to the left. We see the homeless person with the sign. “Oh, terrific.” We fiddle with the radio. We talk with other individuals in the car with a new found sense of eye contact. We look for that perfect temperature through precise adjustment of the vehicle’s “climate control center”. We stare at the color red while praying for it to change as rapidly as possible. “Whatever you do, do NOT look to the left”, we utter to ourselves, under our breath, as we wait out this seemingly eternal moment. We do ANYTHING to avoid having to look at the guy with the sign! Or perhaps we do anything to avoid having that person look at us. Either way, in the spirit of withholding judgment or examination of the complexities of the situation, I think we’d all agree that such a situation has at least the potential for being quite uncomfortable.

So what do upstanding, law-abiding citizens do when something is making them uncomfortable? That’s simple….change the law! So in Highlands Ranch, as local members of the homeless community began making their way to the southern suburbs in 2004 with the intention of staking a claim on one of its well traveled intersections, that’s exactly what the voters did. Within no time, the police were given authority to remove any such individual standing on any street corner and asking for any form of personal contribution. It was a close call, but the perfection was, in the end, retained.

I think of that sometimes as I make my way around Managua. I suppose there are technically areas, areas behind walls, gates and private security forces, where one can avoid this type of solicitation for a short time. But on the whole, it’s simply an inherent part of life. As far as intersections go, each supports its own little micro labor force. There are the people selling anything from newspapers to food and beverages to car accessories to dust cloths to small animals. There are others, I suppose we could call them performance artists, running around dressed as clowns or simply juggling some random object (these days, the object is often on fire) in their everyday wear. And let’s not forget the classic window washers that tend to wash all windshields without any type of discrimination based upon such factors as the windshield’s level of cleanliness or the driver’s desire to accept or decline such service. Everyone has their angle. If you are a small child, you knock on the window and look sad. If you have been burned, you exhibit your burned face for the drivers to see. If you have lost a limb, you wave your stump in front of the windshield. If you’re fortunate, the driver will think something along the lines of “well, I suppose a missing extremity is worth a few cents” and make a small contribution (by the way, I always wonder what the “ranchonians” would think of that one). Regardless of your respective angle, though, such intersection labor in this area is much more of a contact sport with little room for subtlety.

But such a culture doesn’t necessarily end with the simple change of red to green. If you walk down the street, you will be asked for money. If you eat in a restaurant with an outdoor patio (or often times without) you will be asked for money. If I leave my door open or read a book in front of where I live, I will be asked for money. I could go on, but I think you get the point. Due to an enormous amount of need, there is no shortage of solicitation.

Hey, these people have no other options. They are living in extreme poverty and need our help.

Don’t give that guy money. He’ll just buy drugs or alcohol with it.

That poor kid looks pathetic, and it breaks my heart. Of course I can spare a little change.

Nope. If you give them money, their parents will keep sending them out in the street to beg.

Well if you DON’T give them money, they won’t eat today.

It’s not our problem.

It IS our problem. It’s a problem of all of us. If we fail to care, we fail to recognize the humanity that we all share.

Hey, how about doing something productive like work or go to school instead of just sitting around begging your life away.

There’s 70% unemployment. Where are they going to work?

That’s where a little initiative comes into play. They should pull themselves up by their bootstraps, have a little pride, and make something of themselves.

But given such factors as culture, family, community, etc., that’s not always so easy…..or even an option.

Nobody said it would be easy. You don’t see ME out there in the street, do you?

But you were given an enormous amount of opportunity. You can’t even compare your background or experience with theirs.

That’s no excuse.

Maybe it is an excuse, or at least should be.

The opportunity is ALWAYS there. Sometimes it’s just a little harder to find. In the end, there’s never a complete lack of opportunity.

But in the end, it’s not even really about THEM, but US. Are we not to focus on such things as generosity, compassion, and love for our neighbor? Isn’t that the real point at the end of the day?

At the end of the day, you are actually HURTING them by giving them a handout. You are creating a sense of dependency that will never be broken. The best thing you can do is to simply turn away.

And so goes the argument, on and on and on. One side gets labeled as compassionate and ignorant, while the other is viewed as heartless yet wise. In the end, I think most of us find ourselves vacillating somewhere between the two extremes, eternally questioning the location of that proper line of balance. As for me, although I did call Highlands Ranch my home for ten years, I was also one of its most vocal critics. In reference to the aforementioned roadside justice involving the homeless neighbors at the intersections, the idea of ridding the community of such a minute reminder of what life could look like outside the borders of this tiny utopia, seemed absurd. I used to roll down my window, chat with my less fortunate neighbors for the duration of the red light, and happily give them a small contribution. I appreciated the short brush with an alternate reality, as I had grown so tired of the homogenous, controlled, monotonous life inside the bubble.

It’s funny how our perspectives can change. Last year while visiting my old suburban stomping ground, I experienced the strange sensation of being ironically drawn to it, really for the first time. And after thinking about this for a bit, I realized that it wasn’t the endless rows of beige colored houses that were calling my name. Rather, it was the overall comfort, predictability, and external sense of ease. It reminded me of my first visit to the upscale mall here in Managua. I had spent the previous year immersed primarily in the local “garbage dump community” and found myself outraged by what I found on the other side of the proverbial tracks. “How can these people walk around like this, casually spending $100 on a new shirt, while there are others, directly across the street, living in plastic “houses” and surviving on one dollar per day?!” Needless to say, I didn’t stay very long. Yet strangely enough, I found myself returning to the same location the following week. What was that about? I generally detest the malls, or at least the high levels of commercialization and consumerism that they represent. I certainly had no interest in making a purchase. What was drawing me back? And then as I sat there on the large, gently sloping staircase, surfing the web with the free WiFi connection, I realized that, to my knowledge, not a single person had shown any interest in stealing my laptop. In fact, no one had asked me for money. I saw people walking around casually……with smiles on their faces! What were they thinking? I saw entire families…..TOGETHER! I saw NO acts of violence or abuse, and I had been sitting there for at least an hour! “Money may not be able to buy happiness”, I thought, “but I sure like what they’re selling here”!

I suppose that upon reaching the point of disillusion with any one extreme, albeit political, religious, socioeconomic, etc., there lies the tendency of heading directly to the side of the other. But maybe such things would be better viewed through a slightly more balanced lens. Maybe, as our 1.3 billion friends from the emerging superpower to the East like to say, seemingly contrary forces are generally quite interconnected and interdependent. Maybe it’s really more about locating that proper equilibrium. As author Demetria Martinez says, as she warns against seeking refuge in a place located too far toward a particular extreme:

“It’s not enough: to receive the ashes, to ponder our own inevitable deaths, to remember those who died at the hands of death squads or SS guards or those incinerated by bombs in Hiroshima and Nagasake. We ponder, remember, and repent, but we don’t stop there. We taste the honey, celebrating the sweetness of life witnessed in a kind act, a work of art, the sky on a beautiful day, an unexpected victory in the struggle for justice. We honor the dead by celebrating life, loving it so deeply that we find it within ourselves to create a world without holocausts.”

And so I, like most, continue in my search for that often elusive border. I have to say that although I do visit the local mall on a regular basis, I have no real desire to return to the utopian life of the suburbs. As for my response to the external needs of my current neighbors, I’ll just say this: Last week, while coming out of a restaurant with my girlfriend Marcela, I gave a little money to a lady in a wheelchair. I chatted with her for a moment or two and then honored her second request by pushing her chair up the curb for better positioning (i.e. closer to the doors of the restaurant…i.e. closer to the exiting customers). She seemed appreciative. Earlier in the day, a small child had approached the car I was driving at a local intersection. He was wearing no shirt or shoes and had the typical amount of dirt covering him from head to toe. He asked for a little money and told me that his feet were burning due to the hot asphalt. I told him to go stand in the shade.

The Enjoyment Of Unemployment....Part II

2011-02-15T11:41:00.004-06:00

If I’m remembering correctly, the idea first began making its way around my head at some point in 2006. I think it was that year that the concept of living abroad and filling some sort of position in the overall category of “development” began to take hold and occupy an increasingly hospitable place in my thoughts. There were plenty of things that I found to be appealing in it all. I was interested in gaining a deeper insight with respect to the world of poverty, immersing myself in a new and foreign culture, and trying my hand at proficiency with a foreign language. Most of all, though, I was interested in dedicating one year of my life to living in an altruistic manner, to set aside a period of twelve months to focus solely on the act of directing all of the resources I had been given over the years in an outward direction.

From there, I began researching organizations that do this type of work in the developing world. I spent months online, looking at various NGOs and the specific work they were carrying out at the time. I wrote emails. I made phone calls. I filled out a few applications. At one point, I even headed to Arizona to spend a week of “pre-employment training” with one group. I went on to speak with everyone from the United Nations, to Peace Corps, to your friendly neighborhood missionaries, and in conjunction researched the large, the small, and all organizations in between. For nearly two years, I looked around without finding that perfect fit, which really, due to the fact that I had a great job and situation back in Colorado, posed no real problem whatsoever. After all, there was no real hurry. Eventually, though, in late 2007 I stumbled across an opportunity that sounded and felt right, and within a short time all lights turned to green and all compasses pointed in the southern direction, to Nicaragua.

One of the challenges I came across in those two years of searching was found in my unique “background”, or “skill set” (skill set is one of those cool terms I picked up in Arizona). I had a formal education in biological science (with no real experience) and had spent the previous ten years working in the area of emergency services. What I found was that in looking toward potential projects in this new area (new to me, that is), the general consensus was relatively positive. The classification, on the other hand, proved a bit more difficult.

So why do I mention all of this background material? I mention all of this to make the point that, as it was in pre-2008, I’m once again LOOKING FOR A JOB!!! I realize that it’s an obvious statement in a Blog entry surrounding unemployment, but I figured I’d go ahead and clear up any confusion that might be present. I also mention those things above to say that, as was the case before, such an undertaking is not coming without its challenges. For one, although I’ve been fortunate enough to add a few items to the skill set over the last several years, I’m still a difficult animal to classify in the world of development, especially when the animal is requesting a modest paycheck. Also, in an attempt to carry out such initial objectives as cultural immersion and poverty education over the last few years, I’ve typically avoided those communities characterized by their lighter skin color and/or economic advantage. And although I do think there can be something of value to be found there, I have to say that when in search of employment, those living on a dollar per day are NOT going to be one’s most profitable resource.

Regardless of one’s language, however, the word “challenge” isn’t necessarily classified as a negative, and “difficult” never automatically implies impossible. On a positive note, I think I’m learning a few things these days and hopefully picking up a bit of personal growth along the way. I’m learning (and re-learning) such practical skills as the compilation and presentation of the resume, the do’s and don’ts of the interview process, and perhaps most notably, the value of networking. I’ve been gaining perspective and insight with respect to the overall concept of work (more specifically, work that carries with it a monthly paycheck) and the value and role it occupies in one’s life. And recently I’ve found myself exploring that fine line dividing such traits as persistence and diligence from the simple allowance of letting events and opportunities unfold and present themselves as they are meant to, in their own way and in their own time. Perhaps more than anything I’m just learning to find a place of peace in a moment often characterized by such less than attractive words as restlessness, frustration, worry, or doubt.

On the lighter side, I’ve been reading some great books, getting more than enough rest, and catching up on the Oscar nominated films of 2010 (a personal recommendation…127 hours). As for the matter of finding a job, something will eventually turn up, of that I’m confident. And when it does, I’ll have additional topics about which to Blog. In the meantime, though, I think I’ll just focus on the enjoyment of unemployment.

The Enjoyment Of Unemployment....Part 1

2011-02-03T15:50:00.009-06:00

I suppose it all started back in mid November, IT being this current status that I am attempting to enjoy, or at least view in a positive light on a daily basis. OK, at VERY least, I’m working on being at peace with it all. There were the initial differences of opinion, which lead to a bit of occupational conflict, which in turn lead to some very positive changes, which then took a sudden and unexpected turn to this place of looking for a new job. Unemployed. There, I said it. It’s out there. Unemployment. Unemployment. Unemployment. Hey, it kind of has a nice ring to it.

The good news is that unemployment is something relatively new for me, as my unofficial work history began at what most would consider to be a young age. I mean I was mowing lawns and babysitting younger kids in the neighborhood when I had not yet entered the teenage years. Prior to that, there were a number of sporadic employment experiences ranging from office clerk to school maintenance man, uh, boy. At 14, I started my first “official” job, and ended up working as many hours AFTER school as I spent IN school. And although I did choose to spend the majority of my college years hidden in the bowels of the university’s library rather than immersed in the local work force, this was a choice (i.e. luxury) that I was allowed. Following graduation, I was back in the workplace. OK, so maybe I eeeeassssed in to the work force a bit, but I was back out there, contributing to the overall economic production and benefit of society. And it is THERE, in THAT place, that I had comfortably resided until......mid November.

From this junction, I think that this entry could take a number of different paths. I could talk about how unfair and wrong the whole situation was, how disrespectful and damaging it was on a very personal level. I could talk about how cruel and horrible the people are that contributed to my new found status. But in the end, there wouldn’t be anything especially productive to be found there. I could also talk about my own range emotions, the range that closely parallels that whole “stages of grief” cycle and ends with a great sense of freedom and optimism upon looking toward the future OR a desire to punch someone in the face, depending on which day of the week you happen to catch me. But again, I’ll save that for another day.

Instead, I’m going to focus on those things that I find to pass the time, to fill the hours from one day to the next. Because if there's one thing that I have at the moment, it is a LOT….and I mean a LOOOOOOOT….of free time. And with that, here are a few of the list toppers.

I’m a Sudoku Guy in a Sudoku World

In early 2007, I took a trip to Panama. The idea was to take one of those immersion type Spanish courses and expand my bilingual tongue beyond such words as taco and bano. When I arrived, I found that I was essentially the ONLY student in the school at that moment, and therefore had no shortage of available hours in the day….solo hours (wait a minute, this is starting to sound a little redundant). Fortunately, someone had given me one of those little books of Sudoku, and I quickly found myself engrossed in the Japanese pastime of filling numbers into tiny square boxes.

I hadn’t done much with respect to the Sodoku world over the past several years. In fact, upon starting anew, I had to reread the directions to remember how to begin. But before long, I was back at it, immersed in a world of one through nine, and within very little time, finding myself progressing beyond the “EASY” puzzles and into the world known as “Intermediate”. “WOW, I thought, I remember the intermediates being SOOOOO hard when I was in Panama”. “Is it possible that I have somehow increased my intellectual capacity over the last few years”? When I progressed to the “DIFFICULT” level, I began to think I was encroaching upon genius territory. “Maybe THIS can be my new job”, I thought. “I’ll be a professional SUDOKU player!” Of course that bubble was quickly burst when I showed the kid in the neighborhood the ancient art from the east, and watched him rapidly progress through the designated levels. These days, it’s all I can do to stay one step ahead of him, and he’s all of 11 years old.

Regardless, I’m enjoying the puzzles, and a good one can easily take between thirty minutes to an hour. Besides, I figure it’s like exercise for the brain. It’s all about problem solving, and if handled correctly, does lead to a great sense of personal satisfaction. I avoid TV as much as possible. Sudoku, on the other hand, is just good, healthy, brain-building fun.

Back In The Saddle Again

Speaking of exercise, let me just sum it all up here in three short words….I’M BACK, BABY!!!!!. I’ll explain. To truly understand the significance of this statement, you have to understand a little something about my prior, prior meaning “pre-Nicaraguan”, life. I was living in Colorado for the eleven years leading up to 2008, and I was fortunate enough to take advantage of the lifestyle offered by its geographic location.

Depending on the season, I was generally found to be on some road, trail, slope, cliff, or mountain, participating in some type of sport or activity falling under the genre of “outdoor adventure”. On the days that I was working, I was utilizing the provided workout facilities and/or running in circles around the fire stations. The point is that prior to coming south, I was one active muchacho.

When I arrived in Nicaragua, I did make an attempt to maintain some basic level of activity. I was living just outside of the city at the time and had at my disposal both a small swimming pool in the yard and miles of dirt roads immediately outside the front gate. But I quickly grew tired of running in the intense heat and humidity, and the combination of being heckled by the locals and chased by numerous angry dogs on a daily basis proved to be somewhat of a detractor from the overall relaxation and enjoyment of it all. As for the pool, its minimal size (thing large in-ground baby pool) made me feel as though I were the proverbial hamster (with fins and snorkel, of course) running on the wheel. Besides, I’ve always claimed to be a land mammal. The water has never been my forte.

The point is that for the last three years, I’ve found myself to be on the other extreme of the spectrum. I went from literally hours of physical activity on a daily basis to, well, zero; zero, that is, until recently. These days, such activities as jogging and homegrown strength training (that refers to push-ups and sit-ups in my room or pull-ups on the local playground…..like one of those guys on the monkey bars in those inspirational Al Queda training videos) are a regular part of my routine. I've also been sprinkling in a bit of yoga and hope to be standing atop a local volcano by the end of next week. AND, last but not least, as an added bonus to my current lack of transportation (yet another story for another day), I’m spending literally HOURS each day in a more subtle and often overlooked form of exercise, namely walking.

As enjoyable as it is, I do have to say that there ARE a few downsides to the walking. In a city where the overall crime rate is somewhere along the lines of, oh I don’t know, 100%, it can take on an element of danger. But I figure that in the case of an attempted robbery, I can simply use it as an opportunity to participate in additional track and field events, such as sprinting or the shot-put (i.e. running away furiously while screaming and throwing chunks of broken concrete). The other downside is that although I really DO want to be in shape again (and feeling really good at the moment), I really DON’T want to lose any weight. Despite my lack of physical activity over the last few years, I’ve struggled to maintain a healthy weight. The good news was that I was finally starting to put on a few pounds. The bad news is that with my new found level of fitness, I think I’m going in the wrong direction. Well, in the words of my niece and nephew, I’ll just say this:

“More fried cheese please!”

Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness

Despite a strangely large number of biblical references to standards of personal and communal hygiene, I seriously doubt that the act of tidying up oneself or immediate surroundings has much to do with one’s level of spirituality. But to be fair, I should mention that I’ve always been a bit of a “neat freak”. I figure that cleanliness is one of those things, in addition to the opposable thumbs of course, that sets us apart in the animal kingdom. And besides, is there any real reason to live in an environment defined primarily by one’s own filth? I say NO! But even the cleanest of the group can get a little behind the 8 ball every once and a while. And for me, I watched the 8 ball roll by at some point near the end of the rainy season in October of last year.

I think there were three primary factors that contributed to what I now refer to as “The Perfect Bacterial Storm” that took place in the room where I currently live. First there was an especially RAINY (i.e. SUPER WET) rainy season. This, combined with the fact that the room, despite its lack of windows, does have a concrete wall that opens to the great outdoors on the other side, created a moldy predisposition. When I closed the place up for several weeks and headed north for a bit of time with the family, things got a little out of hand. What I returned to was what I would describe as wall to wall carpeting. The walls. The floor. The mattress. The clothes. The shoes. The paper and books. The sheets and pillows. EVERYTHING had seemingly bathed in a furry fungal substance.

For the next several weeks, I armed myself with bleach and various scrubbing agents and went to work. Fortunately, this event coincided with the END of the rainy season, so I was able to take advantage of the intense tropical sun to reach a level of dryness unseen in the previous six months. I discovered that the roof was an excellent place to dry out one’s freshly scrubbed possessions, and at the end of a 20 to 30 day period, I joyfully declared an end to all major combat operations in Altagracia. There were, of course, a few casualties, but what can you do?

What I noticed, though, was that after spending the previous three years working in the area of “international development”, it was strangely rewarding to see a “finished product”. In other words, after participating in a line of work that is characterized by INCREDIBLY slow and subtle results (if ANY), cleaning brought about a welcomed sense of instant gratification. Before long, in addition to volunteering for dish duty after most meals, I was washing and waxing vehicles, cleaning closets in preparation for garage sales, and hand washing socks and underwear at a pace equal to that of my personal utilization. Along similar lines, I also began repairing every damaged item I could get my hands on. Doors. Toilets. Motorcycles (remember that part about walking from above?). Anything that was nonfunctional or could use a little improvement….I was on it. The point wasn’t so much about the activity itself as it was about the end result. Again, it felt especially rewarding to, after any number of minutes, hours, or days, take a step back and admire the beauty of a finished product. I am certainly one to appreciate the patience required by a long and arduous road, but I’m learning that a tangible representation of the fruits of one’s labor can be something particularly valuable. I suppose that if I am particularly astute here, I should take note of some valuable insight in all of that. Insight, that is, that could come in handy for the next chapter of my occupational life.

….to be continued

Searching For El Dorado

2010-12-27T16:14:00.001-06:00

Warning: The following blog entry contains material that is, in some cases, less than positive. Discretion is advised.

As I’ve mentioned before, I currently live in the heart of a large city called Managua, Nicaragua. Managua is known for a number of things, including, but not limited to, its large size, lack of cleanliness, loud decibel level, and perhaps most notably, it’s especially hard exterior. As for the reasons behind such a reputation, I imagine there are a great number of social and economic factors contributing to the overall vibe or feel of the city, but as I’ve pondered the general way of life around here, I’ve always viewed it as a direct result of one primary factor: lack of resources. What I mean is that there simply isn’t ENOUGH. There aren’t enough jobs. There isn’t enough space…enough money….enough transportation…enough time…enough lanes….enough housing….enough….well, you get the point. For those of us from the large nation to the north, this is perhaps a bit difficult to understand contextually. We are accustomed to an unparalleled amount of excess available on a 24/7 basis. Here in the second poorest nation in the hemisphere (umm, at this time, I’d like to give a special shout out to Haiti for taking first place yet another year), the word PLENTY as it pertains to resources is, well, foreign.

I first noticed this dynamic shortly after arriving to Nicaragua several years ago. I remember being pushed and shoved (i.e. assaulted physically) while trying to get on and off the bus at rush hour. “Man!, I thought, I think that Managua could use a few more buses in the fleet! This is a free for all!” From there though, I realized that the buses were not an isolated factor. In most areas of life, it’s a more openly Darwinian system. That is, in daily life and the pursuit of liberty and happiness (and perhaps a monthly paycheck), its survival of the fittest.

I’ve been thinking about this over the last few weeks, as I’ve watched the calendar slowly making its way towards the season known for, among other things, peace, joy, and the spirit of giving. And in the midst of pondering such traits as charity and goodwill towards those in the immediate vicinity, I’ve been thinking about how the old Golden Rule fits into such a system as one found in Managua. Unfortunately, upon first glance, I’m not sure that it does.

Isn’t there ANYONE who understands what Christmas is all about??

--Charlie Brown

We’ve all heard the stories of the charitable organizations or religious institutions that fail to conduct their affairs in a manner considered to be in alignment with their overall mission or purpose. Perhaps we shouldn’t hold such organizations to the higher standard they openly represent. It just seems natural to do so. Maybe it is for that reason that we find it particularly shocking or disturbing when they fail to live up to their stated objectives. I’ll give you a recent example. I have a friend who helps run a relatively large NGO here in Managua. We’ve spent a number of meals and discussion groups together, mulling over such topics as social justice, helping the poor, the environment, the evils of multinational corporations, and the numerous factors that lead to a cruel and unjust world. I mean this guy is a person that CERTAINLY falls under the category of “socially conscious”, and I’ve typically found myself to be in agreement with his previously shared views, beliefs, and opinions. But recently, while working a bit more closely with this individual and his organization, I witnessed three examples that made me stop and shake my head. First there was the failure to pay an employee a relatively large sum of money owed to them by the organization. The debt was the direct result of an error made by the administrative staff, and the organization did acknowledge the error on their part. Beyond that though, no amends were made (i.e. nobody got paid), and the matter was closed. For fear of losing their job, the employee remained silent as well. Next came the hiring of a NEW employee (positive). Everything looked good until my friend expressed his desire to pay the recent recruit “under the table” in order to avoid responsibility for the basic benefits allotted to all full time employees in Nicaragua (not so positive). And finally, upon visiting one of the local projects, the friend commented on the fact that he didn’t like a particular characteristic of one of the staff members. “Yea, I’m going to replace her”, he mentioned flippantly, as if she were the batteries in the remote control.

