Milestones through Pictures

Elliot and I started this journey on August 20th. Since then it has been a whirlwind of walking, talking, new friend making, engineering masterpieces, website design, family visits, language learning, coffee roasting, and culture exchange madness - it's been one Milestone after another!

There is a lot to share and many questions to answer and I am looking forward to doing just that in the New Year. But for now, I wanted to share some of our highlights through pictures. You can click on the link below or just copy and paste it into your browser.

http://s1131.photobucket.com/albums/m556/Joshuasphotos/?albumview=slideshow

I hope you all have a fantastic New Years Celebration!

Abrazos,

Joshua

A FRUITFUL Holiday Season!

For the past month I have seen increasing amounts of fruit stands opening up in the city. The vast majority of every one of those stands is covered in apples. Not one time before tonight though have I seen anyone buy an apple and the only reason I saw it tonight was because I was the one handing the money (a buck fifties worth for one apple!) over to buy it. I have tried my best to figure out what the apple madness is about and the explanation I've been given is that it is a tradtion to eat apples around Christmas and during the other months of the year they are quite scarce so the people have to get their apple fill while they can. Some of my friends have gone so far as to say that a basket of apples is a perfectly acceptable Christmas gift amongst family. Can you imagine your folks putting a bag of Granny Smith's finest under the Christmas tree? Ha! How bout them apples!

La Noche Buena

That picture came in the mail just in time for Christmas. It along with the rest of the contents was the icing on my Christmas Cake.

It's always interesting to see how other people celebrate holidays that we share in common.

Christmas was no exception. After a few invitations fell through at the last minute Elliot and I geared up to maintain some of the traditions that he and I share in common, namely gorging ourselves and taking it easy. We did a mediocre job at the gorging and an amazing job at taking it easy.

The Nicaraguans celebrate in similar fashion to us; they gather with family, exchange gifts, and eat a tradtional meal of stuffed chicken, (turkey is prohibitively expensive for most people to purchase, i saw one in the market that cost over 1000 Cordobas which is about a third of a months wages for a state paid teacher. Can you imagine paying around 800+ dollars for a turkey?) But there is one part of Christmas that they celebrate quite differently than I am used to, the Noche Buena. We call it Christmas Eve, and for those of us that celebrate it where I am from, we usually go to a church service and maybe have a small dinner. Not so with the Nicaraguans. Holidays are always good conversation starters and I had used the days leading up to Christmas to start many a conversation. I wanted to be fully informed about what to expect. Everyone talked about the Noche Buena more than the actual day of Christmas though, and of the Noche Buena they mainly talked about what happens in the late night. In Nicaragua it seems that hours leading up to a day and the first few hours of the actual event, whether it be Christmas, New Years, La Purisma... are the always the most important. In the continuing effort to integrate Elliot and I decided that it was in our best interest to celebrate alongside the locals in the way we were told they celebrate.

We started the night with some sweet bread and lager out on the corner with the local neighborhood security guards. It only made sense to find other people who were spending the night without family and enjoy it with them at least for a bit. It was great! We provided the eats and they brought the conversation. They told us all about the Noche Buena and that we needed to make sure to be awake for the tiradera at midnight. If you look in your Spanish dictionary I don't think you will find the word "tiradera." I will describe it to you and you can translate it how you think best.

We asked if there was a prime location to witness the tiradera and they said "nope, as long as your in Masaya then your in the right spot...just be awake at midnight." We decided that the central park would be our vantage point. On our way there I noticed that just about every home had their doors open with their kids playing on the streets and the parents sitting in rocking chairs chatting and waiting for midnight. My understanding of the tiradera up to that point was that it was a fireworks display. It wasn't organized or centrally located enough to be that. We got to the park about 11:30 and at 11:45 someone somewhere jumped the gun and lit off what sounded like 200 blackcats -a small but loud firecracker. That touched off what would be 30 minutes of a 360 degree assault on my ears and pleasure for my eyes. Back home we have some written and unwritten rules regarding fireworks that everyone goes by i.e. don't light fireworks off within city limits, if there is a burn ban then no fireworks at all, always be aware of where you are lighting off your firework, don't point them at people or at cars, and I am sure there a probably a few more. Every single one of those was completely ignored. The only rule seemed to be light them off as fast and furiously as you can. I loved it, except for the bottle rocket that landed and went off about 3 feet from my foot.

The night was still young. We were told that tradition also dictates that dancing is necessary to properly celebrate the night. So we danced. I made it my aim to find señoritas who would tolerate my two left feet - they're out there!

Our first Noche Buena in Nicaragua exceeded all expectations. Though we are hoping to celebrate with a full house this time next year!

Hope your Noche Buena and Navidad were fantastic!

Mail

There are few feelings better than the one I have right now. It's the one that comes from opening up your mailbox and having a hand-written letter inside addressed to you.

After having several mishaps with the traditional way of receiving mail, we decided that a PO Box would be the best way to go. It has proven to be accurate in regards to its destination and timely.

If any of you are happen to be in a giving mood for the holidays, well it just so happens that I am in a receiving mood! On that note, here is my mailing address.

Joshua Allsup

Apartado Postal #164

Masaya, Nicaragua

p.s. Mom the pics were great, and no need to apologize for the handwriting. It's still leaps and bounds better than mine.

Shady days and sunny evenings

If Elliot were England and I was the United States and we were having a soccer match between us where points were scored by each visit you received from a friend or family member, then I am sad to report that the United States would be losing by three points to England. For patriotic and personal reasons I can only hope that the U.S. starts to gain ground sometime soon.