Christmas time is here, families drawing near

Oh that we could always see such spirit through the year

Unfortunately, I’ve since come to find out that these were not isolated events, and I’ve subsequently lost a great deal of respect for this individual and his organization. I mean sure they have the correct numbers on their donor reports, and all of the decimals at the bottom of their spreadsheets line up correctly at the end of each year. They even have particularly noble and virtuous objectives covering their walls, corporate documents, website, etc. But to me, when you fail to treat others (including employees) with a basic level of respect, dignity, and fairness, you have, somewhere along the line, taken a step in the wrong direction. And for that reason, the nobility associated with such things as your stated purpose, fundraising propaganda, or impressive number of stars making up your organization’s charity rating, take on very little meaning. As is always the case, the actions speak louder than words.

On a different level, I have another acquaintance that has spent most of the year working in various “call centers” of the foreign-owned-and-operated variety. To be more specific, she’s on the third one in the last 10 months or so, and the continual change is generally a result of poor and unfair working conditions. The managers of such companies have one objective in mind, and that is to MAKE AS MUCH MONEY AS POSSIBLE. The employees are virtually unskilled and can therefore be exploited and replaced with relative ease. Remember, we are living in a country with an unemployment rate of approximately 60-70 percent. Regardless of the position in which one is working, there is ALWAYS a line of people behind them willing to perform their duties for less of SOMETHING. It’s a system that lends itself to a high level of exploitation, and it is the same system that influences the practices of the aforementioned charity.

So my telemarketing acquaintance does what anyone in her shoes would most likely do, namely finds herself on a continual search for the place that will compensate her with the most and treat her the best. And you know, I hate to hear the stories she tells me. They really do treat her and her colleagues in a way that is demeaning both on a professional and personal level. She, of course, finds no enjoyment or satisfaction in being on the receiving end of such treatment, and who could blame her? But here’s the $100,000 question: What does SHE do as a result of such treatment? I’m not asking whether or not she goes in search of a different call center to spend her days. That question is already answered. I’m asking how SHE treats those around HER? Remember, I’m thinking about the golden rule here, and she’s certainly not being treated in the manner that she would like to be treated. So if SHE were to find herself in the position of one of her not-so-virtuous managers, for example, how would SHE run the show? Well, you want to know the answer? I’ll tell you. Exactly the same way….or WORSE! You see, when she heads home at the end of the day, she IS a manager of sorts. I know this, because there just happens to be a guy who works in and around the house she shares with her family. And you wouldn’t believe how she treats this guy! She belittles him. She insults him. She demands service like you couldn’t imagine! It’s truly incredible. She literally treats the guy like yesterday’s garbage. I can’t even be around this and continually have to leave the room! Golden rule? Nope, it’s not here either.

Surely he taught us to love one another, his law is love and his gospel is peace

Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother, and in his name all oppression shall cease

So how about this one? Just for the sake of comparison, let’s just take a look at the extreme end of the spectrum. That is, how about taking a look at those on the LOWEST level of society; the ones on the bottom; the poorest of the poor. If there is a system of exploitation that functions in a top-down direction, the buck would have to stop with them, right? There’s nowhere else for it to go. So if they were treated poorly by the rest of society and understand such treatment better than ANYONE else in the hierarchy, how would THEY respond?

I know what psychology says. It says that those who find themselves on the receiving end of any given type of mistreatment or abuse are very likely to mistreat or abuse others in the future. It’s the classic chain in which the “abusEE” eventually converts into the “abusER”. But surely that wouldn’t happen with respect to my aforementioned question, would it? Well, I’ll say this. I’ve spent the last several years working with the group identified as the “poorest of the poor”, the group that often gets credited with being “poor but happy”. It’s the group that puts on a nice smile for the visiting missionary groups, gets subsequently passed around the US in photographic form, and inevitably becomes a source of inspiration to their over-materialized neighbors to the north for “being so wonderful” and “just so happy and content” in spite of “having so little”!

And the answer is????? Put another one on the board for psychology. Angry. Mean. Belligerent. Petty. Disrespectful. Greedy. Ungrateful. Demanding. Abusive. Violent. Vindictive. You’ll have to forgive me. I really don’t want to insult anyone here, and I do want to remain compassionate and understanding with respect to their situation and the histories that contribute directly to the resulting characteristics. I’m well aware of such principles as “the sins of the fathers” and “the cycle of poverty” and the affects that such factors have on future generations. But at the same time, I’ve got to be honest. I’m going to call a spade a spade. And in this case, we are looking at one angry little spade.

Maybe it wouldn’t be much consolation, but I wish I could say that the aforementioned characteristics were only expressed in an upward direction (i.e. UP the economic ladder). This is the same community though that is unable to leave houses unattended for 5 minutes for fear that the NEIGHBORS will (and do) come over and claim all earthly possessions for themselves. Maybe it’s just the ugly reality of poverty or, I don’t know, an exposed version of the humanity found within us all. Whatever it is, it’s ANYTHING but GOLDEN.

Silent night, Holy night; All is calm, All is bright

So as the lights are hung and the trees decorated this year, I’m left wondering if anyone remembers that little rule of the golden variety. I’ve actually been told that here in Managua, it’s every man/woman for themselves. People have literally told me that although it may not sound so virtuous, that’s simply the way it is. But does it really have to be? Perhaps I have to believe it as a fact of everyday life, but do I have to accept it? Is the kill or be killed (or as they say down here….eat or be eaten) law of the jungle the only way? Are we left with no other option, and if so, are we going to be happy with the result?

As I share my less than positives opinions here, I need to say that I’m certainly not writing from the height of my pedestal. I often find myself wanting to follow the law of the land. As I tire of being the pushEE on the bus, in traffic, or waiting in “line” to make a simple purchase, I’ll admit that I want nothing more than to be the pushER. In all honesty, I get tired of the whole thing. I get tired of everyONE fighting everyone ELSE for everyTHING. I get tired of witnessing those on the receiving end of truly beautiful acts of charity or generosity turn around and steal from/take advantage of/exploit the next person that comes along (for those of you Bible readers, see Matthew 18:23+). Golden rule nothing, it’s every man for himself! And after a while, I, like everyone else, begin to push back.

At the end of the day though, I don’t want to give up, because I know there’s a better way out there. Like that Mahatma character, I’ll do everything I can to continue trying to be the change I want to see in the world. I’ll choose to follow the lead of the lady that let me and my single item go in front of her at the grocery store this past year. And what about that guy who helped me out when I was walking home with the non-functional motorcycle the year before that? These people and their small but significant random acts of kindness will serve as inspiration in the city where similar acts are the overwhelming exception. Despite the fact that I don’t succeed on a daily basis, I’ll continue in my attempt to treat others in the manner in which I want to be treated. After all, in this complex and often complicated world in which we live, that’s about as simple as it gets.

And with that, I want to wish you all a very Merry Christmas. Whether you’re at home for the holidays or experiencing something a little less traditional, I encourage you to focus a little energy in the outward direction. As for me, I’ll be down south this year, celebrating a slightly more tropical holiday season. There probably won’t be any of the white stuff outside the window, but whatever the temperature may be, you can rest assure that I’ll be on my search for El Dorado.

Taking The Leap

2009-04-29T11:00:00.009-05:00

Before coming to Nicaragua, I had never officially lived in a city. I mean sure, I had spent the large majority of my life living in metropolitan areas AROUND various cities (i.e. the BURBS). It’s just that until I shook hands with my current landlords and handed over that first month’s rent, I had never been a TRUE urbanite.

These days, I live in the proverbial concrete jungle. The exhaust, the traffic, the incredible decibel levels, dirt, trash, smog, miles upon miles of broken glass and concrete……THESE are the components of my most recent environment, the place I am calling home. Put another way…….COMPLETE ISOLATION from the natural world. Don’t’ get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I’ve chosen this present life, and it’s perfect for my current line of work. It’s just that it has taken a little…….well…..getting used to.

A bit of history: In 1991, for reasons I can’t seem to remember at the moment, I paid my FIRST dues to this new group (new to ME, that is) called The Sierra Club. And since a short time after, I seem to have been a tree-hugging/veggie-and-granola-eating/Birkenstock-wearing/hippie freak, to one degree or another (OK…at least on the INSIDE). To put it another way, I’m a BIG fan of the natural world…..yes, card-carrying ENVIRONMENTALIST…… and as one can imagine, the great state of Colorado, where I have called my home for the previous 11 years or so, has proven to be a spectacular place for someone such as myself to hug a tree or two (or at least ski amongst them). The majesty and intrinsic beauty of it all.....definitely food for the soul……and certainly a far cry from my CURRENT surroundings that tends to burn, kill, eat, or needlessly destroy anything that lives, breathes, moves, or grows in any form or fashion.

I think the first time I noticed “the void” was last year while making my way south through Costa Rica. I had just left Managua that morning and was traveling through the mountains en route to Panama. The bus stopped for a short break, and I got off to relieve myself of the morning’s excess of coffee. The only available facility was a small store/bathroom that was constructed quite literally into the side of the hill. And it was within this facility….um……mid-stream…..where I noticed the wall was the actual hillside. Soil……earth…..dirt…..land…..TERRA FIRMA. There it was, in all its glory. It struck me as something so unusual, so foreign, so out of place…..and so…so….strangely wonderful. An odd moment……a ridiculous story, I know…..but profound nonetheless.

Since that time, I’ve experienced a number of such moments (don’t worry….all completely OUTSIDE the realm of restrooms and bodily functions) that have lead me to a very similar conclusion. The conclusion, that is, that it is absolutely necessary to get out of the city now and then. Whether it’s the beach (one hour to the East)….the mountains (one hour to the North)……a local volcano (take your pick….plenty to choose from)……or just a small pueblo outside of Managua…..it’s essential for the maintenance of inward health and wellbeing.

That being said, when my friend Lila suggested a trip to a nearby “refuge” for a bit of hiking and rappelling, I told her I was in.

“Just say the word, and I’m there!!!!!”

And after several weeks of ………“well, we WERE going to go, but this or that happened, or this or that person backed out”……… the big day finally arrived. I got up early on Sunday morning, did my usual routine, met Lila and the rest of the group, and got on the road by 8AM. By 10AM, we had passed through countless small towns and navigated more than a few curvy mountain roads in order to arrive at what was perhaps the most foreign site I had seen in quite some time.

“Ummmm…..excuse me, but does that sign really say “Eco-lodge” and “Nature-preserve”??????

Fortunately, that is exactly what it said, and within minutes we were admiring a beautiful view of the Masaya Volcano and lake (OK….so MAYBE the majority of the raw sewage from the town just MIGHT flow directly into the lake……but let’s just focus on the view for now) while standing next to a sign exhibiting the various species of birds indigenous to the area.

“Yeeeesssss………I do believe this is going to be a good day”.

Within a few MORE minutes, after getting more acquainted with the group, I realized that we were actually on an organized outing by something called RAPPEL TEAM. Hiking…...savoring the beauty of the natural world…….well, that may have been a bit of a stretch for the day’s agenda. In reality, we were there to do ONE THING and one thing only, to jump off a 200’ cliff. And the more I talked with the members of this newly discovered subculture, the more it became clear that they were certainly motivated by the “adrenaline aspect” of things.

“I’m a teacher during the week, but on the weekends I do anything I can find that’s DANGEROUS….anything that has the potential of killing me!!!!”

….note to self…..remember not to catch a ride home with THAT guy.

“Hey Jason……what’s the MOST EXTREME thing you’ve ever done????? Mine is skydiving. Woohooooooo!”

“You’re from Colorado? I heard that they have A reserve in Colorado that’s JUST FOR SKIING!!!”

“Yep….absolutely true,” I told him. “We do have ONE of those”.

After the big HIKE from the “eco-lodge” to the rappel site (all 1minute and 30 seconds of it……downhill), Team Rappel began setting up the ropes. Now, although I don’t consider myself a true expert in such matters, I’m also no stranger to the “sport” of rappelling. Between various recreational pursuits in the mountains, technical rescue team with the fire dept., and those pine trees in Steven Flynt’s backyard (cirque 1985), I’ve had a fair amount of experience with the world of ropes and knots. But as often crosses my mind, such things as SAFETY STANDARDS don’t always carry the exact same meaning in this part of the world.

“….better pay particularly close attention to the system they’re setting up”.

Well, after putting together a pretty good “anchor” and giving a VERY BRIEF instructional talk, they asked if I wanted to be the first to go. After all, I was the only person that brought any personal gear. Checking and rechecking harnesses, carabineers, knots, and other equipment using the buddy system? Not in this group. Safety line in case of emergency or catastrophic failure of the system? Nope…not today……they forgot that at home.

“So you’re asking me if I want t be the first one to TEST THE SYSTEM? Thanks but no thanks”, I said. “I trust you and all, buuuuuuuut NO”.

Fortunately, despite that fact that I would have certainly made a few minor adjustments here and there, everything turned out just fine (i.e. nobody plummeted to a premature death). I ended up going in the middle of the group, and really did enjoy the descent…….beautiful volcanic cliff and even BETTER view than the one from the lodge. Of course, upon reaching the bottom, I was quickly reminded of just WHERE I was by ONE…..the enormous amount of garbage (literal) on the rocks below, and TWO…..the two guys carrying assault rifles and machetes.

“Funny….I don’t remember THEM being in our group”.

“So what are you guys shooting today?”, I asked.

NO response.

“I’m hoping it’s not anything of the human variety….yea?”.

Vague smiles.

For the next hour or so, we waited at the bottom of the cliff for the rest of the group to make the descent. It was quiet and beautiful, and I even saw a bit of wildlife (large white owl that we startled from the cliff wall). We hung out watching the individual descents, all the while dodging rock fall from above (literally the most dangerous part of the day……..have you guys thought about investing in helmets? ) until it came time for the actual HIKE back, a 30 minute scramble up the adjacent hill……..lots of fun.

From there, we enjoyed an excellent lunch prepared by the folks at “the lodge” and ended up rolling out around 5PM. I arrived back in Managua an hour or so later, rested and refreshed for yet another week in my little “paradise by the lake”. As I always do after a mini-vacation from the city, I experienced a nice sense of rejuvenation, as if the soul had just done the old……

“And now that we’ve all found our happy place……inhale through the nose………..OK, hold it……and exhale through the mouth……….aaaaahhhhhhh.”

Also, as is often par for the course around here, the lack of stress accompanying my mini-vacation was relatively short-lived. That same night, one of the dogs from our house found herself on the wrong end of a speeding vehicle. In the end, all was well that ended well. But in the midst of it all, I learned that although I AM still technically a paramedic, I’m NOT much of veterinarian.

……..but that’s another story for another day.

Home Depot, Frogger, And A Change Of Scenery

2009-04-19T17:11:00.008-05:00

So I drove around Colorado Springs, past the big box stores, the malls, the businesses, the roads, the other vehicles on the roads, etc. etc. etc. And I just kept being struck by the absolute ENORMITY of it all. I’ll give you an example. The average hardware store here in Managua is about the size of the rental desk at your local airport. In contrast, as I was driving around Colorado, I continued to notice..........uh….well…..there’s another one…….HOME DEPOT.
And SPEAKING of driving……..

I know I’ve written quite a bit about the culture of third world traffic over the last year, especially after my little run-in (literal) with the transit system last year. But at the risk of being redundant, I have to say that I was ONCE AGAIN struck by the culture of transit, this time from the other side.

As a pedestrian, I’ve found navigating the streets here in Managua to be quite similar to the game FROGGER (think Atari…1983). The pedestrians are EVERYWHERE and cross one lane at a time, pausing regularly to stand on the painted (at least there USED to be paint) lane markers as traffic whizzes by VERY close and often VERY fast. It’s as if these poorly painted lines are capable of offering some type of traffic-shield or oasis of safety, like the “safety zones” from one of those games you would play as a kid. Fortunately, I haven’t witnessed any auto-pedestrian accidents yet. But I always imagine the post-accident conversation as the reporting is officer takes the report.

Driver……I don’t know what she was thinking. She crossed right in front of me!

Pedestrian…..NO! NO! I was on the line! I was in the safety zone! YOUR FAULT….YOUR FAULT!!!

To me, it seems horribly dangerous and unpredictable. On the other hand, if done correctly, it seems to be relatively quick and painless. The streets are all very small, and one can generally be across in no time.

Because I spent most of the vacation at my brother’s house in Colorado Springs, I was able to WALK most of my local errands. Obviously, along with that, I found myself crossing the streets on a daily basis. As I mentioned, in Nicaragua it’s quick and painless. On the contrary, in Colorado each crossing seemed like an eternity. Seriously! After looking both ways like the good pedestrian I am, I would regularly start to cross the street, only to be struck by the fact that after what seemed like a SIGNIFICANT period of time and several city blocks, I WAS STILL CROSSING THE SAME STREET!!!!!!!. It was incredible! I got to the point that I was having to give myself the same little pep talk that I give myself at the base of especially long endeavors of the athletic variety (i.e. mountain climbing).

“Remember Jason……you’ve trained hard…..you’re ready….this is NOT a sprint……this IS a marathon…..ready?......OK let’s cross.”

Driving. Driving in the US is quite unique in its own way, but before I go in that direction, I’ll make one last reference to the culture down south. Remember that Frogger game? OK, now we’re in one of the cars. There are the pedestrians wandering about the lanes, the taxies and buses with their utter lack of predictability, the wooden carts pulled by either people or livestock, the disrepair of the roads and other vehicles making their way along the same path of travel, the lack of actual lanes, the trash, old tires, and debris (often times on fire) sprinkled about the roadway, etc. etc. etc. It’s really not that bad and something that I think I’ve grown relatively accustomed to, but it’s ANYTHING but relaxing. Not unlike the scenario I just described above, I often give myself that little pep talk upon mounting the motorcycle each day. After all, to turn on the motor and enter the race without first putting on the proper “game face”……well…..that’s just asking for trouble.

But as I reunited with my trusty sidekick in the US (1990 Subaru Legacy sedan……280K and still going strong……baby!!!!!) and took to the streets, I found myself confronted with a challenge of a slightly different variety. The streets…..the traffic…..the whole system……so LARGE…..so SMOOTH….so PREDICTABLE….ORGANIZED…….and so…….aaaaahhhhhh…….utterly relaxing.
You see, the problem I found in the US was the exact opposite of the problem I have here in Nicaragua. The problem I had in the US was literally staying AWAKE! I’m not kidding. I would get in the car to drive somewhere, only to find that within 10 or 15 minutes, I was struggling to keep my eyes open! Everything was so tranquil and mellow…..the radio….…..the purr of the 1990 4 cylinder technology……the sun shining through the windows……the ease of it all…..so utterly……utterly…..

…..whoa, sorry about that, I actually just nodded off thinking about it.

……..Utterly relaxing. It was like getting some kind of transit massage. I kept thinking that I was like one of those infants that get placed in the minivan by their parents and driven around the block until reaching a point of slumber. Struggling with insomnia? I had certainly found the cure. And I know….I know….there are a myriad of dangers associated with being lulled into a sense of complacency amidst making one’s way from point A to point B. But the difference between my two respective cultures was comically astounding…….such worlds apart.

But alas, as both pedestrian AND driver in my great homeland, I survived my six week vacation and lived to Blog another day from………well, THAT brings me to my next story. The initial plan was to head south for ONE year. I took the leave of absence from the fire dept, made a few changes (sold a house, began my personal “liquidation of assets”, etc. etc. etc.), and pledged to spend the next 12 months working a few things out of my proverbial system. Not terribly surprising though, as the 12 months unfolded, I found myself unable to shake the increasing desire to stick around a bit longer. How much longer? That’s yet to be determined. All I can say is that at this point, I’ve labeled myself as “here indefinitely”.

Soooo……to prepare for the “indefinite” life change, I spent the six weeks in Colorado taking care of all the associated logistics. There was the official resignation from LFR, the completion of the liquidation (with my 2 new best friends……Craigslist and Salvation Army), the many trips and phone calls to the various banks, insurance companies, tax man, etc. etc. etc. But it wasn’t ALL business. I had a great time staying with family (maybe a little TOO good….tough to leave), caught up with some friends, and even survived a few Colorado hikes despite my 12 month hiatus from any form of physical exercise. Oh, and besides that, I became a temporary jewelry salesman to benefit the project here in Nicaragua (not bad for my first time out…..if I do say so myself).

And that was that…….six weeks in the land of plenty before heading south once again. I won’t lie…..last year was challenging in many ways, and I was certainly in need of some rest by mid December. But after my little Christmas break, I returned rested and refreshed (both mentally and physically), ready to pick up where I left off.

Before leaving the US, I was at the point of experiencing only the occasional moment of shock from a cultural perspective. When I landed on the other side though, I realized that I was in for yet another adjustment. I had been away just long enough to return to things looking different, smelling different, and seeming different than they had just six weeks prior. At the same time though, there was a pleasant familiarity about it all. I was welcomed back warmly by my “community” down here, I still had a bed to sleep in (albeit a filthy one due to the continual influx of dust from the street outside), and the motorcycle started…….eventually. Yep, it felt good to be back. I mean sure the Spanish was a bit rusty, but the passing busses didn’t even seem as loud as last year (yes I know……potential hearing loss on my part….but I’m choosing to focus on the positive).

Around work, there has been a flurry of activity as the school year has started up again. NicaHOPE has added a variety of new projects, and my personal level of responsibility basically doubled overnight with the addition of a second feeding program. Things are busy but good. Outside of work, I’ve been meeting lots of new folks, getting to know the country more (i.e. traveling), and pledging on a weekly basis to paint and decorate the room (it may actually happen eventually). AND…..I am happy to report that contrary to last year, I have remained physically healthy since my return in 09. Ahhhhh…….life is good.

So we’ll see where things go. As I mentioned above, the plan is to stick around for a while, at the moment quite unsure as to where or to what that may eventually lead. In the meantime I’m simply attempting to focus on the here and now…….the present. After all, that’s all we really have……right?

The Great Homecoming

2009-03-08T16:45:00.012-05:00

By the time mid December had rolled around, the school year had reached its annual finale with a VERY inspirational 6th grade graduation. In addition to that, our projects had mostly run their courses, and the flood refugees, as much as I cared for and enjoyed them, had brought me to a new level of “end of the year burnout”. I was at a point of having fulfilled many of the original intentions for the “year abroad”, a year that had brought a few highs, a disproportionate number of lows, and many more challenges than had been anticipated. The holiday season was upon us, so after celebrating my first “Purisima” here in Nicaragua several days prior (think a mix of Halloween, Christmas, and 4th of July……..all from a CATHOLIC point of view ), I found myself getting up in the wee hours of the morning and driving east in the direction of the airport. It was time to decompress…..relax….recover a bit……process the year. Exactly 11 months to the day after flying south from Colorado, the time had come for the migration in the northern direction. The time had come, that is, for a vacation.

For several weeks leading up to my flight, I had been thinking about my re-entry into the” first world”. I had been away for almost one year and had grown quite accustomed to Managuan life. But even beyond that, I had grown accustomed to the “lower end” of Nicaraguan life and culture, to the point that I had recently experienced a bit of “culture shock” upon going to the one nice mall in town. And in anticipating the probability of a similar experience on a much larger scale, I was nervously asking myself “What’s it going to be like back in the US?????”

The first answers began to emerge as soon as my flight touched down in Houston. I entered the airport, an airport that suddenly seemed so……absolutely enormous……clean……sterile……luxurious. I entered into the immigration area.

“wow…….so many CLEARLY MARKED lines……so ORDERLY……so…….”