For the past five weeks Elliot and I have been volunteering at a local language institute. This past Sunday during the mid-morning break at the institute I was approached by an interesting character. He was a friendly fella and quite informative. Within the first two minutes of our conversation he began to answer questions that I was not aware that I had such as; why he had bothered to arrive to the institute in a van, why he was passing time in the hall ways instead of the classrooms and why his past dealings with almost existing educational institutes had gone sour . The answer to the first of those questions was his segway into a small game of show and tell. He led me to the computer classroom opened the door and made a gesture followed by the words "these are mine, my students that is, 15 of them are studying computers and 5 are studying language." Well done! A few minutes later this fella and I were exchanging phone numbers and emails. Before the break was over I had recieved my first phone call from him. By the time I walked out of the language institute rough plans had been made for a visit to these "really poor students" in the upcoming week.

The visit was of epic length. We had left the house to meet up in the central park by 10 till 7 and would not get back to our house until nearly 8 that night. The three of us- Elliot, Pete(elliot's friend from england), and I were the only people besides the driver and Noel in the 15 passenger van. Renting a 15 passenger van for a day is not cheap but after no haggling and a lot of begging we were allowed to contribute not one peso for its rental. We were off. Our second port of call was the turn off where we picked up one of the "padre's de familia" and his son that would serve as our jungle guides. They were subtlety corrected for their pleasant demeanor and forthrightness on many occasion as the day progressed.

On our way to the mini jungle trek we passed through a few coffee and pineapple plantations. (I wish you had been there to see it and when you come I will take you!) On our way through one of the coffee plantations Noel had the bus stop so that we might briefly chat with one of the ladies who was picking coffee beans. Before he had a chance to prep the moment (I had already been corrected for speaking to a sugar cane vendor earlier in the day. He wanted to do the negotiating for us on everything, and on the sugarcane he got a small piece sold to me for one peso. I went back a few seconds later to thank the woman and she smiled and chopped off 4 more pieces the same size and told me to give them to the others in the van - free of charge) I jumped down from the van and rushed over to the woman picking coffe beans. I wanted to chat and I wanted to grab a picture -with her permission of course. So we chatted and I took a photo of her, and then her daughters showed up and I took a photo of them. They smiled when I showed them the picture and they had a good laugh from it. Then Noel spoke. He took the opportunity to paint the proper picture for me of what was really happening. The chubby senora and her daughters with the smiling faces were actually being exploited for their cheap labor. He went so far as to ask them how little they get paid for each pound picked and then without offering an alternative to the problem let the senora know that not only were the low wages unjust but so was the fact that her daughters had to work from such a young age. I can't help but think how fortuitous that encounter with Noel's words was for the senora and her children.

And then there was a jungle tour. And there were white faced monkeys in the trees and a low roar from howler monkeys in the distance. And we were back on our way to the next destination.

The next place we went was a farm and it was amazing. Farm does not adequately describe what it was. How about a tropical garden of eden? It was full of rows of dragon fruit cactus, orange, lemon, lime, coconut, avocado, and three varieties of banana trees and they were all in evenly spaced rows. Ontop of all that, the ground was carpeted with thick grass and there was a turkey coup. I was beyond distracted and it took several minutes and shouts for my attention and body to get back to where they were supposed to be. The reverse game of show and tell was well on its way. We had gathered at the farm of one of the students fathers. He was the forman actually. There were several fathers and mothers of the students that I had previously met all standing in a circle. Noel began to talk. His speech started with how much he was disappointed that the all other parents of the children attending the institute couldn't make it. Make it for what? Then the podium was handed over to one of the fathers, he was sincere and relatively short-winded. Then Noel handed the mic to me. I was kind of angry to be honest. First of all I was a guest and had no real right to talk in front of those people. I have barely been involved in the lives of their children at all and for me to say anything would, at least in my mind, be assuming the credit for work that other people had done. I had a quick vision of pelting Noel with some of the produce that was dangling from the trees. I talked anyway. I took the opportunity to praise the parents for making the decision to actively invest in their children's future through education. Then the foreman talked and ended with taking us by the arm to the top of the well and having his wife bring a handful of peeled oranges with a bowl of salt -it's common in nicaragua to eat citrus products that way- to the top of the well. After a lot of citrus eating and talks of future get togethers we were sent on our way. As we went to the van I heard the foreman shouting to a handful of his differerent workers "you bring so many of those... and you bring me some of that one.. and...." We were sent on our way with 6 pineapples, 20 bananas, 15 mandarin oranges, 50 limes, and about a dozen oranges. I love country folk!

A few hours later we ended up on a beach. It was our last stop before home! The sunset was nice and the company was mostly desirable. About 45 minutes before we were to get back on the van and 30 before the owner of the restaurant we were at tried to swindle us, a middle aged white guy came up to me. He was by himself and was wondering if he could catch a ride back into town with us. It was late in the day and there was no more buses that would be passing by. Before I answered he had already assured me that he would be more than happy to pay for the ride. I let him know that there was more than plenty of room and that we weren't paying so he would not need to either. A short while later he was at our table and we were all sharing our stories of why we were in Nicaragua. Elliot and I took turns sharing and at some point I mentioned the Peace Corps and our new friend quickly let me know that he was an ex Peace Corps volunteer as well and that currently was the head of Masters International.

I was excited out of my mind. I had read online about his program a score of times. I tried to contain myself and look only just pleased that I was able to help out a fellow traveler, but he wasn't a fellow traveler - he was a fellow traveler that was the head of Masters International. I think the sun might have stayed in the sky for a few extra hours that day.