“Sweet Maria! I’ve never seen so many flat screens in one place! And what’s that video they’re playing? It’s just so……so…..inspirational! But what is it for? Is it a commercial? Music video? Travel show? The music…..the scenery…..the cinematography……so professionally produced……the….yes, the PEOPLE……so incredibly attractive and happy! I don’t know where that is, but I WANT TO GO! I want to go NOW! I want to……….hang on a second. I think I’m already THERE! Because THERE is…..well…..it’s……HERE! Yes, it IS a commercial of sorts. But it’s a commercial for AMERICA. Sure enough, that’s exactly what it is…..a commercial for America, right here in the middle of the immigration line. I’m literally watching a promotional video for my country as I’m standing in a line, waiting to be allowed INTO the SAME country. But that seems, well, odd. Are they trying to inspire us to stay IN the line? As if there would be people who get this far but still find themselves on the proverbial fence? Like…….

…..uh oh…I’m three….two….one person away from showing my passport. Uhhhh….should I…..no….wait…..uh! I don’t know what I’m going to do! I THOUGHT I wanted to go in, but now I’m not sure if I can commit! No! I can’t! What was I thinking??!!!! I have to get out of this line…this airport….this country!!! NOW! I have to leave right…….oh….but….oh wow…..that scenery….music…..beauty……if THAT’S the US, I want to be a part of that! I absolutely LOVE IT!!! I WANT IT! CRAVE IT! I WILL stay in this line! I WILL enter this country! Thank you flat screen TV’s! Thank you USA marketing team! Thank You HOUSTON AIPORT! May God bless you….and may God bless the United States of America!!!!!

……..NEXT!.......passport please.

Or maybe they want us to feel good…..or perhaps better…..about the decision we had already made at that point. Like…….

I don’t know what I was thinking. This first world stuff is BUNK! USA…..as in Utterly Stupid Attempt…..at being a country. Uh…I REALLY hate it here. Why did I come back? BAD decision. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! But…wait…..(enter video once again resulting in similar scenario as reported above).

I don’t know, I suppose it really was a great video. And YES….I MAY have even teared up a bit (if you tell anyone, I’ll TOTALLY deny that) in that line, passport in hand. But it did strike me as a bit odd….and INCREDIBLY EXPENSIVE to produce and exhibit on all of those flat screen TVs.
But with such questions still lingering, I showed my passport, denied any involvement in criminal activity abroad (um….mam, could you be more specific about how you define “criminal activity”?), and passed through the gates into the designated “free” (as in liberty….not dollars) part of the country.

Next stop? Baggage claim in order to retrieve my bags and then re-check them domestically. Initial impressions of THIS area? Again……so large….clean…..and……

”I wonder how much those decorative suitcases that light up on top of EVERY carousel cost this airport (i.e. taxpayers)?”

After dealing with the bags, it was on to the gate. While en route, I noticed yet another circle of TVs in the ceiling, this time displaying various artistic designs in unison. In fact, I was so struck by them, I had to stop and count them. 82. “Unbelievable”, I thought, “this really IS the land of plenty”.

Moving on to the gate. I think besides the……CART!!!......besides the sheer “abundance” . That is, besides being struck by the……..MOVE TO THE RIGHT!......uh…sorry……the overt excess of it all, I noticed…….BEEP BEEP!!!......CART COMING THROUGH!!!.......

FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Apart from me, does anyone WALK to their gate anymore????? This is like a super highway!!!!!!!!

OK…sorry about that. Where was I? Oh yes. Another thing that stuck me immediately upon arriving to Houston was the ability to understand EVERYTHING around me. And this one really was nice. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve come a long way in the last year with respect to the language. I work and function exclusively in Spanish on a daily basis and have immersed into the culture with relative success. But there is still SO MUCH that I miss both culturally and linguistically as I go about my average day. As I am reminded often, the old saying can certainly be true. The devil IS often in the details, and I can easily find myself in a bit of a jam as a result. But here in THIS country, I could understand EVERYTHING!!! All these people around me? Understood. That lady complaining about her boyfriend on her cell phone? Crystal clear. Ahhhh…..so nice. I mean……excuse me for a moment……

“what….he did WHAT? Oh no he di-int! Yes honey….you SHOULD call it off with that loser…..the sooner the better! He doesn’t deserve you! You’re better than that! You got to be tru to YO-SELF!.”

Again….I apologize for the interruption. It’s a bit difficult to describe this one, but I think it falls under the category of “depth of understanding”, an intangible yet vital aspect of finding one’s way in a given culture. In my new life, it’s an ever-present challenge, and I often times tend to run a bit shallow. Here in the USA, I’m happy to report that I am one deep muchacho.
“aaaahhhh……it’s good to be home”.

Well, after my first visit to Starbucks in a year (HOW MUCH for the muffin????), several hours of people-watching (everyone is so LARGE…..and…..PALE), and the final leg of the journey (pleasantly uneventful), I was back home in Colorado with just enough time to catch the sunset over the Rockies. Beautiful. Home Sweet Home.

Here in Nicaragua, in an attempt to elevate and fortify my seemingly pathetic and puny immune system (definitely on the list of “challenges” from last year), I take a LOT of Vitamin C. The actual TAKING of various dietary supplements is no problem. OBTAINING them, on the other hand, even something as simple as Vitamin C can be, like many other things around here, easier said than done. If I’m lucky and time it just right, there will be one or two bottles of the ONE type of Vitamin C at the ONE store where I can find it on a regular basis. If not…..well, maybe next time. Bearing this in mind, you can imagine my shock as I stood, mouth open, in front of the literal WALL of Vitamin C. It was Day 2 of “re-entry 08”, and I had just walked into the local Whole Foods store.

“I don’t know what to say…..what to think…..or where to even begin. I just need a small bottle of C…….mam? Excuse me…….mam? Um, I think I’m going need a bit of assistance over here in the C aisle!”

Whole Foods.....definitely one of my favorite stores in the traditional sense. I mean I really enjoy food…..APPRECIATE it……..QUALITY food, that is……the flavors…..cultures…….idea of what it can represent between friends and family. I’m not sure if I’d be considered a true “foodie” (nope, don’t watch the food network), but I HAVE been known to have a truly great day simply as a result of enjoying the perfect mango in the AM. And coffee? I won’t even get started.

I was EXCITED to come to Whole Foods, and it had only been a year since my last visit. But as I passed through the aisles…..the produce section…..bulk foods…….seafood…….prepared foods…..bakery…….Asian……Italian…….well, you get the idea……I have to admit that it was a bit overwhelming. I think the best way I can explain it is that it felt as though EVERY nation on Earth had taken a collection of the absolute BEST foods that their perspective cultures had to offer and sent them to this ONE Whole Foods in a remote corner of Colorado Springs ON THE SAME DAY! As if there was some type of annual food festival for the entire WORLD, and I had just happened to be at the right place at the right time.

“Good Afternoon Whole Food Shoppers! TODAY ONLY…….we’re featuring the best of……EVERYTHING!!!!!! Enjoy your shopping.”

Yea, definitely a bit overwhelming. In fact, I wasn’t even able to finish my much anticipated “tour de samples” due to complete sensory overload. The second half of the store would have to wait for another day. I had had enough for day 2, and reverse culture shock was in full effect………..

A Little Bit Of This......A Little Bit Of That PART II

2008-11-02T17:36:00.008-06:00

As I mentioned in PART I, this Blog series is meant to offer a bit of insight into my Nica life. Below are three short stories involving my work, the struggles of the locals, and another average day. Enjoy the insight.

IF YOU CAN’T TAKE THE HEAT, GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN

As I’ve mentioned before, I spend most of my volunteer time with the “feeding program” through NicaHOPE. I’ve also mentioned some of the changes I’ve initiated around there with respect to such things as sanitation, etc. I’m happy to report that the level of sanitation has gone up DRAMATICALLY in our little school cafeteria! I haven’t seen a rat in weeks, the cockroaches have stopped congregating in their usual gathering places, and the flies, fungi, and germs have apparently moved on in search or more fertile lands. AND, with the success of the sanitation came requests to improve the program in other areas. Requests from whom, you ask? The MAN…..the SUITS….the BOYS UPSTAIRS……the TOP BRASS. We’re improving the QUALITY of the ingredients, we’re improving the QUANTITY of the portions, and we’re working to organize the volunteers to ensure good and consistent help. The results? Well, the program is without a doubt on an upward trajectory toward excellence. It’s just that it hasn’t exactly come without a price. Remember my friend Hazel who technically “coordinates” or “runs” the program from “inside” the kitchen? Well, Hazel has been a bit “less than supportive” of the improvements, and I have suddenly found myself taking a more “active” role in the daily operation of the program. More accurately put, I’m finding myself running the program from a position located somewhere between the encouragement of the folks upstairs and the discouragement of the boss in the kitchen. Since I’m technically a mere volunteer who carries (nor wants) no real authority, things have gotten a bit………sticky.

I WISH I could describe the conflict between Hazel and I as something from one of the local Spanish “novellas”.

“What???? Are you completely INSANE? That’s the STUPIDEST things I’ve EVER heard!!!!!!”

“Oh yea?? Well YOU’RE STUPID! In fact, I find you utterly REPULSIVE! DETESTABLE!”

“That goes DOUBLE for me!!!”

………..without warning, they are suddenly locked in a passionate embrace. Dishes are flying in all directions. The beans on the stove are burning intensely, not unlike the passion within their hearts.

“I hate you SO MUCH!”

“I know! Me too! I hate you with every fiber of my being……I hate you with all the blackness in the soul of humanity……I hate you so much, you’re absolutely………absolutely……..IRRESISTABLE!!!”

“Yes…….IRRISISTABLE!!!!!!”

Cue lights…..cue wind machine……XXXXXXXXXXXOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Yes, I’d love to report a story like that. Unfortunately, not unlike the novellas, it would be complete and utter fiction. The GOOD news though, is that in the midst of a bit of job related friction, I’ve been increasing my proficiency in two KEY areas…….conflict resolution in the workplace…….and……..arguing in a foreign language.

Camp Acahualinca

UNLIKE Colorado, where there are four beautiful and distinct seasons, this part of the world enjoys only two……WET and DRY. Currently, we are in the WET. To be more accurate, over the last week or so, we seem to be in SUPER WET. What happens when ALL of the water from the surrounding area drains into Lake Managua? The lake rises, of course. What happens when you happen to live in the low lying area AROUND the lake? Exactly…..it’s time to relocate.
I know what you are thinking. You’re thinking something along the lines of:

“What’s wrong with these people? It’s just like parts of the US! People build their houses on flood plains, and then act surprised when it floods! What a bunch of morons!!!!”

Unfortunately, it’s not QUITE that simple. In Managua, unlike many parts of the US, the property located around the shores of the lake is not exactly the most desired. The lake is horribly contaminated, filthy, and by definition the lowest point in the area. You’ve heard the expression. It’s true. It literally DOES flow downhill. So who inhabits the LEAST desirable land in the area? Of course…..the POOREST people in the area.

When the rain didn’t stop, the water rose. When the water rose, the people were forced to evacuate. When the people evacuated, my “place of business”, Acahualinca Elementary, experienced a sudden transformation from a school into a place of refuge (think a cross between a homeless shelter and a refugee camp). Over the last couple of weeks, we have had as many as 350 people and as few as 30. Right now, as I write this, we are somewhere in the middle. Camp Acahualinca is certainly “no frills”. There are no “uncomfortable beds” or army-green cots. There are no food and water stations or portable showers. There CERTAINLY aren’t volunteers in brightly colored t-shirts walking around, serving in various capacities. What there IS however is whatever you happen to have brought with you and a space on a concrete floor. Didn’t happen to bring a pillow, blanket, basic essentials, etc.? Sorry. You’re out of luck. Here’s your piece of concrete. At least it’s not raining in here.

The government brought rice, beans, and a bit of milk. As for getting them cooked, the people were on their own. Tthis is where I come in. The good news for the flood victims around Acahualinca is that although the school doesn’t have showers, it DOES have a cafeteria. Over the last week, I’ve taken off my “lunch lady” hairnet and put on my “disaster relief” cap (hey, I suppose there IS one volunteer in a brightly colored t-shirt…….minus the brightly colored t-shirt). The overall operation has been organized primarily through a handful of “community organizers” (no, that’s NOT a reference to Obama). I simply help out on the food and water side of things, ensuring that they always have WHAT they need, WHEN they need it. I’ve enjoyed my new role. It’s sort of like entertaining guests.

Tomorrow, for the first time in a week, there are supposed to be SOME children returning to the school. Although the rains have subsided dramatically, the lake has continued to rise. There are reports of alligators eating dogs, a new infestation of snakes and mosquitoes, and more rain on the way. I actually took a tour of the affected area today, and all I can say for now is that (to borrow a phrase from a friend) I feel as though I was just PUNCHED IN THE MIND. As I write this, the thunder in the distance has rapidly grown closer, bringing with it the familiar sound of rain on the metal roof above. As for how long I’ll be wearing this particular hat, I suppose it’s anyone’s guess.

Another Day In The Life

The day started around 6:30 with the sounding of the cell phone alarm clock, and after going a couple rounds with the “snooze alarm”, I was up making coffee while listening to the bustling sounds of the street outside my room. As I’ve mentioned before, the #7 and the #54 (bus routes) start REALLY early, and that’s to say NOTHING of the roaving street venders, taxis, and pedestrians all rushing about in an effort to arrive to their respective destinations on time.
NEVER in my adult life have I had a regular or daily schedule. To be quite honest, even though I’ve worked full-time for years, I’ve never had what would be classified as a “regular” job (some would say I’ve never had a REAL job). Ironically, as I’ve left the work force and assigned myself to official volunteer status, I’ve suddenly found myself living the life of the daily grind. It has certainly taken some getting used to, but really hasn’t been all that bad. There are some real advantages to a regular schedule, and I prefer to focus in THAT direction.

The first hour and a half were spent drinking high quality coffee (one of the luxuries I allow myself), eating a “pico” (sort of a cross between a donut and a croissant), reading, writing, and contemplating the world. I call it “easing into the day”, and it’s a time I’ve grown to appreciate greatly.

After being properly adjusted (and subsequently regulated, thanks to the coffee……yet another advantage of keeping a regular schedule), I was off for the school. Lunch-lady duty generally lasts most of the day. If I’m lucky, and if there is a sufficient number of volunteers that day, I can be out by three. After a short meeting over at “the office”, it was time to head for home.
The water is turned off daily from 5-11. The goal is to always be in and out of the shower by 5 (side note…..like most folks in the country, there is no such thing as a HOT shower in my current world). If I catch it as it’s in the process of shutting down (the city generally lowers the pressure gradually over the course of 30 minutes or so), there is water to the sink AFTER there is NO WATER to the shower. With a bit of creativity, I can still get in a pretty decent rinse. If I miss it altogether, it’s a late night bathing session. For the most part, I have no problem with the water schedule. When the city randomly changes the schedule however (relatively common), I curse them with great fervor.

Fortunately, I made it that day. After a quick shower and a ridiculously large slice of papaya (my new favorite fruit), it was time to reach out and touch the world. I’ve mentioned the word “adjustment” a couple times already, and the internet is another area of such an adjustment. I really couldn’t care less about having a TV in the house. Conversely, I’m not sure I would function particularly well without the internet. To have excruciatingly slow speed is one thing (welcome to the world wide web from Nicaragua). To NOT have “home internet” is another. Both have taken some getting used to. Fortunately though, there are several “Cybers” in the neighborhood, all within walking distance (yes, I’m still carrying the laptop through the neighborhood, contrary to the persistent warnings of the neighbors). The average internet session is one hour and runs about fifty cents. That day was no exception. I checked my emails, got a quick fix with my new addiction called Facebook, and greeted “the regulars” staring randomly into the various magic boxes.

After catching up on the latest political gossip and being properly connected with the world, I made a quick trip to the video store (got to avoid those late fees) and then stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few key ingredients for that night’s dinner. The cooking was minimal, but the dinner turned out quite well. And, since the youngest little sister (16) needed help with her English homework, there wasn’t much time to digest. The next hour or two were spent tutoring in the area of elementary English. Hopefully she learned a thing or two. I know I did. We finished the assignment nonetheless.

Dishes……more visiting with the family and neighbors…….it was now time to wind things down and debrief the day with the older little sister (18). We sat on the stoop in front of the house and enjoyed a brief recess from the rain. A bit of listening about recent boy troubles…….an encouraging word here and there……maybe some counsel when solicited. Basically, it was just hanging out and enjoying the cool of the evening.

Since it was getting late, it was time to call it a day. On the average night, the street is officially deserted by 9 or 9:30. I think this is mostly out of fear or concern for safety. Regardless, it’s probably best to go with the flow on that one. AND, since I was engrossed in my latest literary undertaking (reading a really good book, that is), I was looking forward to knocking off a few chapters before officially waving the white flag of surrender.

I finished the day in the same manner it began…….relaxing…… reading….thinking…..looking for a good story or a bit of inspiration……..easing into the night. And that was pretty much it. Of course, I left out PLENTY of details amidst the daily grind. Weaving their way through the general outline of the day are no shortage of humorous anecdotes, cultural mishaps, challenges of all types, confrontations with the world of poverty or the process of finding my way in a foreign land, and various fires to put out in any number of areas (the figurative kind these days). It was a good day, an average day. It’s certainly wasn’t a glamorous or particularly riveting 24 hours. But as the title implies, this one was just “another day in the life”.

A Little Bit Of This, A Little Bit Of That.....Part I

2008-10-25T17:54:00.011-05:00

I haven’t written in the Blog for a while. Not because I don’t want to. It’s just that there never seems to be enough TIME. TIME????, you say? How can there not be enough TIME????? You’re a volunteer in Latin America who doesn’t even have a real JOB! Well, that’s technically true. What is also true though is that……..well, more on that later. The point I’m trying to make is that I’m taking this opportunity to simply catch up on a bit of writing I’ve neglected over the last month or so. As the title implies, it’s a little bit of this and a little bit of that, stories stemming from everyday events that should offer a bit of insight into my current Nica life. For the sanity of all of us, I’ll break it up into a couple of parts. And since I left off in my last entry with a story of crime and punishment, I’ll continue with that same theme in this, the FIRST of another two part series.

A REPEAT VISIT, PERHAPS????

In my last Blog entry, I wrote about a late night visitor I had to my little oasis in Barrio Atlagracia. Well, although I thought my sealing of the window would be the end of THAT, my late night friend decided to return the other night……or maybe a friend……or a colleague……or LEAST someone in a similar line of work. The story goes like this:

It’s Saturday night, about 6:30 PM. The mom, two little sisters, and boyfriend of the younger are eating dinner at the kitchen table. The “dad” from the house is at work. Me? I had just left for a movie. The front door is open. The front gate is closed. The boyfriend is startled by a noise and gets up from the table. It is suddenly realized that a “ladron” (robber) has taken the liberty of letting himself in and is leisurely making his way through the house. The boyfriend grabs and detains him, as the girls call the police. The ladron doesn’t resist in any way, and claims that he was simply looking for something to eat. Since the police don’t show up for an hour and a half, there is obviously a long wait. The ladron sits in the corner quietly, awaiting his escort to the local police station. More family members are called…….more arrive. As more family members arrive, more and more neighbors arrive. Before long , there is a bit of a mob scene. When one of the uncles shows up along with the dad, things take a downward turn for our friend, the ladron. Fortunately, the “golf club” is unable to be located. Unfortunately, a “metal pole” fills in quite nicely. According to reports, things get pretty ugly at this point. As the angry mob screams “dale dale” (literal translation…..give it to him), the little sisters scream hysterically to stop, and the “victim” cries for mercy while trying to shield his body and cower in the corner, the dad and the uncle use fists, feet, and the metal pole to give our new friend the “Rodney King-style” beating of his life. Yep, it’s often a completely different world down here. The movie was the absolute WORST I’d seen in a long time. I’m glad I went.

SOMETIMES YOU JUST HAVE TO PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN

With any developing nation, the area of “law enforcement” takes on a particularly different meaning than its equivalent in the US. “Los Policias” here in Nicaragua are NO exception to the rule. As for the “traffic police”, the general procedure is to stake out a corner somewhere on a random street, stand out in the street, and simply wave people in to their little makeshift detention area. If they are really advanced, they may have a cone or a reflective vest. If they’re SUPER advanced, they may have a vehicle (i.e. a way to get there and home……..or perhaps “pursue” someone who chooses not to stop). Usually, they have to thumb a ride. What do they do exactly? Well, usually they just check your registration, insurance, and license and send you on your way. I say “usually”, but not always. I’ve been pulled over a number of times. Many times they have checked the documents and sent me on my way. Others though, I’ve had to pay them bribes ranging from 5-15 dollars to avoid having to spend the following day getting my license back. Regardless, I’m ALWAYS very courteous and compliant. ALWAYS, that is, until the other night.
It was dark and raining, and I wasn’t particularly enjoying being out on the motorcycle that evening. We had received an incredible amount of rain over the last several days, and there had been much flooding in the city. I was driving very slowly and cautiously, simply trying to get home and relax. After making a right hand turn (with turn signals, etc.), I arrived at the red light less than a block from the corner. An officer walked out from the sidewalk, looked me over a bit, and waved me over to the curb.

TC (Traffic Cop)…..Documents please.

J(that’s me)…..Sure officer. Here you go.

He walks away and reviews the documents. Upon returning, he asks me to turn off the motor and follow him.

TC…..Are you aware that you committed an infraction back there when you made that turn? You made a right hand turn but upon completion of the turn, entered the left lane.

J…..OK. Sure, I can understand that. But the right lane is not a particularly viable option tonight. There is a LARGE amount of flood debris in that lane at the moment. AND, in addition to the flood debris, there is an ENOURMOUS hole (think somewhere between a pothole and a sinkhole…….easily large enough to swallow the moto). The lane is completely obstructed……..like I said, not a good option.

TC…..Yes, I understand that, but that doesn’t matter. You still broke the law.

As I said before, usually I’m very cordial and compliant. That night however, I had apparently had enough.

J…..Are you kidding me? REALLY? SERIOUSLY????? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve EVER heard! I’m lucky I didn’t CRASH with all of the debris in the road! And YOU! What are you even doing out here in the rain? NOTHING! All you’re doing is standing out in the street ripping people off and trying to take advantage of them!!!!! It’s totally wrong! YOU know it, and everyone out here knows it!

TC…..Are you saying we’re corrupt. We’re NOT corrupt (that’s one of their big slogans)!

Jason remains silent and gives him the look of “hey, if the shoe fits, buddy”.

TC…..You better be careful. You better respect the authority of……blah blah blah blah.

J…..Whatever! You do what you have to do. The whole thing is completely ludicrous, and YOU KNOW IT!!!!!!

The next thing I knew, after being given another warning about respecting the authority of the police and having my documents returned cordially, I was on my way……..no ticket…..no nothing.

“Have a nice evening”, he said. “Drive carefully.”

I suppose he picked up on the subtle clues pointing to the fact that regardless of the outcome, I had NO intention of paying ANYONE ANYTHING that night. Maybe it’s not such a bad strategy after all.

RUNNING FROM THE LAW

AND…..since we’re STILLL on the subject of criminal activity and law enforcement, I’ll conclude this section with one final story. As many of you know, I am technically a “tourist” here in Nicaragua. In other words, I have what is known as a “tourist visa” that is good for 90 days. What happens after the 90 days are up? Well, it’s certainly a renewable tourist visa. I just have to leave the country and stay “gone” for 72 hours. Upon crossing back into the country, I receive a stamp that is good for another 90 days. Recently, I took a trip to Costa Rica to see a couple of friends in San Jose. We had a nice time, and I got my new 90 day pass upon crossing back over. BUT, while talking to a different friend the other night, it dawned on me that my “recent trip” to Costa Rica may have been a bit “less recent” than I thought. Upon checking the stamp in my passport, my suspicion was confirmed. Just HOW recent was that trip? Uh….about 100 days ago recent. Uh oh.
I had visions of the Nica version of the INS showing up at the door (hey, do we still have that metal pole around?)

Are you Jason Jones?????

Yes.

Come with us.

Uuummm…….Do you guys work within the same bribe system as the traffic police?