The next morning I had him over to my house and got to share with him a little more concretely our ideas on what brought us to Nicaragua and what it is we want to do here. He shared my enthusiasm and even seemed to be genuinely excited for us. There was a bit more to it, but nothing concrete as of yet so I will wait on sharing any more for a while.

p.s. - Noel has called me every day since we went on that tour, sometimes starting at 6 a.m. He almost always inquires as to why I don't pick up my phone more and then moves on to asking about my foreign friends and if he will be able to see them before they go. I have yet to determine the relationship between his eagerness to meet them and the higher education opportunities of the students I met. Looking forward to doing some sleuth work in the coming weeks.

Subsidized fish and chips

A week ago today Elliot and I ecsorted our first visitors back to Nicaragua's international airport. It ended much like it started; warm words, smiles, a few shrieks and a lot of hugs.

About the shrieks. I haven't decided if there is something dark about my sense of humor or if it is that I am truly concerned that people have the full Latin American experience. Regardless of which, the first experience that a person should have after walking out the doors of an airport is the privilege of riding in the front seat of the taxi that will take them to their destination. When Elliot's parents stepped out of the airport I insisted that his dad take the front seat, and from there I just watched. By the end of mile one, he was pulling on his seat belt to make it as tight as possible, by mile 5 his was giving the driver a cross look, from mile 6 till we arrived at the destination his hands were intermittently placed over his eyes with the occasional shriek followed by sighs of relief that all four tires were still on the road, and by the time we reached our destination and the car came to a stop there was a smile on his face and one of hands on the drivers shoulder congratulating "the old chap" for having successfully brought us to our destination. The induction ceremony was over and that same night we were to start a week of living high on the hog - primarily from a culinary standpoint. The tone was set after the first meal. We went out to the local irish pub/restaurant to have a meal with his parents and after eating and chatting for a while the bill came. I knew what was going to happen but for the sake of courtesy I pulled out my wallet and put my share and a modest tip in. His dad put his hand on my money and pushed it back my way and followed it up with "we'll subsidize at least a few meals for you fellas." I knew exactly what that meant and it would be a lie to say that my tongue didn't make a jump for joy. Elliot's parents,

Nigel and Elizabeth, were nothing short of inspiring. Nigel was born in the late 20's and ELizabeth 10 or so years after that. It struck me as strange at least a few times that there age had seemingly no effect on their style of living. We all 4 did a walking tour of multiple towns, climbed a volcano, and made our way around the dungeon of an old fortress without any problems. The humor of both of them was very English and multiple times Nigel left me more than a bit befuddled when I had to figure out his old man jokes (some things are universal). There might have been a bit of frustration on my face a few times when I realized that this old gentleman was still sharper than I have ever been. The physical pinnacle of the week came when we went to one of the local smoothie shops. There is a ping-pong table inside that we play on every time we visit that particular town. Elliot and his dad played a few games and his dad gave him a thrashing on more than one set. It was amazing!

We talked about politics a few times and sports a lot during the week and I found out that the two of them are involved in politics at the level of what we would call a state senator in the US. WHAT? But your 80+ years old, why in the world haven't you gone into full retirement? was the only thing that flashed through my head.

As we took them back to the airport I was chatting with Elizabeth and she let me know that they intend to visit again. But she also let me know that she was quite frustrated with her stay because she could not sufficiently communicate with anyone besides us and the concierge at the hotel they stayed at. She then expressed her intent to join the local university where they live so she could start taking Spanish language classes so that her next visit might be a more rewarding. WHAT? But your 70+ years old, people don't try and learn a new language when they are that age, do they?

I suppose age and circumstance are no match for vitality and ambition.

One man's trash

I am not sure what got to me first, the mariachi band singing Ave Maria outside my house or my undersized bladder. But it is 5 in the morning and I have been woken up and as of late I have had the old peoples curse of once your awake you don't back to sleep until the day is done - or at least until it might be time to take a small mid afternoon siesta!

I have been in my new house for 2 weeks and 3 days and it seems like someone through me in a whirlwind with a strobe light beaming down on me...the days have no end but the weeks fly kind of feeling. But long days have been exactly what is necessary. After all, Elliot and I walked into a house that was empty and extremely rough around the edges. We have been very keen to change that.

The day before moving in we made out the first weeks calendar of what each day was to look like i.e. which room in the house we were going to tackle and finish by the time the day was done and which NGO we were going to visit each day. That list was thrown out on day two when we both simultaneously had a serious change in mind as to what was the most important thing in the house. We both had already bought a mattress, the bed frame wasn't to come for another 2 weeks but we're both youngish and neither one had much of a problem with chunking a mattress on the floor. Number two and three on our list were the kitchen and the dirt patch -also known is some house holds as a garden. A house is not a home until you can prepare your meal and eat in it! So we shopped. Our shopping took us to two different cities, 8 different department stores, and two traditional markets. Our goal was to find new gear to outfit the kitchen at a garage sale price. We were about 50 percent hit or miss on making that happen. Our first "hit" happened in the market. The market here is where most people do their shopping and in the states it is what we might think of as a mix between a Farmers and Flee market. It's full of everything from shoe cobblers and rice whole salers to touristy knick-knacks. But most importantly for us they have a nice sized selection of discarded kitchen ware from the United States! I have never been more thankful for the person that throws out their perfectly good stuff. My kitchen is beginning to take on a new personality because of it. My silerware drawer is a hodgepodge of Englands finest cutlery and American made silverware. I had the biggest smile on my face when I found a pure silver table spoon that looked like something made at the turn of the 19th century. My pots and pans, except for one shiny mistake made when I was desperate to find a pot to cook some noodles in, are quality american stuff as well. Unfortunately outfitting a kitchen in this fashion is not something that can be done in a day. The stalls are open or shut depending on the whim of the stall owner and for every diamond there is 10 pounds of coal you have to dig through to get to it. Consequently, having a working cutlery set for 2 took just under a week to make and a score of trips to the market.