I had visions of being driven to the airport in shackles and thrown into an unmarked cargo plane. My passport would no doubt be revoked. I would be branded an international criminal and barred from ever returning to this part of the world. If I chose to return, I would have to do a reverse border run from Texas or California.

HEY!!!! YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WWWWAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!!, they would shout.

NO AMIGO! I’m trying to get INTO Mexico!!!!!

The next day, I found out that I would need to go down to the local immigration office to get things sorted out. As a precaution, I had a Nica friend call ahead and find out what was going to happen. In other words, if I walked INTO the office under free will, would I ever be able to walk OUT? The information sounded a bit too promising………it could be a trap.
Well, I’ll say it again………things down here in a developing country are often done a bit differently than the way some of us are accustomed to. I walked into the office, paid three dollars in fines, bought another three months for $15 more (MUCH cheaper than taking a Costa Rican vacation), and walked out a free man. The worst part was having to go to 74 different windows to receive erroneous information at each and every one. Of course, I expected that, so it was really no problem. So once again, all was well that ended well. And as Sting said back in the 80’s, “I’m an ALIEN…..I’m a LEGAL ALIEN”. It’s nice to be back.

A Life Of Crime Part II.......Things That Go Bump In The Night

2008-09-21T19:08:00.007-05:00

As I’ve mentioned before, I rent a room in a neighborhood called Altagracia. It’s a simple room with two doors (one that opens to the inside of the house…….one to the street), a bathroom (no door there.....good thing I live alone), and a small window. The window is approximately 12” X 24”, is located just below the ceiling, and is covered only with bars on the outside (better at keeping out PEOPLE than mosquitoes, bright lights, or the ungodly decibels of the #54 bus). Directly below the window is the V-shaped mattress on which I sleep. Between the bed and the window is a small ledge. Because I have no closet or place to hang clothing in my rented paradise, this ledge below the window works quite nicely. As a result, when in their rightful place, the clothes dangle a mere 12-14” above my snoring profile.

Because I was planning a small excursion to Granada the following day with some folks from the neighborhood, I called it a night at the early hour of 10PM. After all, I wanted to make sure I received ample beauty sleep, something I can certainly use more of. The first hour of sleep was a bit light, interrupted on several occasions by housemates returning home from a night on the town. By 12AM however, I was sleeping like a baby, dreaming no doubt of Spanish beauties and eternal beach fiestas. But it was also around the 12 o’ clock hour that things took an unexpected turn.

The first thing to come was an unusual sound. It wasn’t a particularly LOUD sound, just unfamiliar. To be quite honest, I’m not exactly sure WHAT my subconscious mind registered as the source of such a strange noise. But the second event came in the form of something much greater than a sound. The second event was an object. To be entirely accurate, I should add that it wasn’t simply AN object but SEVERAL objects. And these objects were not just ANY random objects in the space-time continuum. They were objects falling ON ME!!!!

It was at this point, the point at which random objects were suddenly raining down upon me as I slept, that my subconscious uttered the initial wakeup call. I mean the subconscious mind can only do so much on its own. It had already begun to process the events. It now needed the rest of the brain to figure out what exactly was taking place. So far, the sub had processed that objects were raining down upon us. It had also processed the fact that this made absolutely no sense, being as though we were sleeping peacefully, alone in a room behind locked doors. Beyond that though, it had processed that exactly TWO such objects had fallen upon us in the still of the evening. But as strange as that seemed, it was the third and final piece of information that seemed perhaps strangest of all. One of the objects was particularly furry. FURRY????? Yes, VERY furry. And with that, the subconscious sounded the emergency alarm and declared a level of “code ORANGE”. WAKE UUUUUUUPPPPPPP!!!!!!

The next thing I knew, I was flailing about in my bed, trying to free myself from these uninvited guests as quickly as possible. What could they be? How many were there? I thought of the cat that walked above me in the ceiling on a nightly basis. Had the feline enjoyed a particularly large dinner and FINALLY fallen through the ceiling tiles? No, I wasn’t sure HOW I knew it, by I somehow knew that whatever IT or THEY were, the entrance had NOT been the ceiling. The entrance had been the window above me. Perhaps it was the injured bat that had been in front of my room just a few hours prior. Could it have made its way through my window in search of fresh gringo blood? No, that didn’t make sense either. After the encounter with that vehicle, the bat couldn’t even fly. And whatever this was, it was SIGNIFICANTLY LARGER AND FURRIER than a bat.

And so it was at this point, still in that foggy state between sleep and reality, that the subconscious sounded the alarm for “code RED”. We were now well beyond the point of needing to wake up. It was now time to PANIC!!!!!!!!!!

Panic. Now THAT is a word with which NO ONE really wants to be associated. I am certainly no exception. I mean I’ve been working in emergency services for the last 10 years, and I generally pride myself on taking an “OK, let’s look at this for what it is…..let’s not overreact and make matters worse……everything will be just fine” approach to life and crisis. I typically enjoy a natural personality that lends itself AWAY from such things as panic or hysteria. And if I’m honest, I would have to say that I can be a bit critical of those who choose a different, more dramatic path. On that night however, I wasn’t given a choice. The internal alarm had sounded. We were now in “code RED”. It was now time to panic, and that was exactly what I did.

I continued flailing about in my bed, trying desperately to free myself from the fury of this creature (or creatures). And although I still remained primarily in the world of the subconscious (never have been one to wake up particularly easy), I realized that things didn’t seem to be improving. I realized that the more I struggled, the more I flailed about, the more intertwined I became with the beast. My current actions of mere struggling did not seem to be effective. It was now time to invoke the second half of the panic strategy. It was now time for the historically tried and true method of……screaming like a little girl.

I think it was the screaming that actually did the trick. That is, I think it was the screaming that carried me through on the final leg of the race to the world of the conscious. Because as I officially woke up, freed myself from the no-doubt rabid beast, and jumped out of bed with a gold medal performance, I realized that the screaming was indeed coming from me.

Several moments later, the screaming had thankfully stopped. I stood motionless, breathing heavily in the darkness next to my bed. I took an inventory of myself. There didn’t SEEM to be any teeth or claw marks on my body. Was it possible that I had miraculously escaped this attempted mauling, unscathed? I waited, primarily for movement. Where had the beast gone? Was it still in the bed? Was it hiding in the shadows? Was it crouched in a concealed location, UNDER the bed perhaps, planning the second attack? I continued to wake up. As I visually inspected the darkness in complete stillness, the theories continued to build in my head. I assessed the facts known to that point. I KNEW that at least one animal, most likely two, had fallen upon me. This much was clear. I also somehow knew that it or they had entered through the window above me. And as I looked to the window, I noticed that there was indeed something unusual about my small portal to the outside world. There was still something in the window. To be more exact, there was something halfway IN the window and halfway OUT of the window.

It was in THAT moment that I realized exactly what had happened. It absolutely made perfect sense. I was SURE. I had been the unfortunate recipient of a cruel prank. Someone had trapped some type of animal, put it in a pillow case, and injected it into my room through the available opening of the window. There in the darkness of the night, it was clear as day. I still hadn’t located the animal, but there was the pillow case, halfway IN and halfway OUT of the window. I was officially awake. The mind was firing on all cylinders. I had solved the mystery.
But despite the facts that backed my air-tight case, two lingering questions remained to be answered. First of all, although I had stood in the darkness next to my bed for a good five minutes now, I STILL hadn’t found whatever furry creature had been dropped into my sanctuary of peace. AND besides that, it didn’t make much sense that the pillow case, still in the window, seemed to be made out of the exact same material of a shirt I happen to own. Was it possible that there was more to this story than I had figured out?

It’s funny what the mind does, especially in a state of SUB or UN consciousness. So as I stood there next to my bed, finally realizing what had ACTUALLY taken place several moments prior in the REAL world, I had to laugh a bit, not only at the situation, but at myself. Sure enough, that “pillow case” in the window WAS INDEED my shirt. And as I turned on the light and offered a closer inspection, I realized that in addition to this one shirt, most ALL of my hanging shirts, pants, and jackets seemed to be in the process of making a hasty exit. In fact, the only hanging items that WEREN’T on a journey to the outside world, were lying motionless on my now vacant mattress. There they were, one pair of jeans……..and that furry, no-doubt rabid beast known as…….my black Patagonia fleece jacket.

The neighbors had warned me about the window in the past. I had just chosen to ignore their advice, claiming that the window was high enough to pose NO viable security risk. Without climbing the bars, one couldn’t even see that there were clothes immediately to the interior. That night however, someone HAD climbed the bars and subsequently reached through the window in an attempt to steal whatever happened to be in reach (i.e. my clothes). Unfortunately for him (or her….let’s be fair), in the haste of this well planned heist, several of the garments had fallen upon me from the ledge above. It was most likely my screams of terror that brought an interruption to the crime. As for what had brought an interruption to that beach fiesta? I’m going to have to go with the jeans. After all, they’ve got some real weight to them. But the real problem wasn’t the weight of the jeans. The REAL problem, as it turned out, was that black fleece jacket. It’s just so soft and “furry”. The more I struggled, the more “the beast” and I became mutually intertwined. It was truly a hopeless situation.

I spent the next hour or so hammering boards over my “once a window to the outside world”, as if preparing for a future life on the Gulf Coast. What I ultimately lost in fresh air and outdoor access has more than been made up for in sleep-conducive darkness and silence, not to mention the additional security for my classic collection of hanging garments. Once again, as was the case of the Panamanian bus, all was well that ended. The would-be thief returned home empty handed, and the only thing I lost that night was a bit of valuable sleep. And sure, I’m a little embarrassed over the events that transpired on that fateful Saturday night. But you have to laugh at yourself from time to time. I mean without that, you might just look a little ridiculous…….flailing about in the night.

A Life Of Crime Part I.....Panamanian Bus

2008-09-15T21:51:00.004-05:00

Most of the local buses in Latin America are retired school buses from the US. Because American children between the ages of 5 and 18 don’t tend to carry large suitcases or enormous sacks of rice, grains, or beans to school, the buses are not designed to accommodate such loads. For this reason, when these buses are used here in this part of the world, anything larger than a Sponge Bob lunch bag gets stored in the BACK of the bus, or the space located between the emergency exit door (utilized of course as a primary entry/exit) and the last row of seats (those coveted so highly by the elementary/middle school ruffians).

Generally there is no problem with the above system, and the respective valuables of the passengers are left in peace. A few months ago however, as I found myself slowly waking up from a short siesta while on just such a bus in Panama, I realized that something could be amiss. You see, like everyone else commuting between Boquete and David that day, I too had stored my backpack in the area to the back of the old yellow school bus from Anywhere, U.S.A. And as the bus made one of its regular stops by the side of the road, I looked up in my foggy state to witness several passengers making their way off the bus.

“hmmmm…..that guy has a Dana Design backpack just like mine.”

“How nice.”

“Wait a minute……That’s MY Dana Design backpack……And it seems to be hitching a ride with that Panamanian!!!!!!!”

Fortunately, this final thought was enough to jar me from what remained of my slumber. I woke up, told my traveling companions that I’d be back shortly, and quickly made my way to the front of the bus to retrieve my belongings. Fortunately, I caught up to the pack just as it was making its way down the stairs of the bus. I grabbed the pack, the would-be-thief continued down the stairs, and as the bus lurched forward in a continuation of its journey toward David, I found myself standing in the front of the bus, holding what consisted of most of my Latin American possessions.

“Close call”, I thought. “I suppose I better hold on to this for the rest of the trip”.

I discovered later that the guy HAD taken a few things out of the top pocket of the backpack before attempting to de-bus. But the headlamp was on its last leg anyway, and I was actually more than happy to get rid of the bag ridiculously large coins from Costa Rica (my least favorite form of money in the region……who designed that stuff?????). All was well that ended well, and the rest of the year has gone pretty well for me in respect to preservation of personal property.

Unlike Panama, which despite the aforementioned exception to the rule seems to be a relatively safe nation, life down here in Nicaragua is a different story. Rather than being the exception, crime is often accepted as the norm, simply a part of life in the second poorest nation in the region (second only to Haiti). So, if you put a $2 light bulb in the porch light receptacle to have better lighting for a post-death wake, it will be stolen in the night. If you park your vehicle without someone watching it at all times, things like exterior bulbs, windshield wipers, antennas, and lens covers will mysteriously disappear almost immediately. Forget to install the obligatory “decorations” (i.e. jagged glass in cement) around the upper portion of your wall, someone will most likely climb the wall and steal brooms and mops from your patio…….all true stories from recent days in the neighborhood.

For the most part though it’s just petty theft, something common to many countries in the world. And although I’ve known 4-5 people personally who have been robbed at knife or gunpoint in the last several months, I’ve never had much of a problem in my home city. I take the usual precautions, try to stay alert, keep the laptop insured and regularly backed up on a second hard drive, don’t carry a credit card or large amounts of cash, “generally” heed the warnings of the locals, and follow the “never stop at red lights after dark” rule when riding the motorcycle. Of course my favorite strategy, one that has already saved the laptop on at least one occasion (but that’s another story for another day) is the MAKE AS MANY FRIENDS AS POSSIBLE in the neighborhood rule. After all, in my book, more friends equals a more secure living environment.

It’s not a PERFECT system. I mean NO system is really a perfect system. Regardless of its sophistication (or lack thereof in my case), all such systems are, by definition, mere deterrents. But without trying to sound arrogant, I have to say that my short list of simple strategies has served me relatively well over the last 6 months of living in Managua. It has served me relatively well that is, until last night.

…….to be continued.

A NEW DAY HAS DAWNED Part II.....Operation Sanitation

2008-09-06T15:56:00.008-05:00

There are some who feel like they can attack us there. My answer is……Bring em on! We’ve got the force necessary to deal with the sanitation situation.

As I mentioned in my last entry, the axis of evil had been identified, and “all things of filth” was its name. MINED, the branch of the govt. that had donated the food to our program, returned with six of the largest Nicaraguans I had ever seen in order to remove 42 bags of beans, rice, and cereal from our storage area. We were given a written reprimand along with instructions to bury the “contaminated food”. Not 5 minutes after their departure, the blame game began. When asked, I stated very plainly that it all seemed quite obvious to me. The food had arrived in perfect condition, yet after several months of being under OUR care, it was contaminated. It was clearly our fault. Who else COULD we blame? I also explained that we were a TEAM, and that we ALL shared responsibility for what happened (or didn’t happen) in our program. I explained that the last few days had been an excellent learning experience for all of us, that some problems had been identified, and that it was now time to move forward in some very positive directions. The response?

“’…….well it wasn’t MY fault!!!!”

I think we’ve reached a critical point in the struggle between sickness and health.

Things had indeed reached a critical level, and I now had the green light from our parent organization and other members of the staff to use whatever force necessary to fight such an evil. The time for diplomacy had ended. It was now time to act. And with that, an official declaration of war was issued.

I think it will go relatively quickly……weeks rather than months.

I needed to meet them where they were hiding and where they were breeding. I needed to hit them fast and hit them hard. I needed shock and awe. But where does one turn to in times of such difficulty? Where does one go to find resources for such an intense and overwhelming struggle? Desperate times called for desperate measures. I went to Cosco.

My weapon of choice was an advanced piece of “smart technology” by Shop Vac. It was sleek, powerful and able to handle both wet AND dry forms of evil. The people of Nicaragua had never seen such a weapon. Children ran in fear. Adults stood at a distance and looked on with eyes of suspicion. I wielded the E85 with glee and exuberance.

“You’re not such a BIG CUCARACHA now are ya!!!!!!!

Everything was removed from the kitchen/storage area and scrubbed from top to bottom. We purchased additional security in the form of storage bins, bleach, and antibacterial soaps. We scrubbed high, we scrubbed low, and we followed the enemy into the very holes where they lived. The E85 performed flawlessly, and although the enemy attacked its core, or hepa filter, on the night following the first day of major combat operations, they were successful only in breeching the outer perimeter.

Progress has been steady. I believe the insurgency is in its final throes.

So it’s been a tough couple of week. We’ve fought brave, we’ve fought hard, and all of us have been called upon to make personal sacrifices for the health and betterment of our program. The good news is that we’ve made significant progress and many of our SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures) have been changed to maintain and build upon our new state of sanitation. We still have a ways to go, but I’ve already had a banner made in preparation for a special event I have planned for next week. On the banner is written “mision cumplida”. I plan to stand under this banner and address the students and citizens of Acahualinca. On that day, as the school band plays the national anthem on their flutophones, I will proudly read the following statement:

Thank you all very much. Major combat operations in Acahualinca have ended!

…….uh.....can someone please step on that cockroach?

A NEW DAY HAS DAWNED Part 1......Zen and the art of third world living

2008-09-01T16:53:00.006-05:00

I’ve noticed something about living in a third world country, and that is that those who are the happiest and most well adjusted EXPATS are those who simply surrender their first world expectations and accept a new or different way of life. No one “showing up on time to ANYTHING”? Struggling with the “toilet paper DOES NOT GO IN THE TOILET” rule? Finding that “the people down here just don’t know how to ANYTHING RIGHT”? Can’t find ANYWHERE to buy your favorite…….? NO PROBLEM. You’re no longer living in the land of plenty. Accept it…...find a peace within it….and move forward. Aaaaahhhhh ………sweet third world serenity.

As I’ve mentioned before, I spend most of time helping out with a “feeding program” in a local elementary school. Although the food is donated primarily through the US government, the Nicaraguan government, and several small NGO’s, it is ALL stored and cooked on-site. This means that we run a fully functional “school cafeteria” that feeds around 500 kids per day. This also means that there is a LOT of food to cook, a LOT of food to serve, and a LOT of food and dishes to clean up.

For the most part, I’ve done pretty well with the above “Zen and the art of third world living” approach around my new workplace. I mean sure I see things around the feeding program that are CERTAINLY NOT the way I would do them if I WERE IN CHARGE. But I remind myself that “I AM in Nicaragua”, that “they do things differently down here” with “different standards”, and that “I’m not here to come in and change their operation. I’m just here to help and support the program in whatever way possible”.

INHALE……….JUST BE THE THIRD WORLD, JASON…….BE THE THIRD WORLD……..NOW EXHALE

I don’t really know what was particularly different about that day last week. I suppose that things had been building for quite some time, and that it was simply the final straw. So as I watched the small parasitic worms swimming around in the water we had been using FOR EVERHTHING (yes, EVERYTHING does include “serving in beverage form”), I found myself abruptly arriving at my limit.

You see the actual goal of this program is to GET AND KEEP KIDS IN SCHOOL. And because this school is located in a horribly impoverished area of the city where child labor is more the expectation than the exception, this can be quite a challenge. On one hand, the food is simply a bribe to get a kid to come to school. Beyond that though, because malnourishment is such a problem in the area (and subsequently the numerous associated health concerns), the food serves as, yep you guessed it, NOURISHMENT. So simply put, the program exists to improve the overall health and education of a whole bunch of impoverished kids. If our practices cause or perpetuate illness in any way, then the time has come for a serious re-evaluation.

“HAZEL…..WE NEED TO TALK.”

I’m not a germ-a-phobe. Really, I’m not. Yes. It’s true. I DO keep a tidy house, I DO believe that everything for the most part has a place, and I CAN have a tendency toward excessive order and cleanliness (did I mention I’m an “excellent driver…..excellent….excellent….driver”?). On the other hand though, I’m a BIG believer in the 5 (or 30) second rule of “food in contact with ground/floor”, I believe that expiration dates are generally a marketing tool used by food manufacturers to increase sales, and I view the avoidance of washing hands prior to meals primarily as a way of strengthening the immune system.

“HAZEL, do you notice anything unusual about this water here?”

From the water, we began our tour. We looked at the thick layer of mold in the sink, we examined the grease, grime, old food, and dirt covering all parts of the kitchen, we checked out the PILES of dead insects in all of the cabinets, the holes that the rats had chewed in most every bag of stored food, and the absolutely UNBELIEVABLE amount of rodent feces covering literally EVERYTHING in the storage area (not to mention the carcasses of a few that didn’t make it…..I’m pretty sure they just over-ate). Of course, as we were taking our little tour, we were noticing the cockroaches scurrying about.

After the tour, we talked about various practices, in addition to the general sanitation makeover, that could improve the overall cleanliness of our program. For example, as great as it is that the kids want to wash their hands before eating, it’s probably not the best idea that they come directly from the bathroom to wash their hands IN the water we are using for drinking/dish washing……….just one example.

I knew that a number of changes needed to be made. I also knew that without the support of Hazel (the director of the kitchen) and the other volunteers, I would find myself alone in the kitchen at night, armed only with an arsenal of mouse traps and scrub brushes. Fortunately, Hazel endorsed all of the ideas and agreed that we could begin working toward some much needed change.

Interestingly enough, a group from some branch of the govt. showed up at the school THAT SAME DAY to give a presentation on “clean water practices”. If that wasn’t enough of a coincidence, a group from a different branch of the govt. showed up the following day to inspect the food they had donated. As you can imagine, they weren’t terribly thrilled by what they found.

…..to be continued.

A Brief Intersection

2008-08-03T17:58:00.002-05:00

In 1925, a baby was born into a family of 8 in a rural area surrounding Managua, Nicaragua. She followed a relatively traditional path of marrying in her later teens, bearing 6 children of her own, and spending her days as a wife, mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. Although she did do a bit of traveling within the Central American region and the US (Florida primarily), she never stopped calling Managua her home. She lived through a number of hurricanes, two devastating earthquakes that destroyed the city, and a substantial amount of political instability. In 1979, in the midst of the “The Revolution” here in Nicaragua, two of her six children were killed. From that day forward, she never renounced her loyalty to the Sandinista Party.

In May of 2008, a local volunteer from the US showed up at her door to inquire about an available room she was renting out. The house, which she had lived in since building it with her husband in the 1960’s, was a very simple house in a very middle class neighborhood in central Managua. After coming back several times and asking a ridiculous number of questions, the volunteer decided to rent the room. In mid June, I moved in.

My first run-in with Dona Coney took place on my first night at the new place. Upon returning from the “parking lot” down the street, I informed her that “all was well, and that I had lined up a place to park my motorcycle in the evenings” (leaving any type of vehicle outside after dark is not an option if you want to keep it). She nodded disapprovingly and said “OK”. Approximately one hour later, she informed me that she needed to discuss something very important with me. She asked me to sit down and proceeded to explain to me that she just couldn’t understand why I wanted to park the motorcycle down the street. More specifically, she just couldn’t understand why I wanted to park the motorcycle in the parking lot down the street when I had a perfectly acceptable place to park it here at home……..i.e. in the living room! I explained to her that the motorcycle was dirty, had the potential of smelling like gasoline, and that I didn’t want to mess up the house. She didn’t accept my rebuttals. She insisted. I conceded. From that day forward, the motorcycle has called the living room its home.

My next run-in took the place the following day. Upon leaving for the internet café, she asked where I was going with my laptop. I informed her that I was heading down the street (about 3 blocks) to the local “cyber”, and that I would return shortly. The response was effectively:

“What are you, nuts???!!!” “You can’t carry a laptop around in this neighborhood……take that thing back inside…….that’s CRAZY!!!!!”

I assured her that it would be fine, and that I would be especially careful. She waited outside until I returned home an hour or two later. Following that episode, we pretty much had the same conversation each day, as I walked down the street carrying the laptop. I never conceded on this one. Neither did she.

For the next several weeks, we would have our daily chats about the history of the house, the neighborhood, the family, or my work in Managua. Although she expressed very little compassion for the community with whom I spent my days, she regularly helped “those less fortunate” in OUR neighborhood with plates of food, etc.

Despite being well into her 80’s, she was EXTREMELY active and had virtually NO health problems outside of cataracts. Mentally, she was very sharp and held the unquestioned position of being the matron of a large family. She was always up early, sweeping the house or cleaning something that was probably already clean (she couldn’t understand how I could sweep without subsequently mopping the floor). Since we shared a wall between our rooms, I would regularly hear her working on various projects, sometimes late into the night. She would bring me dishes (the NEW….BEST dishes) or small furnishings to use in my room, she would ask me each morning how I had slept, forced me to take her special cough syrup when I was sick, worry if I was out late, and seemed quite intent on finding me a “nice Nicaraguan girl”. All in all, she showed me a great deal of kindness over the short time we knew each other. I appreciated that.