Earlier I mentioned that getting bed frames took two weeks. I want to share a brief glimpse of the comedy that it took to get them.

At the day 8ish mark of being in the house after the dirtpatch was beginning to take on a little life and the kitchen was somewhat sorted out we turned our eye to getting our matresses off the floor. I had already stopped at the market several times to see their bed frames and each time the price for what they wanted for their crooked, uneven, and unsanded bed frames sent me on my way with a sour taste in my mouth. I went back several times hoping that they were going to cut the price by about 80%. I had no such luck.

One night last week we went to visit two new friends, Marlon and Jose, we had made in our house hunting days. One is a leather craftsman the other a carpenter and both are very well informed about their town. During the course of the conversation they asked how the house was going and I told them about our work up till then and how everything was going slowly but surely, except for the bedframes. I mentioned that for lack of a better option we had decided to build our own and within a few days we were going to start the construction. They both stopped me mid-sentence and said they knew of a better option. They told me of one of the ruralesque schools that has a deal with an american shipping agency. Quarterly they receive a container of goods that arrives to the school and they sell those goods to the community and use the funds to enhance their school. They said that in the last shipment was also a host of metal bed frames. SCORE!!! The next day Marlon guided us out to the school. The beds frames were in perfect condition except that they were missing legs. "Don't worry, I have a friend that lives close by and he is a welder" was Marlon's answer to the problem. So we bought the frames - 7 of them- and two by two we loaded them up in the back of my new Toyota Tacoma and took them to the welders shop. Alright that is how I would have like for it to been. Reality was a different story. We paid then Elliot and I grabbed either end of two beds at a time and got to walking. From the looks we were paid I have the feeling that it is not an every day occurrence to see two white kids marching through the barrio with big metal bedframes on either arm. Their were only two more obstacles to overcome. The first was getting legs for the frames and the second was getting the beds home. The welder showed us where to buy used metal tubing. Fortunately it was only about 18-20 blocks from his house which made for a brisk 20 minute walk. In total we bought two 6 meter galvanized pipes (diameter = ?) and once again from the looks and laughs that we got I dare say that it was the first time two white kids had marched through their neighborhood looking like that.

The last frontier was getting the beds home. We both decided that carrying the beds from the welders place to our house was a somewhat undesirable option. So we hired out the Nicaraguan version of a U-Haul. Which translates to a horse and cart. There might have been at least one jeer as we rode in the mans cart to and from the welders shop to pick up our new beds but for the most part it was just looks of confusion that we were met with.

Our beds are off the ground and my new home is starting to take on a livable appearance. Thanks for the treasures!

Unpacking

For the past three weeks Elliot and I have been walking the towns of Masaya and Granada. We only spent a short time in Granada after deciding that Masaya was a much better fit for what we want to do.

It turns out that the idea of a realty office does not exist in Masaya, or most of Nicaragua for that matter and the classified ads only have a very small percentage of the houses that are actually for sale/rent. So we started walking and looking for "Se Alquila/For Rent" signs. We found out that most people don't use those either. They just rely on word of mouth. So we walked and we talked with any one that had time to listen. A typical conversation would go like this.

"Senora, do you know of any houses for rent in this area?"

"No, but if you talk to that Senor in the next house he might be able to help you"

...

"Senor I was told by that Senora over there that you might have and idea of any houses that are for rent in this area."

"Yes I do. There is a very nice one I know of. Just walk to the end of the block, go across the park, go down the street that goes north about 3 blocks, or maybe it was 4, and look for the yellow house with the green gate"

The vast majority of conversations that we had were some version of that. Always a house on the other side of town or around the block. Turns out that addresses are not EVER used here so we were never given a street name and a number. An exact direction for any one house is always based on a distance in meters from a well known reference point. Ej: the store is 150 meters south of the Asuncion Church.

It was a chaotic experience full of frustration, but exciting none the less.

So three weeks into our search we have found a stopping point. We have found a house and yesterday we went to sign the contract and today we move in! Moving in consists of walking in with my backpack on one shoulder and my duffel on the other.

Within a few days I will see the bottom of my duffel for the first time since it was packed over a month and a half ago. I will eat something other than fried street food and the sardine sandwiches that I have been making for myself for the past several weeks. In fact I plan on eating a very large bowl of mashed potatoes accompanied by anything green that I can get ahold of. The real highlight is that we will get to start on the work that we came down to do. I am excited and a little bit anxious but more than anything I am looking forward to sharing more stories as the journey continues.

Nicaraguan Rodeo

Nicaraguans are some of the most inclusion minded people I have come across, especially when it comes to sharing important parts of their culture. I am ashamed to say that I have been a bad guest here and a few too many times this week I have refused to accept their invitation to integrate.