Several weeks ago, while I was on a bus, returning to Managua from Costa Rica, Dona Coney got out of bed to answer an early morning phone call. Upon doing so, she slipped, fell onto her left side, and fractured her hip. She lay on the floor for the next two hours until someone finally discovered her. From there, it was off to a local hospital by ambulance to await surgery for the next week and a half.

Despite the EXTREMELY strict visiting policy of the local hospital (one hour per day……one visitor), I was able to visit her one time prior to her surgery. Not surprisingly, she asked about the motorcycle and the laptop, and instructed me numerous times in regard to my personal safety. I gave her the usual assurances and directed the conversation back to her current health situation and comfort. I told her I would see her in a few days, back at the house. Despite her previously active lifestyle, she was going to need a considerable amount of help in the coming weeks. I assured her that we would all be playing a part in that.

The following Tuesday, I spent most of the morning dealing with logistical aspects related to my recent auto accident. Since it was the official “surgery day”, I spent the afternoon hanging out with “the little sisters” at home, awaiting news of the outcome. About 4PM, while I was sautéing vegetables for that evening’s dinner, the girls left the kitchen to answer the door. From the screams and tears that erupted in the following moments, I knew what had happened. Dona Coney’s time had come. Although the surgery had proven to be successful in the repairing of her left hip, she died of a pulmonary embolism (blood clot in the lung) shortly after.

And with that, the short intersection of two VERY different lives came to an abrupt ending. As for me, I’m still renting out the same room in the same house in the same middle class neighborhood in Central Managua. As for Dona Coney, well, the adjacent bedroom is now strangely silent. Immediately outside my door though is a small table. Atop the table are several bouquets of flowers, a burning candle, and a photo of the recently deceased matron of the family. This small memorial is all that remains after yesterday’s conclusion of the “official two weeks of mourning”. It’s a symbol that Dona Coney, wherever she may be now, continues to live on in the hearts and minds of her family and friends. It offers a bit of peace and comfort to those who continue to mourn her recent passing. And it’s a tribute to the special person that she was, proudly placed to be the first thing one sees as they enter the home. Proudly placed, that is, just a few feet from that motorcycle in the living room.

2008-07-16T15:22:00.006-05:00

Although I haven’t taken all that much time to blog since arriving in Nicaragua, I often find myself thinking “yea, I should Blog about that……that would be a GREAT Blog theme” as I’m going about normal life in a foreign country. AND, one of the themes that has consistently been at the top of my mental Blog list over the last few months is “the culture of driving” here in Nicaragua. The lunacy surrounding the driving habits of taxis and buses, the venders that loiter in the lanes, the pedestrians that simply walk or stand wherever they desire, the missing manhole covers (definitely a hazard for the motorcycle), the enormous potholes large enough to swallow a truck, the overuse of horns, the blatant disregard for traffic laws, the unwritten rule of “ignore all traffic lights after sunset”, the “bigger always wins” rule (definitely closely tied with the buses), and the absolute disrepair of the majority of vehicles on the roadway. I could go on and on, but I think you get the idea.

Anyway, although my intent has been to Blog about the actual ADVANTURE of roadway survival, how it’s ALWAYS crazy but can also be kind of fun, after Sunday night I unfortunately have to write from a different angle. Hope you enjoy it.

El Choque

Mary--“Hey Jason, can you help Lori with a flat tire? She’s at Km 14 on the South Highway”.

Jason--“Sure”, I say. “But since it’s raining pretty hard and I only have the motorcycle (my new motorcycle, that is), can I borrow one of your vehicles to drive up there?”

Carey—“Sure, you can use my truck. Since you’re doing Lori a favor, I’ll do YOU a favor”.

Jason—“Funny…..it’s like that “Pay It Forward" movie.

......10 minutes later, I’m driving Carey’s pickup, looking for Lori and her flat tire. It’s dark (about 8:30 PM) and raining a bit.

Jason (thinking to himself)—“Man, it’s REALLY dark out here. I feel like I’m driving into a black hole. I can’t see ANYTHING.”

………7 seconds later……..WHOA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!............screeching tires……..explosion of metal vs. metal………silence in the world.

Jason (to himself again)—“well…..I think I’m OK……..no pain……don’t appear to be bleeding…..seem to be thinking clearly…….better find the hazard lights before this gets worse……..where ARE those things?”

……….another 30 seconds passes.

Jason—“Hang on…..hang on…..I’m looking for the hazard lights…..I know…….I’m sorry……give me just a minute, I need to turn on the emergency lights!

“Well, I’m sorry…..I never saw you guys….you had NO LIGHTS IN THE BACK!!!!!!!

After finally locating the hazard lights, I’m now out of the truck. I’m finding myself in a sea of people with more still climbing down from the truck I just ran into. “Where did all of these people even come from”, I think?

“Is everyone OK??????”

NO response…….only looks of anger and resentment.

“I’m sorry…..I know I just hit you guys, but I just happen to be a paramedic. Is anyone injured?????

Again…….nothing but accusations.

“Well, I suppose everyone’s OK….that’s good”. “Hey look, that’s my friend Lori driving by…….apparently she got her tire fixed………”Hey LORI!!!!!! Lori!!! Hang on a minute!!!!!!!”

…….10 minutes later…..

Other driver—“So what are you going to do for me?

Jason—What?

OD—“Yea, you hit US…….look, the bottom of my truck is damaged…..what are you going to give me?

Jason—“Let’s just wait for the police”.

So that’s pretty much it. I ran into the back of a large cargo truck on the Pan American Highway. The police came, a report was filed, one small white light magically appeared on what was left of the truck bumper, they changed drivers for the police report (I assume the real driver didn’t have a license), stories were changed several times for the official report, I took lots of photos, the police hit on my friend Lori repeatedly, there was looting of debris on the highway, and I finally left the highway after about 4 hours. I also learned that an accident in Nicaragua is very much a “self-service” operation with regard to such things as traffic control, cleaning up (and guarding) debris, towing away your vehicle, etc. etc. etc.

As for what will happen from here, I’m still getting all of that figured out. Over the last couple of days, I’ve hired an attorney, I’ve run around getting documents of EVERYTHING, and I’ve apologized to Carey about 7,649 times for literally destroying her pickup. Tomorrow AM, I’ll be going to the police station for the official ruling on the accident. From there, things could go any number of directions, but it’s a strong possibility that I’ll be buying Carey a new pickup.
I suppose that as always, the most important thing is that everyone was OK. As for the explanation behind that sea of people? Well, after the accident, I learned that I had hit a large cargo truck filled not only with food, but with people. Apparently, sacs of produce act a pretty good insulator. Looking at the pickup, it’s also pretty spectacular that I walked away LITERALLY without a scratch. Call it God, the universe, fate, karma, or just the technology behind the seatbelt………pretty amazing.

I suppose for my first real accident, it was a pretty good one. And you know, maybe I CAN end this Blog entry with my original premise of driving in Nicaragua. It may not be quite as “fun” as it was a week ago, but it’s ALWAYS an adventure.

What The #%$@? Part III.....Recurso Disponible

2008-07-02T15:54:00.003-05:00

So one day, I’m over at the Fabretto office (other local non-profit) and this lady asks me the standard “oh, so what do YOU do here in Nicaragua” question. After answering her with my usual “oh, a little of this, a little of that…….I help here, I help there”, she says “Oh, so you’re like an AVAILABLE RESOURCE”. And with that, the name stuck. Of course it sounded much cooler in Spanish………”RECURSO DISPONIBLE”…….but regardless, it became my new title.
What does a “recurso disponible” do when he’s not getting in the way over at the medical clinic or spilling hot oil in the school cafeteria (see previous Blog entries)? Here’s a sample:

Alvaro is probably in his later 20’s, Nicaraguan, and grew up in California. He spent a number of years working on oil rigs in Texas and California before being deported a few years back. Now he’s trying to get to Canada (legally) to get a job in the booming Canadian oil economy. What did I do for him? Well, after researching the job opportunities and Visa requirements online, he asked me if I would help him with his resume. We put together a nice resume and a cover letter that he sent to Shell, BP, Esso, etc. As far as I know, he’s still in Nicaragua, so maybe he needs something more than a RD.

Another non-profit from the US has decided that they want to help Nicaraguan children in a very specific way. That is, they want to sponsor (i.e. give money to) local pre-schools. To get the ball rolling, they want to find the FIVE pre-schools in Managua that have THE MOST need. Enter Recurso Disponible. I basically just provide the “driving ability” on this one, but I, along with a local Nicaraguan teacher, drive around Managua and look at pre-schools. We get a feel for the neighborhood, we inspect the building (or lack thereof), and we chat with the teacher(s). We still have a number of schools to go, but it has been a GREAT way for me to get to know Managua…….and it’s endless amount of poverty.

Occasionally, medical groups in the area pack up a truck and head to the “country” for a day or so. The idea is to provide medical care to those who don’t have access to such a thing (or at least REGULAR access), so they set up a mobile clinic for a day or weekend. I’ve helped out with these on occasion, basically just playing “nurse”. It’s pretty basic stuff, but again, it’s a great way to get to know Nicaragua and some areas outside of Managua.

NicaHope is the organization with which I spend most of my time, and their focus is MOSTLY in education (of various forms). One of the things they do is to provide computer classes to children in the area of Acahualinca and La Chureca. By giving these kids a tool in the form of computer education, the hope is that they will use these skills to have a life OUTSIDE of the trash dump. With this in mind, someone had the idea of setting up a “Sponsorship program” for the kids in these classes (think World Vision for computer classes instead of food). I basically just helped with the initial stages of this program and the associated literature. It should be launched ASAP.

And that’s pretty much it. As a “Recurso Disponible”, I basically just act as your friendly, neighborhood volunteer, helping out wherever I can. I’ve done a bit of painting (walls….not art), I’ve given out medicine, and may even have some bicycle maintenance in my near future. I try to be open to wherever I can be of service, and generally only say NO to the teaching of English classes (a popular request)……..everyone has their boundaries, right?.......or things COMPLETELY outside my scope of knowledge (Blacksmithing, for example…..THAT was an interesting one). The good news is that I have found that I can pretty much be as busy as I want to be. The bad news? Nobody seems to be open to the Fire Dept. schedule.

What the #%$@ AM I doing in Nicaragua? Part II.........Lunch Lady

2008-06-29T19:56:00.001-05:00

Let’s say that you are a kid living in La Chureca or Acahualinca (area just outside of the trash dump). The idea is that you would go to school and get some type of education, right? I mean the school is right down the street……and it’s FREE. So why would you NOT go?

Well, let’s start with this. Sure the school is technically free……..except for that a few years ago, there was suddenly this new rule from the government making it mandatory for every kid in Nicaragua to wear a nice little school uniform……a nice uniform that ISN’T free (but quite nice I have to say……blue and white…..really quite lovely). And then there are those other little things that aren’t free…….like any “supplies” you may need for your reading, writing, and arithmetic. And then there is the whole OPPORTUNITY COST of attending school. I like to call this one the “hey, I know that you’re only 7 years old…..but you’re a part of this family and we need EVERYONE to contribute…….so as terrific as going to school would no doubt be, we need you to go spend your day digging through trash or begging in the street……we’ll pool our resources at the end of the day…..who knows, maybe there will be dinner tonight” factor. Oh, and let’s not forget the concept of “School? Why would I want to do THAT? I’m young (like 10). I’m hip…….cool…… tough. I have unlimited freedom and friends in the neighborhood. Nobody’s going to make me go? Uh….yea…I don’t think so.”

Enter El Comedor. The MAIN idea was two-fold. First, since malnutrition is such a problem in the area, they wanted to provide the kids with ONE good meal per day. Second, by providing these kids with this one meal per day, that’s all many of them get. If they come to school, they get fed. Put another way, if they sit through classes each day (hopefully getting some sort of education in the process), they are rewarded with lunch. School=Food, and it’s a great way to bribe kids (or their parents) into getting an education.

So with these ideas in mind, NicaHOPE (in partnership with various other NGO’s) built “El Comedor” (i.e. the dining hall) about a year ago. The dining hall has a large seating area, a small kitchen, an even smaller area to store food, and a little sink out back to wash dishes. The staff consists of a lady named Hazel and….well…..Hazel. There are supposed to be “mother’s from the neighborhood” that show up and volunteer their time with the program. Unfortunately, only one of them comes on a regular basis. That means LOTS of work for a VERY FEW people. As for the food, it is donated collectively by USAID, the government of Nicaragua, and a couple of small NGO’s.

The good news? Well, the good news is that the program IS functioning and 300-600 kids per day receive a plate of relatively nutritious food (no frozen pizza or tater tots for THESE guys). The other good news is that after the implementation of the feeding program, registration at the beginning of the year was UP (i.e. initial success)! We’re hoping it stays that way.

So remember that lady from the school cafeteria? The one who was older, heavier, less than attractive (probably at least one large facial mole…with or without hair…….on the mole that is……the hair on the lady was anyone’s guess), ALWAYS clad in white, and NEVER caught without her crown (that would be the hairnet)? Four days per week, I am she…….she is I…..we are one. Yep, in addition to being the nurse’s aid in La Chureca, I’m the LUNCH LADY (self-titled, of course) at Acahualinca Elementary. Four days per week, I cook, I serve, I visit with the staff and kids, and I wash a LOT of dishes……like a LOT of dishes.

But in reality, one can only stay in the mailroom (or in this case, dish room) for so long without finding opportunity for advancement. At least, that’s what I’m finding with my lunch-lady duty. So despite the fact that I’m perfectly content chopping vegetables, pouring soy beverages, and getting pruny digits in the sink out back. there are often times bigger fish to fry (yes…pun intended). For example, what happens if you have 500 kids in a school with no water? I mean not being able to cook or drink anything is one thing. Even 500 kids doing the old #1 can be manageable on a good day. A few hundred….uh…..#2’s? Now we have a problem. So what do you do? Cancel school! Ah, but wait a minute! Wait a minute! There’s actually NEVER any water during the day (one of the little inconveniences of living in a third world city). The water is only on for a few hours in the night and early morning! So what do you do? Well, you install a large storage tank that can fill each night and then be used during the day. What do you do when the pipes break or the tank doesn’t fill due to lack of water the night before? Like I said before, you cancel school! But wait! Wait! Wait! Before we do that, there may be one other option. Let’s call Jason!

Yea, the water problem has certainly become one of my main projects at the school, and I seem to be finding different solutions on different days. My best one involves “borrowing” water from one of the neighboring storage tanks by running a system of hoses a couple of hundred feet across the road and then directing (at times, quite vigilantly) traffic around the hoses. I’ve also been meeting with contractors to come up with a better solution for the long term. That being said though, I do wear a number of hats around Acahualinca Elementary besides the stylish hairnet (OK, so I don’t ACTUALLY wear a hairnet either….standards are a bit different down here), and I’m finding it increasingly difficult to maintain a low profile behind the endless mounds of plastic wear. AND, when I’m not running around the kitchen or solving the daily water crisis, I’m loading a pickup truck with large sacs of beans and rice (I seem to be the only guy around with a drivers license), picking up cleaning supplies from the Ministry of Education, and answering to “Hey Gringo” from all sides.

As for the future? Well, I have a meeting with the official boss tomorrow. I’m learning more about the ordering procedures, the menu planning, and how things magically get done behind the scenes. There are also attendance records to analyze, that whole water problem to solve, the current infestation of flies in the kitchen(think PLAGUE), and the guys who want me to teach them how to watch porn on the school’s only computer. I’m swamped, I tell you……absolutely swamped.

What the #%$@ AM I doing in Nicaragua? ........Part I

2008-06-22T18:23:00.002-05:00

I got an email last week from a friend that I haven’t talked with in a while. I told her that I was down here in Nicaragua and planned to be here until the end of the year. Her response?

Hey Jones! What the #%$@ are you doing in Nicaragua?!

“Excellent question”, I thought. “Excellent question”.

The medical clinic in La Chureca (if La Chureca doesn’t ring a bell for you, check out the Blog entry from January) has been in operation for just under five year, and although it was originally constructed and funded by a charitable organization from Belgium, it is now operating through a group of physicians from Austin, Texas. The staff currently consists of two doctors, a nurse, and a pharmacist, with a dentist and an OB on the way (all Nicaraguan). The structure itself is simple but adequate, with a couple of exam rooms, a small office, and a separate small room that functions as a pharmacy. The porch in front acts as the waiting area and is relatively full most every morning from 9 to 11 AM.

Who are the patients and why are they coming? Well, the patients are the people of La Chureca, and the clinic is a “free” resource for the community. As for WHY they are coming, I think it would be comparable to the average Primary Care Physician’s office in the US. Due to the environmental factors associated with living in smoke and garbage, skin conditions and respiratory ailments abound in the community. There is also the occasional “trauma” associated with “machete fighting”, the burns or lacerations that result from walking through smoldering garbage without shoes, and a few AIDS patients that call La Chureca their home. The most common ailment though? La Gripa…the word that seems to refer to your general cold and flu symptoms. So after waiting on the porch for a few minutes and then having a short “consulta” with one of the docs, the average patient gets a shot or nebulization from the nurse (along with vital signs, etc.) and then walks out of the pharmacy with a small bag of antibiotics in hand.
In addition to the daily operation I just described, the clinic also acts as a “base of operations” for numerous other programs in the area. There is a child-sponsorship program, there are weekly health talks, and there are English classes taught several days per week. Want to have a “de-worming-drive” for the area (yea, parasites are quite popular as well)? Care to vaccinate the entire community? Have a medical “brigade” from the US that wants to set up shop for a day or two? Everything flows through this clinic. In fact, the clinic really isn’t even called a “clinic” but rather the “Casa Base De La Salud”……..or Base of Health.

Perhaps the obvious question then is………“what in the world does a gringo paramedic from Denver do in the medical clinic of La Chureca”? Well, the answer to THAT question would depend on the day. The good news is that I’m realizing more and more that the clinic really doesn’t NEED my help. They are functioning quite well on their own, and seem to be on a continual path of improvement. When I AM there though, I basically just fit in where I can. Sometimes I act as a nurse. I administer various medications through injections or nebulized breathing treatments. I clean and treat wounds. Sometimes I act as the “nurses AID” by weighing patients, taking temperatures and vital signs, etc. Sometimes I act as the janitor. I sweep the floor. I clean and organize the exam room. I try to keep the place tidy. And sometimes I help out in the pharmacy with the monumental task of taking pills from the BIG bottle and moving them to the SMALL bottles. Brilliant……I know…..brilliant. Beyond that, I chat with the folks coming through, hang out with the staff, and run the occasional errand.
And that’s pretty much my life at the clinic. In the earlier part of the year, I was spending as many as five days per week over there. I’m currently down to one. And as for the other days of the week? ………………to be continued.

It's Good To Be Back

2008-06-12T15:59:00.004-05:00

1993. It was the fall of that year. I was returning to San Diego after spending the previous three months working on a ranch in the mountains of Colorado. I was playing tennis again (this time for the university), my girlfriend of the summer had just broken up with me (for the FIRST time), I had recently discovered this NEW WORLD of outdoor recreation, and I officially declared myself to be an “all of the above” guy. I say “all of the above”, because as I read the logic behind it all…..the environmental degradation, the numerous health concerns, the countless ethical questions, etc. etc. etc., the way of the vegetarian just started to make sense. “OK”, I thought. “I think I’ll really give this thing a shot…..we’ll see how it goes”.

15 years later, I found myself sitting in an open-sided restaurant in Nicaragua. Mangoes were falling from the trees, the heat of the dry-season was at the peak of its intensity, and I had just completed the first week of what was to be my new life for the next year. There were probably 10 of us in the restaurant that day, and we had been brought to a very SPECIFIC place to experience a very SPECIFIC food by our host. The idea of the meal was to honor his guests (i.e…..US). To turn down what had just been placed in front of me would have been a significant insult, something I had always sworn against. So there it was……perhaps the largest plate I had ever seen, containing perhaps the largest slab of beef ever intended for a single individual. And as I stared at the enormous CHURASCO before me, I found myself uttering those familiar words from a decade and a half earlier. “OK”, I said. “I’ll give it a shot…..we’ll see how it goes”.

Another three months has passed, and I’m sitting in a small town in the mountains of Panama. I’m essentially taking a vacation, as I needed to leave Nicaragua to renew my travel visa. The rainy season is now in full swing, and the avocados are the current fruit falling from the trees. A new season…….a new world. So as I sit here on a porch, watching the rain, I’m ending my little hiatus from the Blog. In the next few entries, I’ll be filling in a few gaps as to what the last three months have entailed. I’d like to explain what I’m doing in Mangaua, a bit about why I’m doing it, and some of the high’s and low’s of it all. I do hope you enjoy it. It’s good to be back.

THE FINAL FAREWELL........PART II

2008-04-15T23:14:00.002-05:00

“Wow….I’m so sorry to hear that…….that must be very hard for you”.

This is what I told her as we sat in the hostel one day. I mean what else could I say? I certainly couldn’t solve any of these problems. I saw no way to intervene and “fix” things. All I could do was listen, show some compassion, and try to understand. Sometimes though, even the best intentions are met with less than favorable outcomes.

Marta was the lady that worked at “El Refugio del Rio”……the place where I enjoyed living for about 6 weeks in Panama. She lived across the street with her family (husband and son) and spent her days doing “domestic” work around the hostel (cleaning, laundry, etc.) She was Ngobe, which meant that she was of “native Panamanian” decent (i.e. the people who were around BEFORE the Spaniards showed up). It also meant that Spanish was her second language, and that I had a REALLY hard time understanding anything through her thick accent. This was the primary factor that kept the conversations to a minimum for the first few weeks. There were, of course, the daily greetings…….”Hello”…..”How are you”…….etc. etc., but nothing beyond that. But the longer I was around the hostel, the more I began to notice her sadness and regular crying during the work day.
Initially, she would just say “nothing” in response to my questioning. I mean how many times could I walk by someone in apparent misery with only a cheerful “good-day” and a smile? After a while, you have to at least ask “what’s wrong”, right? Well, eventually her “nothing” answer changed to “OK…you really want to know?” “Sure”, I said, and with that we sat down for a chat. The conversation that followed involved primarily a description of her difficult living situation…….how her husband was on his 7th girlfriend (very openly)……how he was regularly abusing her……how she wanted to leave but was very fearful and had no place to go…….how her family lived far away……how she wanted to go live with them but couldn’t see a way to do that…….etc. etc. etc………..unfortunately, an EXTREMELY common story around there. It also seemed apparent to me that she had no real community to speak of…..no friends…..nobody to hang out with......just the husband and the kid (and some random hostel guest named Jason).
As the days went on though, I began to notice a change in her responses to the “what’s wrong….you look really sad today……why are you crying” questions. Rather than the “oh, my husband is hitting me again” or “he’s out with his girlfriend again”, or even the “you’ll never understand”………..there began to be an increasing number of questions for ME. “Hey, where are you going? What time are you going to be back? Got class today? Whacha doin’ now? “ Or “so HOW long are you staying at the hostel? How many more days?”
Hmmmmmm…….was it possible that I was misinterpreting the new vibe in the air around Refugio del Rio? Let me rephrase that…..was there ANY HOPE that I was reading this situation incorrectly? How about this…..Let’s say you “hypothetically” ask someone why they are “down” on a particular day……and let’s say that they “hypothetically” say that they are sad because YOU weren’t around that day. UUUUUHHHHHHh……is there ANY other way to interpret that? Nope….I didn’t think so.
At this point in my life though, my greatest source of frustration suddenly became my greatest ally. Because if you spend enough of your time “not understanding” things, it’s not too much of a stretch to PRETEND you don’t understand things. And at that moment, my level of linguistic ignorance took a dramatic and purposeful turn in an upward direction……….thank you “language barrier”…….my old and faithful friend.