On Sunday at noon as Elliot and I were just getting back to Masaya after finishing up some paperwork in the neighboring town we noticed a horde of people that were getting off of other buses at the same spot as us. Usually a bus passes every 10 minutes so to see 3 stopping at one time made me a bit curious. We decided to follow a group of the folks that were headed to the outskirts of town to see what we were missing out on. I don't really know a good name to call the place we arrived at. The most accurate description I can give is that it was a wooden two story structure made of uneven planks, all of which looked like they had been nailed together when dirt was first being made. You could see between each plank and if you stepped on the wrong spot on any given plank then it would bow about 2 to 4 inches toward the ground. In the center of this wooden coliseum was the arena. We took a walk around the top floor and on one side we saw a number of bulls lined up waiting to go into the arena. We were at a Nicaraguan Rodeo and the event of the day was bull riding! If you have been to one in the states then you have a general idea of what this looks like. There were a couple of points where the Nicaraguan version varied though.

1. Instead of 2 or 3 rodeo-clowns in the arena there were about 40 men inside the arena waiting their turn to ride the bulls.

2. Instead of using one hand to hold on to the bull they tied a rope from one foot to the other underneath the belly of the bull. The dismounts were amazing!

3. Sobriety was not a requirement to get on the bull or be in the ring with it.

4. nor was a helmet

5. the winner of the 25 dollar purse was not determined by the best 8 seconds of good form but rather by who could stay on the bull longest

6. the single best rider of the day was a sober female who wore a helmet.

We stayed for 4 hours and for every bit of it and I was either laughing or wincing. At some point during our stay I was approached about getting on one of the bulls. I think it is because they saw my swagger and it was obvious to them that I was a Texan. I had to explain to him that although I am from Texas and indeed we do ride bulls there, we only do it with boots on and unfortunately I was wearing tennis shoes.

That refusal compounded with a few others that I made have been weighing on me all week long. Fortunately today I at least got to rectify a little bit of the situation. As we were walking to lunch we saw another great commotion and decided to investigate. Great commotions seem to be the norm here. There was a single street lined with guys and girls of all ages. In the middle for the quarter mile that the street stretched were what looked like the entirety of Nicaragua's 15 to 25 year male population. I asked what was going on and I was told that it was the running of the bulls. For those of you that haven't seen this before the basic premise is that at one end of a long street you have a corral full of bulls. In front of those bulls are a mass of people that for various reasons decide it is a good idea to run in front of those bulls after the bulls' corral has been opened for 1. the duration of the street 2. until they can find way out or

3. until the bull catches up with them.

I knew where I belonged before anyone said "you should go run!" I made a bee line to the corral. This run was a little different than previous ones I have done. Usually all of the bulls are let out at one time. This time they were let out one at a time. Having a scared/angry bull on either side of the crowd you are in with the first one occasionally doubling back on the crowd made me more than a bit nervous. At one point Elliot and I found ourselves with a charging bull on one side of a light post and us on the other. It made a few guesses as to how to get to us before he left for easier targets. There was an unidentifiable puddle on one side of that light post after the bull retreated.

We quickly found out that it was not actually the bulls that we had to fear though. They were predictable and for most of us avoidable as well. The problem was the mob. They were unpredictable and the cause of almost all of the injuries.

After a half hour of running we retired for lunch.

Those bulls didn' t suffer the same fate as most. They were tied up after reaching their destination and eventually carted back out to their pastures.

"Go big or go home!" - Saint Jeronimo

For about a week now the town we are in has been getting geared up for the celebration of their town's patron saint. A week ago the first signs we saw of the preparation involved about 50 men carrying a 40+ foot tall tree through the streets of town. (I am looking forward to sharing some pictures and a story just as soon as i figure out what it is about.)

A few days later as we were walking towards Saint Jeronimo's church we heard a loud rumbling of engines. As we got closer I noticed that one of the main streets leading up to the church was lined with spectators and packed with motorcycles. All I could make out was a pack of guys on bikes that were riding for about 200 yards as fast as their bikes would let them while occasionally standing up to wave at the crowd. I had to chat with one of the police officers to figure out what was actually going on. He explained to me that it was a game. The guys on bikes had pencils in their hands and when they stood up they weren't waving at the crowd but they were trying to get stick their pen through a small ring about the size of a silver dollar. It was a modern version of the equestrian game called sword lancing- except the horses, swords, and trained riders were traded out for motorcylces, pencils, and any joe with a bike.

Yesterday was Saint Jeronimo's official day. Elliot and I wanted to see the statue of the saint so we made our way back to the church. He was supposed to get taken out at 2:00 so we made our way there about a quarter after. It was shocking to find out that we had missed the exit of the saint by a 15 full minutes. We attempted to give chase but it was a little slow going. There were several thousand people in the streets- some dancing, some some selling beer, some consuming beer, some selling ice cream, some wandering aimlessly, but all celebrating Saint Jeronomio. Every person we asked gave us a different route that the saint had been taken down. It didn't help matters that there were a half dozen 10 piece marching bands all marching down different streets and playing simultaneously. After a half hour of searching we finally found Saint Jeronimo. He was whiter than...me!

Instead of following him the rest of the way through the streets we decided to go back to the church and wait for them to return him. After an hour of waiting we got a little restless and decided to make our way out of the square back to the place we were staying. I saw a lady setting up what looked like a manger on our way out of the square and decided it was worth a conversation over. When I asked her about her about it, she informed me that her chosa was not a manger but rather where she was intending to sell street meat for the next three months of Saint Jeronimo's celebration.

More often than not I tend to misunderstand things in spanish so i said "you mean the next three days" and she said "no, i mean the next three months"

A three month fiesta!? I would have gotten even more excited than i did if there weren't explosions/fireworks going off at 5 in the morning every day to remind me of the fiesta.

Viva San Jeronimo... y que mueran los fuegos artificiales!