In the end, after a couple of weeks of keeping a very safe distance, playing ignorant, graciously declining the occasional offer for some random social outing, and tip toeing through the hostel, I caught an early bus out of town. The night before, I said a very light-hearted goodbye to the hostel staff, as I gave her kid a video game (we had also become friends), gave my email address to crazy Armando (I’m sure he forgot who’s email address was in his pocket within a 10 minute window), and took a little journey back the fourth grade, as Marta handed me a small scrap of paper folded 2,937 times into something the size of a tic tac. Her instructions were to not open it until I got to “David” (town about an hour away) and were given to me with a look of humiliation and a hasty exit.

That was pretty much it for my time in Panama. I spent the final night hanging out with some friends from town, packed up my room in the hostel, said good bye to Boquete, and caught the 6AM bus out of town. Looking back in hindsight, I’m sure there were things I COULD have or maybe SHOULD have done differently. And YES…….I know…..it’s true……I really DID care (what can I say). As I said before though, I suppose that sometimes, even the best intentions result in some less than favorable outcomes. Lesson learned.

The Final Farewell.....Part 1

2008-03-31T23:40:00.007-05:00

Panama was pretty amazing…..OK let me say that again. Panama was REALLY amazing. As I mentioned before (I think), I LOVED living in a small town that required a mere 10 minute walk to reach its farthest border. I loved walking through the “downtown” and seeing someone I knew on nearly EVERY occasion. I loved the hostel by the river. I loved going to Spanish school, I loved the great coffee of the region, I loved the pancakes at Panama Roasters, I loved the climate, I loved the recreation, I loved the food, and I loved the community of people I found in this little spot in the Panamanian mountains. The only problem was that when it came time to leave, it was much easier said than done. “Do I really HAVE to leave?” That became my primary question as I anticipated my Saturday departure. And as much as I wanted to answer that with a resounding NO, I knew that there were other things on the horizon. I knew that there were new adventures to be had and many a Blog entry to be written. So as sad as it was, I left.
BUT I can’t just leave it at THAT!!! I mean, there were LOTS of things that took place between my little gastro-intestinal-adventure (last Blog entry) and my actual departure from Boquete. I thought I would mention a few of them before saying good-bye to the Panama section of the Blog. Here it goes.

Quetzal-rific: One of the things on my list of “to-do’s before leaving the area” was to Hike a very famous trail called the Quetzal Trail. For those of you “non-bird-watcher-types”, the Quetzal is just a bird that lives in this part of the world. In fact, it’s actually a pretty famous bird. I don’t really know anything about this bird, but I’m pretty sure that the word "quetzal" was originally used for just the Resplendent Quetzal, Pharomachrus mocinno, the famous long-tailed quetzal of Central America, which is the national bird of Guatemala. In fact (and don’t quote me on this) I think it still often refers to that bird specifically but now also names all the species of the genera Pharomachrus and Euptilotis………………………….but I digress. The main thing is that it’s big and colorful and hard to find in the woods. In fact, according to all of the guide books AND people in the area, as cool as the name is for the trail, the birds are RARELY seen along the Quetzal Trail. Oh well, at least I would get some exercise, right?
Anyway, one week before heading North, I rounded up a couple of friends and caught the 7AM bus out of town. After transferring to a different bus in the town of David, riding for another couple of hours, and then hiking up a road for 45 minutes or so, we found ourselves at the Southern terminus of the famous trail. The weather was perfect and we were feeling good, so we hit the trail in good spirits. Somewhere between four or five hours later, after passing through a number of different types of forests and temperate zones (i.e. woods that looked kind of different), seeing some incredible views, crossing multiple streams/rivers, swinging on vines, chatting with a film crew working on a TV show, and EVEN SEEING TWO QUETZALS, we caught a ride back into town and called it a day. The trail was spectacular, the company was great, and we couldn’t have asked for better weather. All in all, a pretty terrific day.

Hot Springification: Next on the list was something called “Los Pozos Termales”, which translates to “The Thermal Pools”. Or, to generalize things a bit more……Hot Springs. I thought Sunday sounded like the perfect time for this little endeavor, so not unlike the day before, I rounded up a couple of locals (one of which happened to have a car…..which made things MUCH easier) and headed out for yet another highly anticipated excursion. Keep in mind, I’m from Colorado…….so to me, I have a certain image in mind when someone utters those two beautiful words in unison…..HOT SPRINGS. I think of perfect natural pools atop scenic vistas……I think of crystal clear water at optimally warm temperatures…..I think of mountain beauties soaking in the natural ambiance of the……Yea Yea…I know…this one never ACTUALLY happens, but there’s always hope right? Anyway, upon arrival to “Los Pozos Termales”, it dawned on me that the literal Spanish translation may actually be much closer to “hole dug in ground filled with hot dirty water……in the woods” (or something to that effect).
So it didn’t look EXACTLY like the majestic image I had in mind. How bad could it be, right? So with that attitude, I properly treated my milky white skin, stripped down to my stylish beachwear, and faced the murky water with great determination and gusto. Maybe it would have been slightly more enjoyable if I wasn’t thinking about everything BELOW the surface that I couldn’t see……..or maybe it would have been nicer if the outside air temperature was less than 147 degrees (minus humidity, of course)…..who knows, maybe it would have been different if those mountain beauties could have filled in for the VERY LARGE Panamanian men that became my soak-mates. Maybe….maybe not. In the end, I actually had a really great time. And as I drove out of the parking area (always a relative term, of course), I had to smile at my newly acquired layer of filth and pruny digits.

Not the Best, but It Ain’t No Mullet!!!: Another thing on my list of “MUST DO’S” was to Get a haircut before catching the bus out of town. So after taking an exhaustive survey of the best “SALA De Belleza’s” in town, I decided that it was time to make friends with a nice lady named Claudia. Perhaps I’m actually a bit more vain that I would like to admit, because despite the number of times I tell myself “hey, it’s only hair….it ALWAYS grows back”, I consistently find myself feeling a bit of uneasiness upon heading to a new BARBER……OK OK….BEAUTICIAN in this case…..I know……just don’t judge me…..she came highly recommended!!! AND, because I still considered myself as having a limited Spanish vocabulary, I knew it was going to be quite the little adventure trying to describe the perfectly fashionable “DO” for my sweet weave. In anticipation of this fact, I really tried to brush up on some key hair-related words/phrases before stepping into the salon. That’s what I TRIED to do. But no matter how much I practiced, I just couldn’t imagine a scenario like:

He walked into the salon…..ruggedly handsome……mysterious.….dapper…..in need of a trim . The hair? Shaggy……tussled….disheveled in just the right manner. There was an air of confidence about him as he inquired about the necessity of an appointment. “Who WAS this tall drink of Gringo water”, thought Claudia, as she glanced across to the manicurist with a knowing and playful grin. “Just a little off the sides”, he said, while slowly settling into the comfort of the swiveling chair of beauty. “A little off the sides…..careful with the front……maybe introduce a few layers up top……and make sure those sideburns are even”. Claudia got to work…..a maestro….an artist with her craft.

Yea……I just couldn’t imagine that it was going to go like that. Rather, I was anticipatingsomething more along the lines of:

Claudia rolled her eyes as yet another gringo doofus stumbled uncomfortably into her salon. “….uh….horse court……uh…I mean…..Hair CUT”, he stated very loudly while, with great animation, pointing to his head repeatedly with his left index finger. “Have a seat”, Claudia said, while looking at the manicurist with a “I REALLY don’t get paid enough for this” sort of scowl. “HERE……MORE…..LONG…NO!....SHORT!!!....SHORT!!!.........CUT……THANK YOU……PLEASE!!!!” Claudia didn’t bother listening. She had long ago lost her patience with these types of clients. This guy would get whatever type of style she wanted to practice that day. This guy was at the mercy of Claudia’s whims. He had no choice. He had no power. Heck, he didn’t even have any style to begin with. ………”and you know?”, thought Claudia, while casually picking up her blades of choice, “today suddenly feels like a MULLET kind of Thursday”.

Well, the good news was that I ended up getting a pretty decent haircut for my hard earned $4 ($5 with tip….call me crazy). So maybe it wasn’t the BEST haircut I had ever gotten. And maybe there was a LITTLE bit of misunderstanding as to the AMOUNT of hair to be taken off. BUT ”at least it ain’t no mullet”, I thought to myself, as I walked back to the hostel, five dollars poorer and a WHOLE lot lighter.

THIS TOO SHALL PASS

2008-02-22T16:46:00.003-06:00

Everyone has their strengths, and everyone has their weaknesses. Sometimes, these pluses and minuses are mental. Other times, they are spiritual. Sometimes (perhaps those most visible) they are even physical. For example, although I’ve never been the biggest or strongest guy around (perceived weakness for some), I do seem to possess certain abilities in the “aerobic” department (perceived strength for others). And, although the ol' lungs probably won’t do much for my placing in the 2008 WORLD Strongman Competition, they DID help significantly in the VAIL 100 (100 mile mountain bike race) a few years back.
Another, more subtle physical strength I seem to possess is what I call “the iron stomach”. Again, it’s not going to win me any accolades, and you certainly won’t find any trophies or plaques on the wall with small, yet very detailed, bowels etched ever so delicately into the cheap gold-colored plastic. But that’s OK, because when I eat strange foods at exotic restaurants, I NEVER have a problem. When I get sick with a bacterial infection, virus, etc., I NEVER get any of the “GI symptoms” that commonly accompany such illnesses. In fact, until that fateful “costal cruise” in Hawaii a few years ago, I even had Jerry Seinfeld BEAT—HANDS DOWN!!!--with my 14-year “NO-VOMIT” streak (anyone out there able beat THAT record?)! And finally, whether it be Latin America, Europe, Middle East, or even Africa, I’ve NEVER gotten sick after sampling the local fare…….never, that is, until last night.
It could have been the octopus. That’s my FIRST theory. But the octopus had only been in the refrigerator for a couple of days. And it was SO good in that pasta dish prepared by the Argentineans (remember, I’m living in a hostel…….people come….people go) the other night. It also could have been the tamale. That’s my SECOND theory. And even though the tamale was a couple of weeks old, I’m pretty sure it was frozen for most of that time. It looked OK. It smelled OK. It even tasted OK. And it just seemed so cute and perfect wrapped in that banana leaf with the string tied into a bow. So innocent……so harmless……so inviting……..so difficult to pass up.
Maybe it was one. Maybe it was the other. Maybe it was a combination of the two. Maybe it was something different altogether. We’ll just never know. Whatever it was though, it fought back with a vengence!
After my big meal, I felt pretty good….full…..but good. You see, in addition to the octopus pasta and the tamale, there had been the salad, the three bowls of cereal (that would be the dessert), AND the high-quality Swiss chocolate (uh….second dessert). In fact who WOULDN’T feel full (a little rumbling in the stomach, a little gas…..no big deal) after such a dining experience? But after an hour or two, things began to change.

In the beginning, I thought I would just take a small break from my reading in order to to “lie down for a moment”. “I’m sure I’ll feel fine in a couple of minutes”, I said, as I placed the book to the side, cleared a space on the bed, and attempted the “left lateral recumbent” position to relieve a little pressure down below. That was about 8PM. Around 8:30PM, I had another thought. “hmmmm…..this increasingly uncomfortable feeling doesn’t seem to be going away”. “In fact, I’m feeling a bit WORSE than before…….better try a different position before getting back to the rest of the evening”.

9PM—“Something could be slightly amiss……I really don’t feel so good”.

9:30PM--I think I’ll skip the lunar eclipse outside……I ‘m not sure I possess the ability to get up at this point in my life…….besides those eclipses happen all the time, don’t they?”.

10PM—“Oh Sweet Maria!……that “something that could be slightly amiss” is now officially “something that HAS GONE HORRIBLY AWRY”!!!!!”

11PM—“Holy Cow! I had no idea that the human stomach could actually swell to 76 times its normal size!.........I mean seriously!……one way or another, something has GOT TO GIVE!”

12AM—“Please God….I’ll do anything!......ANYTHING!…..JUST MAKE IT STOP! TAKE AWAY THE PAIN!!!”

1AM—“I wonder how long I’ve been…..AAAAOOOOOUUUUUUUHHHHHH………..lying in bed now?” “Maybe I…….OOHHHHH…..could turn this………HHHHHEEEEEEEE……….into a……….OOOOO MYYYYYYY………..Blog entry”…………………and by the way, this lamas stuff doesn’t work!!!!!

1:30AM—“Wait a minute! The pharmacy at Romero is open 24 hours…..maybe there is way…a light at the end of the tunnel….there could be HOPE!!!!.....if I could only extricate myself from the fetal position!!!

2AM—“You know, I can honestly say that I’ve NEVER actually fantasized about diarrhea before this very moment……..but sure enough, there’s the beach, there’s the crystal blue water, there are the palm trees swaying ever so gently in the Southern breezes……..and there I am, right there in the shade of the palm trees…..pooping my brains out. It’s all just so beautiful! (may have actually cried at that point)

3AM—“I’m SO COLD!”

0-Dark-30—“Hey, I just remembered that I have some ibuprofen in my bag! At this point, I’ll try ANYTHING!”

……….and with that, except for the faint memory of hearing the rooster’s crow in the early morning hours, I don’t remember much after the Vitamin I.
The good news was that at 10AM, when I awoke, I found that my stomach was only swollen to 7 or 8 times its normal size. The bad news was that my stomach was still 7 to 8 times its normal size. So I pretty much took the day off……from food, that is. I had a little coffee in the AM, a banana around noon, and a couple of small pieces of bread later in the day. Other than that, it’s been a day of fasting (hey, can I still get spiritual credit for that?). I also ventured out to the local pharmacy and picked up a common pink cocktail.
Right now, as I type this entry, it’s about 10PM, just 24 hours from the early stages of the big event. I’m back in my room, I haven’t taken the pink stuff, and the stomach is only feeling “uncomfortable”. Maybe it’s not fair to associate my last 24 hours with any specific country or “local fare”. Maybe I just happened to be in Panama when this gastronomical event took place. Perhaps it was just coincidence, as ALL THINGS MUST COME TO AN END. At this point though, that’s neither here nor there. At THIS point, I’m banking on another old cliché, because like all things, THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

………and with any luck, this shall “pass” in the morning.

LIVING IN THE MOMENT

2008-02-17T18:24:00.012-06:00

For the most part, I’m a pretty conservative guy. I don’t mean to say that I’m “A conservative” in the political arena or “socially conservative” with ideologies, beliefs, etc. In fact, some would argue quite the contrary. What I mean is that I’m conservative in the “not particularly spontaneous…….steady…….even-keeled……at times slow to make decisions……….make too many lists…..disciplined…….introverted……..hopefully not TOO boring (for you ladies)” sort of way. For example, as you may have picked up on from my previous Blog entries, it was a stretch for me to share a tiny living space with 14 strangers partying like rock stars for 5 days. Another example? Well, if I have plans to do something for an evening (or life in general), it can be difficult for me to change these plans spontaneously at the last minute and head off in a different direction altogether.
As you can imagine, this can be a real strength. I weigh the options, I plan, I stay out of trouble, and I generally have NO regrets when all is said and done. It also comes in particularly handy when setting and accomplishing goals. On the other hand though, this particular lifestyle can work in the opposite direction, as I can come out on the short end of experience, relationship, and/or LIVING in general. SO, these days, in order to avoid spending TOO much time in the category of the latter, I’ve been consciously trying to LIVE IN THE MOMENT. OR, to be more accurate, I should probably say that I’m consistently searching for the proper balance between the two.
Now I DO understand that some of you may be saying something along the lines of “what’s this guy talking about? He just sold his house, left his job, and moved to Nicaragua to hang out with a bunch of poor people in a garbage dump, all the while getting himself into various less-than-comfortable situations involving popcorn, busses, and angry border officials……..all with a seemingly significant amount of regularity!” OK…point taken….and there may be some truth in that. BUT, I’m also still the guy that, prior to making ANY type of purchase, researches EXTENSIVELY everything from computers to underwear. And don’t even get me started on the coupons!

TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF: After a long afternoon in my Spanish class, I was experiencing the usual feeling of “man, that was WAY more Spanish than my poor brain can process…..I need to lie down”. But as I was walking out the door of the school, one of the teachers answered the phone and did something I had NEVER witnessed prior to that moment. “It’s for you”, she said, while handing the phone to me.

“uuuhhh….Hello”?

Now, you have to understand that for me to receive a phone call in Panama is an EXTREMELY unusual event. In fact, this was certainly a first. So with that in mind, I greeted this unexpected turn of events with a healthy dose of skepticism and apprehension.

UNIDENTIFIED VOICE—Jason!

J--Yea?

UV—Hey Jason! What are you doing? Catch a taxi to Alto Boquete! Hurry up!

J—WHAT???!!

You see, not only did I not recognize this unidentified voice on the other end of the line, but the voice was speaking in Spanish, (of course) so I didn’t actually understand ALL of what it was saying.

J—Who is this?

UV—It’s Janeth! Come on up to Alto Boquete…….to the high school……I’ll meet you there!

My mind was suddenly flooded with thoughts of “meet me on the playground after school” type of activities. Did she want to fight? Smoke cigarettes? Make-out? I had NO idea.

J—uuuhhhh….why?

NOW IDENTIFIED VOICE---Don’t worry about it!! Come on!!! VAMOS! VAMOS!

So there I was….holding the phone, suddenly faced with a very important and pressing decision. Do I remain in the comfort of my plans for the evening (i.e. make dinner……read……hang out with the folks at the hostel….email……relax)? OR do I, “in a moment’s notice”, catch a taxi into an evening of question marks and unknowns?
I know what you're thinking. In fact, I'm actually thinking the same thing myself. I know what I SHOULD have done. I know what I WANTED to do. I even know what I WISHED I had done. But as I look back from today, I can only say this......."I'm sorry". Really, I am. I DO wish I could say that I acted spontaneously and had this amazing experience doing something phenomenal etc. etc. etc. Unfortunately, I have to report that I chose to head home and …………..WAIT! WAIT!!! I’m KIDDING! I’M KIDDING! Of COURSE I TOOK THE PATH INTO THE UNKNOWN. I’ve turned this into a Blog entry, haven't I?

NIV—So what are you waiting for? Let’s go! I’ll see you there in a few minute!

J—But I don’t even know where the high school is!

NIV—Don’t worry about it……the taxi driver will know. I’ll see you there in 5!!!!!

And with that, I flagged the taxi, agreed on a price, and arrived at the high school a few minutes later.

WHO? I suppose one of the questions you may be asking right about now is this……who exactly is Janeth? Well, Janeth is one of the teachers at the school. In fact, she was my teacher for a month last year when I studied here in Boquete. As for the “other suspicion” you may have, I’ll just say this……..we’re friends.

So where were we? Where were we? Ah! So within a few minutes, I was de-boarding the taxi and meeting Janeth and her daughter in the parking lot of the local high school. After the usual greetings, along with my lingering question of “so I still don’t know why I am here……what are we doing?”, we began walking from the school. (uhh, so does this mean we’re NOT going to make-out on the playground?) Eventually, we arrived at the house of one of her relatives. A few minutes after THAT, I was showing photos of my travels (happened to be carrying the computer when I left the school) to a VERY captive audience of mesmerized individuals, most of whom had never traveled outside of Panama. In fact, several of the photos were even met with spontaneous cheering and applause from the audience! As for rest of the night? Well, after attempting to teach Janeth’s sister how to drive HER OWN CAR, I found myself chopping vegetables in the kitchen, while listening to another of her relatives singing Mexican Opera in the living room (and HE was actually pretty good!). In the end, the dinner, the company, and the entire evening were all pretty terrific……certainly a memorable occasion.

Oh, and as for the rest of my life? Well, recently, for the first time in years, I went dancing (i.e. ACTUAL dancing......not stand around “amongst” dancing while chatting with the other non-dancers). AND, not only that, but a few days ago I spontaneously bought a new pair of flip-flops from the FIRST store I entered (i.e. NO research)!
You know, I think I could certainly be onto something with this “living in the moment” thing.

…….now if I could just do something about all these lists.

It's Carnevales!!!....Part II

2008-02-11T11:26:00.001-06:00

THE STORY CONTINUES: The GOOD news was that after scurrying off into the darkness, my new friend was never to return. The bad news is that I’ll never know what he or she actually was. My money is on “enormous cockroach”.
Anyway, after getting oriented in Pedasi, grabbing a quick bite to eat, and experiencing my first brush with the weekend’s festivities, I decided to call it a night. After all, it was 2AM and it had been a really long day of travel. Unfortunately, I was seemingly the ONLY person in the entire town with that particular goal in mind (good think I packed those earplugs).
By the next morning, the rest of the gang had shown up from Panama City, and as I mentioned before, we were about 15 strong. Since most of them had been out until around 5AM, it was certainly a slow morning around the ol’ homestead. By early afternoon though, a plan came together to check out a nearby island called Isla Iguana…..or Iguana Island. After a five minute drive to the nearest beach and a successful attempt at locating a guy with a small boat, we were braving the high seas on our way to visit the famous reptiles.

THE SEA WAS ANGRY THAT DAY, MY FRIEND: Now when I say “high seas”, I’m not exactly exaggerating. I mean I’m certainly not one who is even remotely experienced in ANYTHING nautical. But this was a pretty small boat (maybe 12 feet in length), and it was a REALLY windy day! I just kept asking the other folks in the boat……”so is there any expression in Spanish that says THE SEA WAS ANGRY THAT DAY, MY FRIEND?”…..as I tried desperately to stay IN the boat (oh, and did anyone else besides me NOT know that the bow of the boat was the roughest place ON the boat?) But alas, after about 30 minutes of fighting our way through the “mala mar”, we found ourselves upon a truly spectacular landscape. The island was relatively small, with a BEAUTIFUL stretch of beach. The sand was white.....the water crystal blue……the bay protected……and people, well, absent…….REALLY amazing! We spent the day swimming, lying in the sun (or shall I say “shade” for SOME of us pigmentally challenged individuals), snorkeling, and exploring the rest of the island. Other than a small structure that housed a couple of park rangers, the island was uninhabited. Uninhabited, that is, by species of the human variety. On the beach, there were crabs……LOTS of them….like the sand was TEEMING with them! In the air, we found FLOCKS of shore birds (not sure what kind…..large black birds with enormous red “inflatable sacs” on their necks). In the trees? Yep, you guessed it. Iguanas. In addition to the main beach where we arrived, there was a small trail through the bamboo that lead to the OTHER beach on the OTHER side of the island (5 minute walk). It was certainly smaller and unprotected, but equally beautiful nonetheless. Finally, located on the high point of the island, there was climbable tower that supported a “lighthouse” of sorts (i.e. large flashing light….no house). Because the rungs of the exterior iron ladder were almost completely rusted out, it became quite the adventure to climb this thing (whatever you do….don’t put any weight on the middle…..and don’t look down!!!!) Fortunately, everyone survived the climb, and we were rewarded with a perfect panoramic view of the island.
All in all, it was a pretty terrific day…….beautiful…..peaceful…..relaxing. And as the sun was setting on our small slice of paradise, the boat “captain” even showed up for our return trip. “AAAHHHHHH…….maybe this Carnevales thing is going to be OK after all”.

THEN AGAIN…..MAYBE NOT: The next few days? Hmmmmmm……what to say about the next few days? Well, I’ll sum it up with a few descriptive words. Crowded……loud……sleepless……bad food….intense heat……the usual run of the mill shenanigans and debauchery. By the time Monday rolled around, I was feeling….well……how about a few more descriptive words…….READY TO GO HOME!!! I mean a night or two of this was one thing. Four days straight was a whole different ballgame. Again, it wasn’t that there was anything wrong with any of these folks. They’re great people. It just wasn’t my scene. It’s not how I roll. As they say here in this part of the world, I’m “TRANQUILO”.