The Golden Road

Before I start I just wanted to let you know that although I am not a civil engineer my basic arithmetic skills are nothing short of first class and I am going to attempt to prove that in the next few paragraphs.

A few days ago Elliot and I took a bus from Leon to Poneloya. From there we hopped off the bus and proceeded to walk for the next three hours. We walked from the "bus station" to the end of the road in Poneloya. It might be better called "Port Poneloya" because at the end of the road there was a boat ramp with three dugout canoes anchored. We then turned around and walked to the other town that was also an end of the road. When we neared the end of the road I saw the sign that I have posted a picture of on this blog. I am not sure that it is common practice in the US to post these signs after the construction of a public work has taken place, but it is common in many parts of latin america. In general these signs tell what public work has taken place, how much was spent for it, and the person-group-or institution that made it possible. In this case it was a road that had been built from Leon to the bustling coastal towns of Poneloya and Las Penitas. (Bustling might be a bit of an overstatement do to the fact that during the few hours I was on that road I was passed by only two different cars, 1 pig, 3 kids on bikes, 1 bus, and a handful of college aged students.) It cost 16.5 million dollars and it was paid for by Millenium Challenge Corporation i.e. US tax dollars.

It seemed to be quite a sum of money, so I was curious as to how many miles had been paved. I tried using google maps but I was only left guessing as to the exact amount that had been paved in this particular section, so I went back to google and found the Millenium Challange Corporations website and the specific part talking about this stretch of road. Here is the link if you care to take a look for yourself.

http://www.mcc.gov/mcc/bm.doc/cn-062205-nicaragua.pdf

They paved 58 kilometers of road for 16.5 million U.S. dollars.

We generally don't do metric in the U.S. so I will take the time to put this into imperial measurements - but not yet.

A few days later I was at another bus stop in the mountains. It was yet another multi hour ride on a top of the line chicken bus through what I would call relatively rugged terrain. I hopped off the bus to give a wander around as quickly as I could before the bus started up again and I came upon a sign not much different than the one in this post. The key differences were

1. the amount of road paved/re-done only totaled 8.5 kilometers

2. the people paying for it belonged to the local municipality

3. it cost 75,000 dollars.

Now for the math!

1 kilometer = .62 miles

so 58 kilometers = 35.96 miles

dollars per mile = $16,500,000/35.96 or about 458,843 american tax dollars per mile paved on a flat coastal highway

--------------------------

8.5 kilometers = 5.27 miles

dollars per mile = $75,000 /5.27miles or about $14,231 local dollars per mile paved on a curvy water soaked road high in the mountains

The following is a direct quote from the Millenium Challenge Corporation website.

"MCC is a prime example of smart U.S. Government assistance in action...monitoring of funds is rigorous and transparent..."

"los tejanos son mas campechanos!" - Iris

there are many almost last frontiers in spanish, but one of them that seems to change almost entirely in every country is the slang.

it is almost entirely impossible to get on a bus and not find someone worth talking to. The road between San Pedro and Tegucigalpa was no exception. When Elliot and I went to buy our bus tickets we assumed that they had given us two consecutive seats. When it came time board it turned out I was in for a surprise - two in fact. As I made my way to my seat I found a young lady that was maybe in her mid twenties in the seat next to mine. From the way she looked it is very possible that she was on her way to compete in the annual Miss Latin America pagent and if intelligence has a face then she was doing a fantastic job of wearing that as well -maybe it was the book in her hand and the stylish glasses she was wearing. Elliot at this point was still looking for his seat. Before sitting down I pulled out "The heart that bleeds" its a readers digest of sorts that talks about latin america in the 80´s and 90´s - I was obviously going to need something to entertain myself for the long 3+ hour bus ride.
As I sat down I hadn´t even pretended to open my book before I heard "disculpe, ummm, es mi asiento" My dear friend Elliot realized that she had made a mistake in her seating, that she was indeed in his spot and he was busy trying to do the appropriate thing and let her know. I cant even begin to tell you the flood of mixed emotions that shot through me at that moment. I tried to be the voice of reason and told them both that it would probably be best to wait till we get going to sort this out, and that it was very possible that the bus wasn´t going to fill up and whoever could sit wherever they pleased. Strangely enough i was ignored and the "problem" was taken to the conductor. The conductor quickly ushered the señorita to the front of the bus to sit next to an older gentleman and i had my faithful companion with me once again. SAVED!!! nearly had a close call on that one. for a good remainder of the trip i could not stop telling elliot how absolutely grateful i was for that intervention.

the trip wasnt over though. about 10 miles outside of tegucigalpa the rains turned the gutters into small rivers and the traffic started backing up considerably. It was about that time that the agitator showed up again. There is an agitator in absolutey every crowd. They are the ones that get people riled up over something that they would normally shirk off as just a minor annoyance. She was a middle aged woman that was traveling by herself. She started off by getting the music on the bus turned off half way through the trip because it was too loud, but it was not her that made the complaint to the conductor, it was someone that heard her complaint and agreed who took that step. At this point when we were nearly to Tegucigalpa she was on her phone talking with her family telling them how slow the bus was going, how bad the rains were, how bad the driving was and a bucket list more of complaints. After hanging up the phone she continued talking to the air about the problems and pretty soon the front half of the bust was in loud verbal agreement with her. I was zoning out on the rivers that had formed on either side of our bus tires at that point and she interruped my trance with a tap on the shoulder and "you speaky spaneeesh"
I knew a conversation was waiting with someone I just hadn´t expected or hoped it to be the bus agitator. We talked for the duration of our 30 minutes on the bus about everything from her family to her country to her travels. It was great?
Two things of note happened when we got to the terminal and got our suitcases.
1. As she was leaving with suitcase in hand the future Miss Latin America went out of her way to make eyecontact with me and then shot me a wink, one of those winks that say "it would have been an absolute pleasure to sit by you and i hope that our paths cross in the future so that we can have the conversation that we were robbed of by your traveling amigo." it was quite the wink.
2. The agitator asked me where we were staying and after i told her she called a taxi for us and told him where to take us followed by a stern lecture on what was going to happen to him if he didn´t do exactly that. Agitator or not, I absolutely love how responsible latins feel towards a stranger who they have taken into their confidence.