PARADISE LOST: Unfortunately, we still had another day before heading back to the mountains surrounding Boquete. I say “unfortunately” because our rental agreement for the house had run out and we still had one day remaining. What to do? “Hey, I’ve got an idea”, someone said, “let’s go back and spend the night on Isla Iguana!” Now judging from my previous description of this little piece of paradise, that actually sounded like a pretty great idea. I mean I LOVE to camp, I can get away from the loud music and fireworks, and perhaps I can even get a good night’s rest. I mean who WOULDN’T want another taste of such beauty and tranquility? Who WOULDN’T want another taste of the Blue Lagoon? Well, here’s how things turned out:
The first challenge to overcome was that of food and water. As I mentioned before, the island was uninhabited. That meant that outside of the occasional coconut or slow iguana, there was no food OR fresh water to be found. To get around this, we made a quick trip to the local supermarket to pick up a few necessities. Problem solved. The next challenge involved the details of sleeping arrangements. In other words, did we plan to just sleep in the sand……on a rock…..maybe make a bamboo raft on which to float around the lagoon? Well, although this “problem” was really never addressed, I had fortunately brought along a “sleeping pad” that I had rented in Boquete. “I don’t know what those guys are going to do, but I think I’m good”, I thought. And with that……we were off.
The first sign of a potential “change in the air” came upon our initial arrival to the parking area (i.e. first beach). When he had arrived to this same lot a few days earlier, there was ONE other vehicle in sight. Upon our return trip, there were what seemed like HUNDREDS! Uh oh. Also, when we headed down the beach to hitch a ride to the island, in addition to locating the same boat captain that we used before, we incidentally located about 50 of his friends with THEIR perspective boats. Hmmmm…….how could ONE beach with ONE island support so many boat taxis? ”Yes, something could certainly be amiss”. And when we finally arrived at the perfectly secluded, tranquil, peaceful, uninhabited beach we had experienced before, we were met with…..well, a different scene. You see, since we had left the island a few days earlier, I’m pretty sure that everyone in all of Panama had suddenly been struck with the idea of visiting this nice little “isla”. AND, to top things off, there was even a cruise ship docked a ways offshore. Of course, I didn’t mind the cruise ship so much as the endless line of motorized rubber boats leading FROM the ship! HAY CARUMBA!!!! It was like Venice Beach on the 4th of July!!!!!
Fortunately for us, in addition to the departure of the cruise ship, most of the crowd had left by the time the sun was setting. Number of overnight guests? Probably only 20-30. Again, compared with the scene we had just faced, this didn’t seem so bad. I watched the sun set over the mainland of Panama, we had a nice campfire, and eventually we decided to find a place in the sand to call a bed for the night. The GOOD news was that the inflatable mattress I had rented was going to REALLY come in handy! Bad news? I KNEW I should have tested that thing before leaving! Oh well, the sand was relatively soft. NO problem. But as I tried to settle in for the night, I discovered that there WAS one small problem……OK several. First off, I realized that the comfortable offshore breeze I had found so enjoyable just a few hours earlier had suddenly turned into a Category 4 hurricane! Again, this wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that I was sleeping out under the stars. So every five minutes of so, I was feeling like the LOST CITY OF PETRA (i.e. BURIED in the sand…….literally!) AND, as hard as I tried to provide “refuge for my face” (and 7 open orifices in my head) behind this seemingly microscopic palm tree, I was also EATING a large percentage of the beach! “Oh man….this really isn’t feeling like a tropical paradise”.
Good news! The wind finally died down sometime after midnight, and I was finally able to remove the towel from around my head. AAAHHHHHH…….finally a bit of serenity. But just as I was beginning to dream of the tropical beauties arriving to visit my sweet island paradise, I was struck with yet another stark realization. Remember my earlier description of the island’s select fauna? Remember the sandy landscape teeming with the billions of crabs? Well, I realized that I was suddenly PART of the landscape! Not only that, but remember the iguanas perched so comfortably in the trees? UH, apparently they enjoy a little tour of the island after the sun sets. WHWHOOOOAAAAAA…….get off me man!!!!! I’m NOT A ROCK!!!! AAAHHHHH…….. CAN YOU AT LEAST AVOID PERCHING UPON ANYTHING ABOVE THE NECK?!!!!!! DUDE!!!! FOR CRYING OUT LOUD……DON’T YOU GUYS EVER SLEEP?!!!!! It was as if I had suddenly become the local jungle-gym for the native population!
And with that, my imaginary bubble had officially burst. I was no longer in the “Blue Lagoon”. I was in “Dante’s Inferno”.

CALLING IT A DAY: After this final sleepless night, this time compliments of the elements, I was officially ready to throw in the preverbial towel (yes, yes..the same one I was once again unwrapping from around my head). So after catching a 1PM boat taxi back to the mainland and a quick shower at a hostel in Pedasi, the moment had finally arrived. We said our goodbye’s to the rest of the crew, found another one of those “pack approximately 30 people into a space designed for 10” taxi-buses, and began the reverse trip BACK to Boquete. The only real difference was that this time, those with whom we were sharing these infinitely tight spaces looked a bit worse for wear……and smelled about the same way.
Around 11PM that same evening, after the buses, vans, taxis, etc. etc. etc., we were greeted by the cool mountain air of Boquete. Later that night I became reacquainted with my old friend, the river. At last........serenity.

It's Carnevales!!!.......Part I

2008-02-07T09:56:00.000-06:00

THE EVENT.......The actual EVENT was a thing called “CARNEVALES”, or carnivals. For those of you who have never heard of it, it’s a pretty big deal down here in Latin America. I still don’t understand EXACTLY what they are celebrating (possibly “pre-Lent celebration” like Mardi Gras), but it is CERTAINLY a celebration nonetheless. For a comparison, I think I would just say that it’s like a mixture of spring break and Mardi Gras….latin style, of course. Although it is celebrated to some extent all across Latin America, I have heard that the biggest celebration, next to Brazil, is right here in Panama. So, beginning on Friday (Feb. 1 this year), the whole country takes a vacation until the following Thursday to participate in the festivities.
Not every town has a carnevales celebration, but those that do seem to take great pride in their unique festival. There is a “queen” that rides around on these floats throughout the weekend, apparently changing her outfit (think Vegas show girl meets the village shaman) each day of the festival. There are also other “floats” with various people riding in front of or behind the queen. AND, instead of a traditional marching band to aid in the fiesta, the band simply rides in their own “cart…of sorts” behind the “queen”. In order to witness this big procession, THOUSANDS of people come from all around. SO, you have the queen, you have the band, you have the thousands of people lining the streets to watch the procession, AND you have this spontaneous “mob” that forms behind the floats, singing, dancing, and chanting as they follow along. It’s really quite a scene.
For the rest of the weekend, people pretty much just hang around in the town square, eating various “meats on a stick”, listening to unbelievably loud music, dancing, and drinking….A LOT (i.e. around the clock........or maybe I should say "clocks" since it goes on for DAYS!). Oh, and I should also mention that because it’s so hot out, there are these big water trucks that constantly go around spraying water on the people (in addition to every kid in the area spraying everyone in sight with their personal water guns). Finally, to top it all off, there are the never-ending fireworks (don’t these people EVER sleep?), LOTS of traffic, and the “straight off the cover of LOW RIDER magazine” trucks aiding the street party with their music being played at absolutely incredible decibel levels. Like I said…..it’s really quite the scene.

THE PLAN…….Since the whole country was taking a few days off, the school was going to be closed from Friday afternoon until Wednesday AM. Also, since Boquete doesn’t actually do a carnevales celebration, I told Carlos (guy who runs the school) that I would head South with him to meet up with a group of his friends from Panama City. Although I’m really not much of a “party-er”, I’m feeling a little too old for Spring Break, AND I do enjoy my space (14 people in a very small house could get a little tight), I was really excited to see some other parts of the country. And besides, how bad could it be? The actual plan was to head to a town near the beach called Pedasi. It’s located in the central part of the country, on the Pacific side, and is known for being a beautiful part of the country with plenty of terrific beaches. Again, THAT doesn’t sound so bad, right?

THE JOURNEY…..For about a week before the day of departure, I continued to ask Carlos the same question. “So, have you checked the bus schedule from here to Pedasi?” For that same amount of time, the answer remained unchanging….”oh….don’t worry….it’s all under control” (or in other words…..NO). So as Friday afternoon rolled around and we hopped on the first bus leading out of Boquete, I told Carlos that he was the navigator and that I would just trust his local senses. Fortunately, as we arrived in the next town of David, we were just in time to catch the bus to “Divisa” (about 5 hours away). My favorite moment of the day came when I threw my bags under the bus and was instructed to hop on as quickly as possible. The only problem was that Carlos had suddenly disappeared and I didn’t actually have a ticket to be on this particular bus. Suddenly the ticket lady came down the aisle asking me for my ticket, etc. “Uh, well, actually I don’t have one yet”, I tell her. “Oh, no problem, where are you going?”, she asks. hmmmmm……now THAT’S an interesting question. Because once again, since Carlos had been the actual mastermind behind this little journey, I for one had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA of the name of our ultimate destination, let alone where this particular bus was going. As you can imagine, it made for a pretty hilarious exchange.
J….. “uh….well…..I’m not exactly sure”
Ticket Lady…..with a very puzzled look on her face……”you don’t know where you are going?”
J……”not exactly.”
Ticket Lady…….”ummmmm……are you going to Panama City (ultimate destination of that particular bus)?”
J……”NO”
TL……”well, are you going to”…………………she then proceeded to name approximately 3, 837 small towns across Panama, not one of which I had ever heard of.
J……”nope…not that one……..no….not that one either…….that one? Nope, I don’t think it’s that one”
TL……..she’s now becoming very confused at the fact that not only does this guy NOT have a ticket to be on this bus…..he also has no idea where he wants to go. “So where are you going?”
J…..”again, I actually have NO idea. “ “but I think my friend”………………..

About this time, a very “helpful” older gentleman sitting nearby decided to intervene. Assuming the obvious thing (that I simply didn’t understand the language), he began to try to help with what my friend calls “Tarzan language”. In other words, VERY slow-VERY loud-VERY simple language.
OG…..”WHERE-YOU-GO?” “CI-TY”
J…..”no no, I know it sounds crazy, but my friend……..”
OG…..”PA-NA-MA”! “PA-NA-MA CI-TY”! “YOU GO-ING”!!!!! “WHERE!” “YOU”!
TL…..”I need to know where you are going”.
J…….”I know, I know” “I understand the question, I just don’t know the”…………
OG…..”CI-TY” “WHERE GO” “WHERE GO”

Finally, another guy we were traveling with (guy from the school who speaks VERY little Spanish) figures he’ll give it a shot. Although his intentions were good (to tell the lady that our friend was buying the tickets inside), all he could get out was “my friend”. But in reality, that’s not entirely true. Because he is just beginning to learn the language, so what he ACTUALLY said to the ticket lady was “YOUR friend”, while pointing out the window emphatically. As you can imagine the scene was deteriorating VERY quickly…….

TL…..”again, I need to know where you are”……..
OG…..”GO-ING!” “GO-ING!” “CI-TY!!!!!!”
Jesse….”YOUR FRIEND!” “YOUR FRIEND” (pointing out of bus window)
Jason……”my friend is buying the tick”………
GO-ING! GO-ING!!! I NEED TO KNOW WHERE YOU’RE…….YOUR FRIEND!……YOUR FRIEND…….!!!!!!!
Jason…..oh man, I’ve got to get off this bus.

Well, eventually Carlos showed up (from the bathroom) and we purchased our tickets for the correct destination without additional problems. AND FINALLY, after the two buses, two more taxis (one of which was so crowded that I had some guy from New Zealand sitting on my lap), and one ride from a kid that was either completely drunk or simply did NOT know how to drive, we arrived at some random gas station to meet some random guy who had a key for our rental house. And with that, my “Carnevales” adventure had begun.

MI CASA ES SU CASA: I remember when I was in Atlanta for the Olympic game. For a brief couple of weeks, the eyes of the world were on MY city. I also remember the dollar signs present in the eyes of most of the locals around that time. It was as if everyone’s first thought was “wow…this is so cool! The world is watching and coming to MY home!”. Interestingly enough though, the second thought seemed to be “wow, I think there might be some real potential to make some extra cash!!!” (or, as I like to think……”wow, I can really rip some people off on an international level!”. Apparently, around Carvevales, things operate pretty much the same way. I’ve learned that it’s not uncommon for the locals to simply leave town for a few days and rent their houses out for ungodly amounts of money. Case in point? The place where we were staying. When we arrived, we were met by the owner, a very nice older woman who I believe lives alone. The house was EXTREMELY simple (concrete floors, couple of rooms, toilet and shower (i.e. elevated spicket with primitive floor drain) behind the house. The other thing that I found a bit peculiar was that the lady pretty much cleared that place out. I mean she took the soap, she took the clothes, she took the food, the sheets……everything……EVEN THE TOILET PAPER! The price? Well, I’ll just say that we were paying a rental price for a house “on the beach in the US”……..we were about a half hour FROM the beach, and a bit further from the US.
Anyway, after a long day of travel, I decided to grab a quick shower to wake and freshen up a bit. “hmmmmm….so how does this thing work?”. “Oh yes…..I see”….”oooooo a bit cold, but not TOO bad” But just as I was rinsing the shampoo from my hair, I felt something against my foot. “hey…what’s that?”, I say while trying to clear the shampoo from my eyes. WHOOOOAAAAA!!!.. ….whatever it was, it was now running OVER my foot………”SWEET MARIA!!!” And because it was so dark outside, all I could see was that something quite large, maybe a small mouse, maybe an enormous cockroach, was now running OVER my foot! Again…..this was going to be an interesting weekend.

A SORT OF HOMECOMING

2008-02-01T09:23:00.000-06:00

As I mentioned at the end of my last posting, I have safely arrived in Boquete. The obvious question though has to be the one of……WHERE or WHAT is Boquete? Excellent question……I’ll answer it with this, a bit of history.
In 2007, I decided to take a month of vacation and travel to Central America for one of those “immersion” type language programs (that’s Spanish in case there was any doubt). After a bit of internet time and three or four phone calls, I was packing my bags for Panama. In the end, I spent four weeks in a town called Boquete, a tourist (local AND international) town known for its terrific mountain location, its world renowned coffee (currently #1 in the world…..three years running), its perfect climate, and its numerous recreational opportunities. I spent my days in class (4-6 hours per day), I lived with a host family (OK I know…..actually TWO), and met some great people.
This year, prior to completely immersing myself in the volunteer project in Nicaragua, I thought it would be a good idea to brush up (i.e. WAY up) on the ol’ Spanish. Where to go? Back to Boquete, of course! After all, it’s a great area, I learned a LOT of Spanish at the school, and I’ll even get to see some old friends. I’m IN!!!
The GREAT thing about being in Boquete this year is that I have successfully avoided the RAINY SEASON! In other words, the weather is absolutely PERFECT this time of year. OK, so there’s a bit of wind here and there. But the way I look at it, it’s…….Wind schmind! Hold onto your hat and stop your whining! It’s warm and sunny during the day, and the nights are perfectly cool (i.e. the be-all-end-all in sleeping weather).
The other great thing about Boquete is the small town atmosphere. Don’t get me wrong……it’s actually not THAT small. I mean there is certainly a “central….downtown…..commercial…..urban” area with way more stores and restaurants than I have the time or energy to visit. But it’s small enough that I can walk to school in about two minutes or any one of three local markets within five. It’s also small enough that I generally run into “someone” I know just about every time I leave my front door……….definitely a new experience for me, being an urban/suburban dweller.

Hey! Remember Me?: Like I said before, in the month I stayed here in 2007, I was able to make some great friends in the area. Although a few have moved on in the last 6 months (no no…they didn’t die……they just moved on to other things), it’s been really great to get reacquainted with the “stick-arounders”. Of course there are also the new folks in town, so I’ve enjoyed hangin’ with a new crowd as well. All in all, there remains plenty of social opportunity to go around.

A PLACE TO HANG MY HAT: Although I did enjoy my stay with the host families last year, I thought it might be nice to have a little more space this year. Oh, and a “less than arctic cold” shower sounded pretty good as well. The first Hostel I checked into was called Hostel Boquete. The room was small (converted attic space….couldn’t actually stand up in most of it), the coffee was absolutely horrible (and this is a town KNOWN AROUND THE WORLD for their amazing coffee), and there was this ever-circulating bathroom aroma that made me feel like I was sleeping in the toilet. BUT, all in all, it really wasn’t that bad. My favorite part about it was dealing with the “manager”, Paul. “Uh…OK.....uh…..like this is your room?.......so….uhhh….I mean……..so if there’s like anything…….uh……well…….you know…….like……you know…..that you need?........you know…..just……..dude……hey……..uh……can we?……..I mean……..do you?……..ummmm……..I mean……..do you have that cash?.........dude? Yep, this could seriously go on for hours like this, but I enjoyed the interactions nonetheless. Besides, he was actually a pretty good ultimate-Frisbee layer (more on that later) and his girlfriend made GREAT biscotti.
After a few days of living in the toilet (or BATTIC (bathroom in the attic) as I now refer to it), I moved to my own little piece of paradise. It’s my new home for the next month, and it’s called “The Refuge of the River”. Oh man, this place is SO SWEET!!!!! It’s an old house that someone bought and turned into a hostel. To be more accurate though, I should say that’s it’s a truly spectacular house. And when I say “OLD”, I mean……well, it’s really not old at all. So I am staying in my own room with my own bathroom with my own window that opens up to my own river and my own door that opens up to my own laundry room that leads into my own gigantic kitchen complete with my own refrigerator, etc. that leads out to my own living room with my own satellite TV which happens to be located next to my own terrace next to my own…….OK OK OK…….you get the idea. AND, of course, nothing is actually my “own” except for the bedroom and bathroom. But since I have been the only guest here for the last week, it actually IS my own!!!!! Oh, and did I mention that the river is just a few feet outside my window? Man, I LOVE going to sleep every night to the sound of the river…………aaaaahhhhhh…….life is good in Boquete.
Of course, in all fairness to the Battic (and Paul the manager), I have to mention…..well…..Armando. Just who is this Armando? Excellent question. Armando is kind of like the caretaker of the hostel for the afternoon/evening hours (i.e. brother of the owner). On the outside, Armando looks to be a perfectly normal Panamanian guy who works at the hostel. After a few minutes with Armando though, one realizes that all is not exactly as it appeared upon first glance. At first, I thought it was simply another case of confusion resulting from the language barrier. But after a couple of days of having the same conversations over and over, I started to suspect that it wasn’t quite that simple. To illustrate my point, I’ll just share a typical conversation between me and my new friend Armando. Before I begin, just keep in mind that this conversation would take place “completely in Spanish”.
J—Hey Armando, how are things going?
A—Hey Jason! Great! How are you? Wait, do you speak Spanish?
J—yea, a little. I mean I’m taking classes over at the language school.
A—Oh yea….great. I will now talk to you in Spanish!
J---So what are you up to this afternoon?
A—Oh…well…I’m just watching some TV.
J—Oh yea, I see. So what movie are you watching?
A—Wait a minute…..do you speak Spanish?
J—What?
A—Hey, I didn’t know you spoke Spanish!
Again, I could go on, but I’ll end it there. Do you remember the “short-term memory guy” from the old Saturday Night Live episodes? That’s what it’s like talking to Armando! Seriously! It’s just like the SNL guy………………
Hi, I’m Armando, what’s your name?
Hello Armando, my name is Jason. Nice to meet you.
What’s your name?
Jason.
Hi Jason, I’m Armando, what’s your name?
What?
What’s your name? I’m Armando!
In all seriousness though, I’m not trying to be critical of Armando OR the fact that he truly does have a head injury from some type of accident years ago. I mean sure the conversations can be a little repetitive, and sure he does some “totally off the wall” things (yesterday repeatedly demonstrated to me how well his cartwheels were coming along…….he’s 42), and sure he’s driven off a few female guests for acting completely inappropriate, and sure he lets the local teens (i.e. teen GIRLS)come over and drink beer until they vomit outside my door, but he really IS a likeable guy…….and he’s GREAT about getting rid of the vomit smell in the laundry room! Besides that, he’s a great person with whom to practice my Spanish. If I make an embarrassing error, I always have a clean slate within 5-15 minutes:) Oh, and that window he broke today? He really WAS trying to knock the oranges out of the tree “for me”.

TICK TOCK GOES THE CLOCK: Another thing people have been asking me is this……..”So just what DO you do all day?” Believe it or not, I’m somehow staying amazingly busy around here. For one thing, I’m in class for four hours per day, so between the actual class time and the homework/study time outside of class, I’m devoting a fair amount of time to my Spanish studies. Beyond that, I’m hanging out with my new/old friends, running errands, going to the grocery store, cooking in my SWEET kitchen, relaxing by the river, staying in touch with the world electronically (i.e. emailing), and of course, recreating. As far as the recreation goes, it has involved anything from the usual jogging to ultimate Frisbee to rock climbing. And although I won’t bore you with the details of the running and climbing (both of which regularly generate plenty of “what is that stupid gringo doing now” questions), I have to mention the ultimate Frisbee game. The UF game is something that apparently takes place once a week at a nearby “stadium” (definitely a relative term). The guys around town spend much of the week talking about, bragging about, and anticipating the upcoming Saturday’s game of UF! And after hearing all of the build-up, I was pretty excited. I mean these guys were REALLY into this thing, so I figured it was going to be GREAT! That is, assuming I was good enough to play with them. In fact, they were SO into this game, I even learned a new Spanish expression for how they were going to come to the game on Saturday……..with “blood in the eyes”. Whew….sounds a little intimidating.
Finally, game day rolled around and we all headed up to the stadium for the big game. There was the usual warming up, stretching, and pre-game hype. We picked teams. We marked the boundaries. We even re-defined the rules, just in case anyone had forgotten how to play amidst all of the mid-week banter. And then? The moment came…….GAME ON!!!! The initial “kick off” was up, the Frisbee was caught, and the offensive team began working the Frisbee down the field with more enthusiasm and determination than you could ever imagine. I mean it was nothing short of extraordinary. And for the first three and a half minutes, these guys were the most in shape, finely tuned, elite athletes you have ever seen. Unfortunately though, it’s generally a pretty long game. And in addition to the fact that there really isn’t such a thing as physical fitness down here (just what IS that crazy gringo up to now?), the a VERY popular pastime is smoking. So in the end, although there really WAS a great amount of heart and determination out on the field last Saturday, the hacking black lungs on the sidelines seemed to demand most of the attention. Needless to say, I had no trouble surviving the 10 minutes that passed before someone eventually uttered the first “hey, are we done yet? Let’s go get some beers!”

And with that, I’ll bring this entry to a close. I’ve been in Boquete for about two weeks now, and I really am having a great time. I’m learning LOTS of Spanish, I have a GREAT place to live, the weather is PERFECT, and I’m thoroughly enjoying the community. I should probably call it a night. Besides, I think I hear the river calling. AAAAAHHHHHHh

NO SOUP FOR YOU!!!

2008-01-26T13:21:00.000-06:00

For the most part, it’s quite simple……traveling that is. I stay flexible, I make sure I’m PLENTY early for the buses (the schedules seem to be a bit relative), and when I don’t know what’s happening, I just subscribe to the way of the cow….I follow the herd. This herd mentality seems to be especially effective at the various border crossings, where the general procedure seems to be as follows:

>While on the bus, fill out the immigration forms (one to two for BOTH countries).

>Give completed forms to bus attendant (he’s like the bus copilot), along with “exit fee” for departure country and passport.

>Upon arriving at the border, get off the bus and stand around for about an hour while the paperwork is sorted out for all passengers.

>After hearing your name called, collect passport and get back on the bus.

>Drive approximately 100 yards to other side of the border.

>Get off bus again and wait in line get to the window to see the official who has the authority to grant permission to enter new country.

>After passport is stamped, find new location of bus (again, the way of the cow works pretty effectively for this one).

>Once bus has been located, retrieve bags from under the bus and place them in designated “inspection area”…….usually a folding table next to the road.

>After standing with your bags for another hour or so, the boarder official waves everyone through, usually without inspecting a single bag.

I know it sounds a little ridiculous, and in reality it probably is. BUT I keep the expectations low, I avoid having a schedule, and I follow the herd.

COSTA RICA MEETS PANAMA: Everything was going according to plan. I had obtained all things necessary to leave Costa Rica, and I was on the final step to enter Panama…..the dreaded “meeting with the boarder official”. Wanting to make sure I was following the majority and not just one or two stray cows, I had positioned myself towards the back of the herd. After all, I figured the bus couldn’t leave until EVERYONE was through customs, so there was no rush right? Anyway, after pretty much EVERYONE else was back on the bus waiting for the stragglers, I finally made it to the window. It was at THAT time that the following exchange took place.

J (this is me by the way)—Hello sir.

BO (BO here is referring to the “boarder official”….NOT the potentially lethal combination of too much humidity and too few showers)—Passport please!

BO (after inspecting the passport)—departure ticket!

J—Not understanding exactly what he means, I hand him the stub for my bus ticket.

BO (tossing bus ticket into the air)—What is THIS? I need your DEPARTURE ticket! THIS ticket is USELESS!

J—You want a “departure” ticket from Panama?

BO—YES! Departure ticket! You have to have a DEPARTURE TICKET!

J—Departure ticket? But I haven’t even made it “INTO” the country…..why would I need a ticket “to leave”?

BO—Because you do!!!! (he’s now pointing to a sign on the glass that until this moment made NO sense to me). If you don’t have a departure ticket, you CANNOT COME IN!!!

J—But I don’t HAVE a departure ticket, because I didn’t know when and how (plane vs. bus) I was going to leave. Don’t worry sir, I really do plan to leave.

Now, at this point, I should say that throughout this entire exchange, the BO had been growing increasingly irritated…… AS WERE the people standing behind me in the seemingly endless line. It was also at this point that the BO was, in MY mind, beginning to look and sound eerily similar to a famous character from an old Seinfeld episode, namelyTHE SOUP NAZI!

BO—NEXT!!!!!! (again, he’s now becoming more and more animated).

J—So you aren’t going to allow me to enter the country? After all, I’m sorry about all of this, but where in the world am I going to buy a ticket HERE? The bus is waiting.

BO—NEXT! (and while waving me off again)..Go talk to the chief! (he points to another guy in another window)……………..or………as I heard it……….NO SOUP FOR YOU!!!! YOU COME BACK…….ONE YEAR!!!!!!

Well, after a brief chat with the “chief” that yielded absolutely NO results, I headed back to the bus to seek council from the bus driver.

BD—Oh, you don’t have a ticket to exit? NO problem……here you go……..that will be $25.

The next thing I know, I have a bus ticket to leave the country on an unspecified date and I’m now back in the same line to see my new friend behind the window (apparently I wasn’t the first person to make this mistake). After another long wait in the line……….

J—Hello again, sir. I now have a ticket to leave your great nation. Here it is.

BO—Where’s the other form!

J—other form?

BO—Yes! Where’s the other form for the visa?!

J—You mean the immigration form? I gave it to THAT guy along with everyone else (again….following the herd).

BO—NO, I don’t mean the immigration form! I mean the form for your VISA!!!!!!

J—I need ANOTHER form?

At this point, the guy from the bus overhears the exchange and decides to intervene (thankfully). After all, the ENTIRE BUS had been waiting FOR ME for quite some time now (yep, you guessed it…..only gringo on the bus) and HE was also growing impatient.
The next thing I know, I’m taken across to a DIFFERENT office to a DIFFERENT window to find a DIRRERENT official to get ANOTHER form. Oh, and of course, this office is empty and nobody seems to know where the required official is. “OH boy…this really isn’t going well”. I just kept wondering how long the bus was actually going to wait for me. I also started to question the odds of me surviving the rest of the trip unscathed (Jason vs. the rest of the passengers) even if the bus DID wait. I mean between my pleasant interactions with my new friend and my increasing proficiency with “line standing”, this was REALLY taking some time.

Finally though, the official showed up from her dinner break, and I exchanged $5 for a visa form. Upon running behind the guy from the bus back to the original line and being taken, this time, to the FRONT of the line (whatever you do Jason, just do NOT look behind you), I found myself standing in a very familiar place.

J—Hello sir…..remember me? And before we go any further, can I just say that that shirt really looks great on you. And have you lost weight?

BO—Without saying a word, he took the new form, stamped my passport, and waved me on.

J—Again sir, I want to thank you for granting me permission to enter your great land. I look forward to my upcoming experience with your people and your culture, and I just want to say that…………..

BO---NEXT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So in the end, as always, everything worked out perfectly. The bus DID wait, the other passengers exercised a great amount of patience with the stupid gringo, and I arrived in Boquete a few hours later.
Como siempre……..good times.

DO YOU KNOW THE WAY TO SAN JOSE?

2008-01-21T23:31:00.000-06:00

TERRIFIC NEWS! Remember the great hotel where I was staying in Nicaragua? Well, besides the wireless internet and world (OK…neighborhood) famous pancakes, I found another asset to add to the plus column. That is, they’re located within walking distance (i.e. two blocks) of the Ticabus terminal! Ticabus? What’s that you may ask? The Ticabus (named after the slang word for Costa Ricans) is how I planned to get to Costa Rica. So on Wednesday morning, without a hitch, I rose with the sun, said my final goodbye’s to the Cisnero family, and rolled my belongings down the pothole laden street to Terminal Ticabus. Within an hour, I was on the road. Within another 13, I was stumbling off the bus into yet another TB terminal…….this time, San Jose style.
Since my ultimate destination was Panama, and I had to go right through Costa Rica to get there, I thought “why not see San Jose for a few days?” Besides, I’d never been to SJ, and there was the added bonus of being able to visit an old friend who is living there for a few months. On top of that, who wants to ride the bus for TWO full days in a row? So with that logic on the brain, I checked into Casa Ridgeway (more on that later) and opened up the Lonely Planet: Costa Rica to chapter two…….San Jose. Ultimately, I was able to spend five days in the city. Below are a few thoughts/experiences I thought you (or ME, if I’m the only one reading these things) might enjoy.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS: Remember the struggling city that I described Managua to be? Well, everything that Managua is NOT, San Jose IS. All in all, it’s a modern metropolis in every sense of the word. There are highways, sky scrapers, hotels, parks, museums, shopping malls, statues, pedestrian malls, and PLENTY of culture to go around. The parks were green, and the buses were new. To say the least, I was nothing but impressed.

CHIQUI CHIQU MONKEY: Although I rode the bus or walked most of the time, I did have the pleasure of riding in several taxis along the way. My favorite BY FAR was the one that had a large TV screen mounted to the dashboard for the passengers to watch. I think it’s fair to say that a TV screen in a taxi is a treat under any circumstances. What made this one so great though was what was ON the TV. A bit of background…….remember the 80’s in America? The decade of Reagan, mall rats, parachute pants, swatches, and some truly horrific hair styles? Although this decade was known for many great things, music was certainly NOT one of them. So if you can imagine the absolute WORST music from the 80’s and then record it in Spanish (no, I’m not talking about Menudo), you have a style called Chiqui Chiqui…………. Now, if you were to record this music and then film a bunch of people lip syncing to it while clad in the WORST of 80’s fashion and dancing on a playground, you have a Chiqui Chiqui music video. Finally, if you take ALL of these things and then record the off-key background vocals of a random taxi driver from San Jose, you will have EXACTLY what I experienced on that fateful night……..the perfect storm. Que Horrible!!!!!!!!
And speaking of taxis, I was also able to use them as a barometer for my success in the city. Here’s what I mean. When I arrived in San Jose on the bus from Nicaragua, I paid $7 for a ride from the Ticabus terminal to Casa Ridgeway (yes, I do hear the collective gasp going out across the internet). Four days later, when I traveled the SAME route on my way BACK to the terminal, I only paid $2. AAAHHH….the sweet smell of success.

SUMMONING THE QUAKER WITHIN: I mentioned before that while in San Jose, I stayed at a place called Casa Ridgeway. Casa Ridgeway is a nice little hostel located very centrally in San Jose. What I didn’t realize initially though was that it was a QUAKER hostel. Now, like me, I’m sure you are asking the question of “what exactly IS a Quaker?” Also like me, you may be thinking that the answer to that question involves something with bonnets, clothes from the 1800’s, and a diet unusually high in oatmeal. But as I stayed at the hostel and started to read the various pieces of Quaker propaganda handing on the walls, I started to realize that I MIGHT BE A QUAKER!!!!!! AND I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT!!!!!!!! OK, so maybe I’m not actually a Quaker, but I really did enjoy hearing more about their ideas, and I certainly found myself agreeing with pretty much everything they stand for. In fact, connected to the hostel was their “friends for peace” center, where they regularly hosted various gatherings in the name of world (and local) peace. Pretty cool stuff.
Perhaps my favorite exposure to the Quaker lifestyle though came in the form of a Quaker party. “What? You were only in SJ for four days, and you were already invited to a party?” Hey, that’s exactly what I thought. But, even though it was really through my friend Connie (who had been there for a while), I still took it as a good sign and put on my best party clothes for the special occasion. When we got there, it was pretty much just the three of us (me, Connie, and the host), so I happily pitched in with the preparation of the shish kabobs that were on the night’s menu. As the guests started to arrive though, I couldn’t help notice that something was amiss. And although it took me a few minutes to figure out what that “something” was…….. well, let me just explain it like this. Being the young (yea yea I know….just humor me on that one) single guy that I am, I’m always finding myself “looking around” a bit at the various parties I attend. The Quaker party was no exception. So as the guests started to arrive, I found that the ODDS were REALLY in my favor! I mean this party had a GREAT female to male ratio! In fact, after a few moments, I found myself noticing a certain young lady from across the room. Not long after that, I found that in addition to her attractive outer appearance, she had some other things going for her. She had lived in CR for a while, she had a good job, she had a car, and a pretty nice personality. But as I began to listen to her conversation with the other guests, I started to lose a bit of interest. More specifically, when I overheard her discussing her concern over her post-menopausal estrogen/progesterone levels with another guest, I started to think that we may not have much in common. And with that, maybe I should mention that this young lady, who happened to be the YOUNGEST of the arriving guests, was 64! Now I certainly don’t mean to offend anyone out there who happens to be carrying an AARP card in their wallet. It’s just that after being at this party for a while, it finally dawned on me as to why we had such a great party “ratio”. All the Quaker MEN had died!!!!
Oh well, the night wasn’t a TOTAL bust. In addition to learning ALL KINDS of things about the early to mid 20th century, I was also well rested for the next day.

I AM……4 YEAR OLD: Another experience I had in SJ was seeing a movie. Like I mentioned before, SJ has a number of movie theaters, and all of them appeared to rival any theater we have in the states. Not wanting to miss out on this aspect of the CR culture, I headed over to the local Cineplex to take in a product of my great country. The movie on that night’s agenda was I AM LEGEND with Will Smith. The movie was OK, but I couldn’t figure out why everyone in the theater seemed to be discussing the movie while it was in progress. Seriously, it was apparently completely acceptable to have a running commentary in your “outside voice” about what was happening on the screen. Oh well. At least it was an action movie, so much of the conversation was drowned out by the stereo sound.
My favorite moment of the evening though was when I decided to head to the concession stand to sample a bit of “palomitas Latinas”…..or Latin popcorn. You see, sometimes I begin to feel pretty good with the Spanish. Maybe I’ll have a nice conversation with someone in Spanish…….or maybe I’ll understand the lyrics to a song…..or maybe I’ll find myself being able to read something without getting out the ol’ diccionario…….Whatever…..it can take on many forms, and when these things take place, I find myself experiencing a bit of much needed confidence with my language skills. Unfortunately though, things can also go the other way. My popcorn experience would certainly fall into the category of the latter.
So there I was, standing in the concession line, practicing my upcoming speech. Palomitas……palomitas……palomitas…….the Spanish word for popcorn. I was SO excited because I LOVE popcorn, and I had just learned the Spanish word for this great delicacy. So there I stood, practicing over and over…….palomitas……palomitas. Finally, the moment came. It was MY turn to order las palomitas. The initial request actually went pretty well. “Small popcorn please?” “Hey, that went pretty well”. “Nice job, Spanish Jason” But as the girl behind the counter began to ask me “something”, I just couldn’t get it. “What?” “What?” Another……”What?” Uh oh...things were getting tense. It was as if some internal culture alarm was beginning to sound in the far reaches of my brain. Before long, all I could think of was “ABORT! ABORT! ABORT! NO PALOMITAS! NO PALOMITAS! GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN!!!!! But I couldn’t do ANYTHING! And before I knew what had happened, I found myself standing there at the counter, uttering PALOMITAS over and over again. It was all I could say! PALOMITAS! BUT to make matters worse, I couldn’t understand how much it was going to cost! So was in this horrible place I found myself, uttering the word PALOMITAS over and over again, while dumping more and more change on the counter. I was suddenly reduced to the four year old standing at the counter in the candy shop with empty pockets and a bag of change dumped on the counter. In fact, I’m pretty sure that if the girl at the counter had asked my how old I was at that very moment, I would have responded by holding up the appropriate number of fingers along with a well timed “this many”.
The good news was that like all things, this too did pass. Ultimately, I dumped enough money onto the counter and, and in exchange, was given a bucket of popcorn. This icing on the cake? The bucket that overflowed the CARAMEL corn. I HATE CARAMEL CORN!!!!!!!
AAAHHHH….good times. You have to love the learning curve associated with a new language. I’ll tell you this though…..after a few days in recovery, I’m ready to get back on the horse! Bring on the palomitas!!!!

La Chureca.....True Confessions Of A Coke Bottle

2008-01-19T12:38:00.000-06:00

La Chureca....hmmmm....what to say about La Chureca. La Chu-WHAT you may ask? La Chureca. It's the name of the city dump in Managua. More specifically, it's the name of the "community" of people living and working in the dump in Managua. It's also the place where I plan to spend a fair amount of my time this year. As I mentioned before, Mangau itself doesn't exactly ooze affluance. To borrow from a previous Blog entry, it's poor......really poor. Not unlike any other society though, there are certainly differing levels of affluance.....or in this case, lack thereof. In THIS struggling city, the "bottom of the barrel" would certainly be found in La Chureca. The dump itself is really quite large, and believe it or not, is located on the shores of Lake Managua (think ocean front property in Prince William Sounds....cirque 1989). There is a vast open area where the trash is dumped, and then there is an adjacent residential area where the people live. Now, when I say adjacent, I mean "pretty much IN". Anyway, the system is that.........the trucks collect the garbage from the city......the truck drivers take out anything that looks salvageable.......the truck drivers then drive to La Chureca and dump the trash wherever they find the motivation (middle of the road? On someone's residence? NO PROBLEM).........the people then start manually sifting through the trash looking for ANYTHING that can be recycled, sold, worn, reused, or eaten.......the people eat or use what they can and then sell the rest to the local "dealers" at the entrance of La Chureca (middle men).......from there, I'm not exactly sure where it goes, but the "collectors" are paid a small sum. From what I could tell, THAT is pretty much the thriving economic system within the dump.......at least officially. Unofficially, the economy involves selling of drugs (mainly crack and small bottles of sniffable glue) and prostitution (yep, this is where the kids come in).

THE WORK.........To be quite honest with you, I didn't find the working conditions to be THAT horrible. I mean it's certainly difficult and filthy manual labor. But all in all, after becoming accustomed to the smell, it really didn't seem that bad (yea yea...I know....that's easy for me to say....I wasn't the one DOING it). Despite my lack of repulsion though, I did see a couple of problems. First of all, there's the smoke. Oh, did I fail to mention this before? Yea, there's a lot of smoke. And like the old adage says, where there's smoke, there's fire. In this case, the trash is burning.......ALWAYS. Some of the fire is from spontaneous combustion deep within the layers of trash. Other fires are just on the surface....on the side of the road....in the middle of the road.....EVERYWHERE.....or as they say in this part of the world, "on all sides".Another problem is that the children are forced to work in the trash. Apparently, some of them do attend school (more on the school later) to some degree, but they also have a very strong presence in the trash.

THE NEIGHBORHOOD.........Like I said, I didn't find the working conditions to be terribly horrific. The living conditions are another story. The structures are very simple and would probably best be described as "shanty" type structures. They seem to be constructed from whatever wood or metal that happens to be lying around, and as you can imagine, the "furniture is simple". The good news is that to my surprise, most of them did have running water and electiicity from the city's grid (i.e. ONE bulb and ONE spicket). In fact, one of the ways the city has turned a blind eye to such an atrocity within its borders is by claiming the benevolence of allowing the "thievery" of its water and electricity. Anyway, it wasn't the simplicity of the conditions that I found to be so offensive. Rather, it was the filth. I mean it's one thing to follow up a hard (and dirty) day's work in the dump with a nice shower in a relatively clean living environment. It's entirely another when you continue to live IN the same filth. AND, since the trucks are consistently driving by all day, the dirt, trash, etc. (again....filth) is EVERYWHERE. And you have to keep in mind that you can't just close the window when the trucks drive by:) So without belaboring the point, I'll just say again that the home life is less than desirable.

LIFE AMONGST THE TRASH........As you can imagine, if you were to live under such harsh conditions, you might look for some type of escape. Well, this is where the drugs come in. The glue that I mentioned before seems to be the most prevalent. It's sold in small baby food jars, and I believe a jar will generally last for about three days. Apparently, in addition to providing a minor sense of euphoria, it acts as a great appetite suppressor (not a bad thing when there's no money for food). The prostitution is just another way to make a buck. Starting at an early (7 or 8), young girls can make a little extra money for the family by offering their services to the truck drivers. Again, for the folks on the giving end of this service, it all comes down to survival.

AND FINALLY.......A RAY OF SUNLIGHT..........Believe it or not, despite the prevailing darkness within the community, there is also a beauty to be found. Although the kids around there don't have large piles of leaves to jump in like I did growing up, they DO have piles of paper. Although I didn't come across any new PS3's or WII's, they seemed to take great pleasure from a myriad of simple "toys". Within the people themselves, there IS a sense of community. And as confusing as the family structures are at times, they are families nonetheless. I look forward to exploring this side of things in the coming months.

To learn more about La Chureca, check out http://www.lovelightandmelody.org/

Bienvenido a Managua

2008-01-17T15:16:00.000-06:00

On Friday night, after enjoying a perfectly uneventful day in the skies, I arrived in Managua. Because I was arriving after dark, I didn't get much of an aerial view on the approach. But, I DID see a LOT of lights, so at least there's electricity right?
Anyway, after navigating the baggage claim and multiple customs stations, I finally found my way to the doors marked EXIT. No surprisingly, along with incredibly high humidity (see "Jason and the magic afro" from last year's Panama Blog) and increasingly familiar smell seemingly common to this part of the world, I found myself in the chaotic melee of screaming taxi drivers. The GOOD news was that after only a few short NO's, I heard a familiar name......namely, uh, mine. Brad, Daniel, and Bismark helped me load up my bags into the car and off we went to the hotel.

Hotel Cisneros........This was the name of the hotel in which I spent my first five night. It was a nice little place behind their house (they being the Cisneros family) that consisted of about 10 small apartments and rooms. The rooms were simple but nice, and the breakfast pancakes were EXCELLENT (the phrase "best pancakes in Managua" came up more than once). As for the BEST surprise? Well, the wireless internet of course!!!!!!

My time in Managua.......I spent a total of four days in Managua, mostly driving from one end of the city to the other in an attempt to meet "someone" or accomplish "something" in a BIG hurry. We met with poor people (visiting with various residents of the dump), we met with rich people (dignitaries and people from the Italian embassy), we met with local people, and we met with LOTS of gringos (other people working in the area, representing a number of different organizations). For me, in addition to getting an excellent orientation of the city and all of it's "goings on", it was GREAT to meet the numerous aid workers in the area. I heard about ALL KINDS OF THINGS happening down there, from healthcare to schools to coffee cooperatives. Everyone seemed to have more work than they could handle, and everyone seemed eager to have me help them out. Although I don't know "exactly" what I'm going to do when I get back from language school, there's certainly ample opportunity to get involved in pretty much any area I want. I was also able to meet with a nurse from the clinic in the garbage dump, and she too seemed happy to have me help out around there (apparently they get a fair number of "machete wounds").

Managua.....I've visited a number of cities in Latin America, and they all tend to look the same to me. There are always the very poor areas, but there are also the more "developed" parts of town with the big American hotels, large casinos, plenty of KFC joints, and at least one or two GSOUS's......or grocery stores of unusual size (that was for you Princess Bride fans). As I drove around Managua though, I kept asking "so where is the nice part of town"? In other words, where is the commerce.....where are the buildings.....where are the hotels and casinos......where do the rich people live and shop? Interestingly enough, on the night of my fifth and final night in the city of....well, broken concrete..... I finally found it. Upon driving to a small gathering to celebrate a gringo-girl's bday, I noticed something incredibly strange. "Hey, why are there decorative street lights out here, and is that unusual glow in the distance what I think it is"? Beyond that, why do I suddenly feel as though we're riding on air? Why have we stopped dodging the potholes? Well, as for the lights that I found to be so intensely mesmerizing, they were decoration for the NEW ROAD!! The NEW ROAD also explained the strange sensation of floating. The Glow? Yep, you guessed it. It was the glow of NEON.....lights that is. Before I could say "delapidation", I suddently found myself in the middle of the "high end part of town". And although I didn't remember seeing a train, we had apparently crossed to the other side of the tracks.
OK OK....I'm kidding about all of this, of course. But, in all seriousness, Managua is unlike any other city I've been in. And the reality of it all is really quite simple......It's poor......really poor. No parks....no buildings....no modern or upscale shops or restautants (minus the two blocks that I just described).......no coffee shops......no public art (unless you count the new lamp posts).........no public works......not much of anything........just a lot of dirt, trash, and broken concrete. Fortunately for Managua though, a city can never be judged by the beauty (or lack thereof) of its exterior. Rather, a city must always be judged by the spirit of its people. And as I made an increasingly number of friendships over my short stay there, it became increasingly clear that Managua is a truly beautiful place.

Going....Going.....well, not quite gone

2008-01-11T15:54:00.000-06:00

OK...... first of all, in my defense, I need to say this.....things have been a little hectic lately.

So there I am. It's Thursday morning. I'm enjoying a leisurely morning around the breakfast table at my brother Jeremy's house. The pancakes are fantastic (complete with REAL maple syrup), the coffee is excellent (organic, or course), and the company is perfectly enjoyable. aaaaahhhh......it's so nice to just take a few deep breaths after the chaos of "preparing to leave the country for a year". I had finally gotten eveything packed up and in the POD the night before. The plan was to spend a bit of family time in Colorado Springs before driving back to DIA to catch my flight to Managua.

"You know, I think I should make sure my flight is still on time for 3:30", I say, as I pull up my eticket on the computer. hmmmm....that's strange......apparently my 3:30 flight has suddenly....spontaneously...eratically....without warming.....unexpectedly and without my knowledge changed from 3:30 to 11:30.....AM!......as in one hour from right then!!!!!!!! WHAT???!!!!! (wait a minute, let me try that again in the spirit of heading South) QUE????!!!!!! Well, let's see. I was never a math major or anyting, but if I am supposed to be at the airport 2 hours ahead of the flight, and the airport is about 2 hours away, and I have one hour until the flight leaves......well......I didn't make it.

Yea yea....I know. I know. I apparently got a little scatter-brained at the end there. BUT, all is well! In fact, it couldn't have worked out better. I was able to just relax for a day, get a few more things done, hang with the family, and then fly out of Colorado Springs (i.e. short drive) this AM!

Right now, on FRIDAY afternoon, I'm sitting in the Houston airport typing this (my first) BLOG entry. I feel great, I'm rested and relaxed, and I'm looking forward to my much anticipated arrival in Managua just a few short hours from now. I mean sure, I'm 24 hours behind schedule, but if you think of it, I'm moving to Central America. I'm ONLY 24 hours late:)