The story continues. Elliot and I have similar travel tendencies. Get a room somewhere as quick as you get to a new place and then put your walking shoes on and take a self guided tour of the town. After our first full day in Tegucigalpa I had a strange experience on arriving at the hotel. The concierge handed me a paper and let me know that there was a woman that had been phoning for me. "MISS LATIN AMERICA IS STALKING ME". That was the logical conclusion that my mind jumped to when i heard that. Then I read the paper and it had a number with the name Iris (the agitator) on it.
I called and we chatted for a good long while, once again she guided the conversation toward her husband, kids, and some insect museum that i should go to to see some beetle that is only found in honduras.
the conversation ended with me inquiring about the word campechano - a word that is not in my pocket dictionary. she had used it in describing texans during our conversation. she said it with a genuine smile in her voice so i was not about to refuse what seemed to be a compliment towards my state.
los tejanos, somos mas campechanos!

What do you think?

Noahs Ark

I have an almost hypothetical situation for you. If you were stranded on a boat "made for 70" that seemed like it brimming with only 25 people in the middle of the ocean and had only had a liter of water in your posession who would you choose as your boat mates?

In the name of time, money saved, and adventure Elliot and I chose to take the water route to continue on our journey instead of the more traditional chicken bus. The boat leaves once a week from Dangriga and arrives at Puerto Cortes. The day before embarked we went to find the boat and buy our tickets. I had in mind a slow going ocean barge that would take the better part of the day to go the few hundred miles that it would take to get to our destination. Instead we found a sleek speed boat with three outboard 200 hp engines and a gothic style Noah´s Ark painted on the side. We were stoked. Not only was this going to save us from the exit fees that you have to pay at every other border crossing but this one, but it was also going to shave off a day and a half of sitting on bumpy buses. It turned out to be a lot fuller experience than that. The first half hour was spent passing through the cayes , small islands made of coral, which looked like something out of a fairy tale. There were loads of them and they ranged in size from 20 yards across to what looked like at least a quarter mile. The one thing that everyone single one of them had in common regardless of size was some sort of fancy cabana looking structure on them. The captain of our boat told me that they are a major part of the tourist industry in Belize.

Durign those first thirty minutes Elliot and I got front row seats -standing seats. The only person in front of us was the lookout. His job was to point which direction the boat needed to go in order to avoid any debris that the boat came across and there was a lot. Most of it was just empty coke bottles but here and there the boat would make quite sharp changes in its direction to avoid the few tree trunks that were in our path. After those few first sharp changes in direction is when things began to get a little interesting on the inside of the boat. Almost all of the conversations stopped, a few people had taken off their shirts to put over their faces, one gentleman even started handing out plastic bags to those that looked most in need, a few of the half dozen 4-5 year olds were crying and elliot and i had both sat down after working on our tans in the only section of the boat that was uncovered trying to concentrate hard enough so as to not join the ranks of the other seasick people on the boat.

The next bit of fun came at the hour and a half marker. The boat suddenly started letting out a fairly highpitched beeping and then the engines stopped. Everyone immediately looked back at the captain and he had already turned around to give a look at the engines. He was crouched over with one hand on his knee and the other scracthing his head. Any doubt about him playing duel roles of captain and mechanic were immediately put to bed after seeing the perplexed look on his face. As for us passengers, well i think we were all a bit worried. One man got up and started doing hail marries, a few others took out their cell phones and searched unsuccessfully for service, the kids gave a cry again, and i told elliot about my idea to make a sail from the cloth material that was being used as the awning. Elliot was a small yacht captain for a while and he immediately responded “it wont work, there is nothing to be used as a mast and we have no rigging”. then i prayed!

We were only dead in the water for 10 to 15 minutes before the engines got going again, but it seemed like an eternity. We eventually got to Puerto Cortes with out any mishaps other than being separated from our passports for a short time and being slightly extorted by the local taxi drivers.

Off to Tegucigalpa.

uuu cohm heya luhrn meik tortia? - yes

a few days ago elliot and i were making the rounds to visit all of the former people that he worked with here in san ignacio. the highlight was going to the kitchen of the ngo that he was volunteering with. there was a jolly and rather plump creole woman that was swinging her spatula around as she made her way to elliot to give him a hug. after disposing of the neccesary pleasantries she asked him when he was coming over to eat and what he wanted to have. "chili beans!" was his response and then i chimed in "can we make some tortillas as well and can i help in the making of them?" i had heard numerous stories about how good her tortillas were and wasn't about to pass up on what might be the only opportunity to try them out.

so she said "cohm heya moanday an weill cuke"

today was the big day! i got up by 7:00 to shave off my scruff and put on some of my nicer clothes so that i could be ready for my 9 a.m. tortilla making session.

as we got ready to make them i asked her if she could teach me a little creole (most everyone here speaks 3 languages or at least bits and pieces of three languages which are english, spanish, and creole) and she looked at me and said "uuu cohm heya luhrn meik tortia" that is the best phonetic spelling i can give of what she said. truth be told it was almost entirely a foreign language and it took me a solid 30 seconds to realize that she was even talking to me. she repeated her phrase a couple of more times and after i deciphered it i said "YES!"

a few tidbits on creole. it does not have a standardized writing for its words. in fact there are creole publications in the country and the words are always phonetically spelled but the spelling will differ according to the exact way that a particular writer pronounces the word. and it follows no clear grammar pattern. today i was in a car with a creole speaking driver and as he passed by some of his friends he slowed down and the entire conversation that they had was this

guy on the road: "way-ur"

driver: "tree flag"

and then the guy on the road hopped in to the back of the truck and got a lift down to the tHree flag grocery store.

back to the tortillas. i just sat back and watched as she prepared the masa. she had handed me a creole cook book with the recipe in it: 4 cups flour, 3tbsp lard, a pinch of salt, and a 1/4 warm water. but when it came to mixing the ingredients there wasn't a measuring cup to be found anywhere in the kitchen. she measured out 5 handfuls of flour, an odd shaped tupperware full of water, a 1/4 of a handful of salt, and a few large pinches of lard. talk about frustration.

i did get to help with the making from there on out though and they were even better than a some that i have had at the local taco stands in san angelo - it was a proud moment.

the cooking wasnt just for us! it is part of a lunch program that the ngo does for elementary school kids and senior citizens in the town. the elementary kids are not back to school yet so we only made about 10 pounds of chili beans and rice and 31 tortillas. after filling up on our hard work we spent the remainder of the early afternoon making deliveries to the elders houses dropping off their lunches.

fresh eyes and bad planning

Yesterday was spent traveling on three different buses from 5:00 a.m. till 5:30 p.m. When I wasn't sleeping I was talking with other travelers or yelling at crooks that were trying to take advantage of the foreigners at the border crossing. quick bit of advice - if anyone ever tries to "help you out" at a border crossing by expediting the stamping of your passport by any other means than waiting in the same line that everyone else is waiting in to get theirs stamped, don't let them do it. If fact you should probably give them a dirty look and a choice word or two about their dirty business practices. I settled for giving the dirty look. Unfortunately I didn't move fast enough to warn another traveler that was getting bamboozled at that same moment. She got scammed out of an extra four dollars. It might only be 4 bucks but it is the principle of the thing - that and 4 bucks will buy an amazing lunch down here.

So about this traveler. I got to chat with her for a good while after the fiasco at the border crossing. She had a glimmer in her eye that you almost only see once in a traveler. It is that look that says "wow, this yellow dog bus with no ac going through the jungle is amazing, the street food is so different, the people are so interesting, ...sensory overload at every turn" it was the eyes of someone who is taking their first trip abroad. After having assumed that by only looking at her face I asked "how many times have you been down this way before" and she confirmed my suspicions by saying "I have traveled extensively in the US, but this is my first time to go abroad." Traveling is always exciting and even if you go to the same destination a million times it is always different but the first is always a wonder/ADD producing experience.

On a bad planning note. I saw once again yesterday how fortunate I am to have an American passport. There was a couple from the far east yesterday that was crossing into beliz on the same bus with us. They had no trouble leaving Mexico but when they went to cross into beliz they were informed that they had to apply for a visa in advance and that it was going to cost them 2 to 3 thousand US dollars to obtain that visa. I felt two things in that moment; the first was anger and I said out loud "if they have the money then just let them in the country, they want to travel freely just like the rest of us", and I felt fortunate and privileged to come from a country that has so very few travel restrictions placed on it.

Healty eating and a friendly mexico

For the past week my traveling buddy has been visiting my Texas. He made his goal clear in an email before he ever got off the plane from London. ¨Josh, I want to taste Texas¨ I took him on a culinary tour that would make a king jealous and americans everywhere quite proud. Within a weeks time we both had physical evidence of what kind of damage being a good american can do to your system and it was amazing! The night before we left he let me know that his t-shirts seemed to have mysteriously shrunk in his 7 day stay. If happiness can be measured in pounds gained then his happy meter is off the chart. and as for me, well i managed to put on about 8 pounds ina week. That takes talent. oh, and our final good bye to american cuisine was done at the golden arhces in the DFW airport. We had our second breakfast #7 followed by a big mac about thirty minutes later.
As for where here is. We are currently in southern mexico. Our intentions were to drive but the car I had suddenly started having serious mechanical problems about a month before our departure date and a week after my mothers prayer group started asking that my car be put out of commision. Go figure. We then went to the next option which was to take a bus. There are few better ways to see a country and meet the people than by bussing. But the bus tickets were only a few dollars less than airfare. When I finally decided to fly I think my mother lost a dozen wrinkles.
As for southern mexico, well the mexicans are fantastic, peaceful, friendly, flirtatious, gregarious, warm-hearted, and always looking for a conversation. THAT is a small part of the real Mexico and the real mexican!!!

In touch

So the next adventure is about to begin and I have told my self since... June 2006, that I was going to do a better job of keeping in touch with people. Until now it was just a good intention. but as they say "mas vale tarde que nunca!" There are too many people worth keeping in touch and sharing stories with not too write every once in a while.

For those of you that I have not shared with yet, I am headed back to latin america. This time I will be a lot closer than Peru. The road will lead to central america.

As for why I am going and what I will be doing, well I will do my best to explain that as well as share the journey getting there in upcoming letters.

Hasta pronto!