Wonderful walks and lousy leaps.

My brother and I share a number of interests that cross, some small and some big but not many so deep as our love of walking and when possible we both appreciate including new sites on our walks. The other day my brother told me "I'm going to granada" when i asked "which way will you go" he said "well i think i saw a trail on the map that goes up the volcano and comes out somewhere near granada" ..."do you know how long it will take"? ..."nope." the 12+ miles only took him about 3 hours I think.
So on saturday when I had nothing to do I asked him if he would accompany visit one of the neighboring villages. "what are we going to do?" ...we are going to walk. "yeah sure i'll go with you"
I knew he wouldn't turn me down.

I had been really wanting to go to this pueblo for quite some time. It's off the beaten trail but not by much and I had been told that it had lakes that were more nothing short of a sunbathers paradise - perfect for a couple of redheads. Once we got there it took us every bit of 10 minutes to walk from one side to the other. We found the empty public pool but no lake. We walked some more and then found a lady to ask of the whereabouts of the lakes. She said it was too far and that we should probably get a moto-taxi. I explained our intentions to walk and then she offered up her sons to be our guides. She said they were pricey though. A coca-cola and 10 cordobas was the going rate. Only the older of the two accepted - he might have been 12. So we walked on cattle trails through cane fields and banana plantations, we walked through pastures -some private some not- and finally we came to the river bed. Walking on it or beside it was a solid third of the walk.
Many times the forest was so thick or the road so curved that you could not see more than 20 to thrity yards ahead of you. No big deal though, we had a guide. Just as we were rounding one of those bends I saw a bull pop out in front of us. I was walking next to the kid (my chivalry goes to pot right about here) and I turn to him and say "is he dangerous?"
sidenote: so for the past 25 minutes I had been prodding that kid with every question I could think of to get him to talk, I'm usually pretty good at it, but this guy was a steel trap. Turns out that the proper enviroment had not yet been created that would lead him to being a bit more talkative.
His response to my question took no more than a half second. "si"
At this point he and i were right next to one another and ryan was just a few steps behind me. The bull stopped, I bolted the 10 feet up the river bank to the fence knowing with unshakeable certainty that the bull wouldn't follow, Ryan stopped to reason about the bulls intentions for just a second longer before he made a move, and the kid vanished out of harms way for the next few mintues. I made it to the top put my hands on the fence and looked again and at best the bull was about five feet away and in full speed coming my direction. Now I don't remember the exact mechanics of what happened next but I think it might have looked akin to watching weak man trying to heave a very heavy bag of potatoes over a wall that is just a little to high for him to see over. So I heaved my self over, head first, and managed to land square on the top of my right shoulder. The tops of my thighs nearly cleared the fence completely! But they didn't. Each one was, is, marked by the barbed wire that caught them on my way over.
My brother. His pause to determine the bulls intentions might have brought him a little closer to the swords sticking out of the bulls head than he would have liked. When the time came he too employed the heaved potatoe sack method of clearing the fence. I learned that he has a a higher vertical jump than I do, but that his landings need a bit more work. Instead of using his shoulder to take the brunt of the fall -not sure where our hands were in all of this- he managed to get the middle of his forehead planted on a soft rock. Sweet Lord we are graceful creatures!
We were both on the ground on the safe side of the fence and we each had one sandal left on. I started yelling at him "get up, get up, that damn thing might come around the fence." Fortunately, it didn't. Unfortunately, the barbed wire fence that had lust left its barnd on our bodies was coated in a solid coat of rust.
On the road back we managed to get a moto taxi to take us most of the way home. At one point he looked at me and started laughing quite hard. I thought he might be in shock from the split forehead and a bit of fat that was hanging out of his hand from a gash the barbed wire had produced. I couldn't help but join in the laughing.
A love of walking and laughing induced by pain. Ha, the ties that bind run deep!

The turkey that was

Two weeks ago sunday I set off on what I deemed as a huge favor for the Casa-Nica house. It was some of the most advanced and soon to be under appreciated planning that I had ever taken part in. I was attempting to carry out a personal tradition that I had started the year before I took out for the Peace Corps -2005ish. But this time I wasn't only going to bake the turkey, I was going to raise it. You see to buy a cousin of the butterball already frozen cost between 40 and 60 dollars - I am pretty sure that is pricey even for a bird back in the US. But the combination of them being considered a delicacy and the fact that they aren't raised in large scale makes for the obscene prices. SO, I had a friend who had a friend who knew someone that was selling a live turkey, and due to my close personal connection they were willing to let it go at a bargain price. So my friend took me up to a farm on the side of one of the local volcanoes to meet the grandmother that was selling the turkey. We took a bus, got off at one of the many dirt paths that led off the cobble stone road up to the volcanoe farm and then proceeded to walk about two miles. When we got there the gobbler was tied up waiting. I introduced myself as I went to pet/pick up the turkey and then asked a few questions -how old was he, how much does he weigh, and how much does he cost. The grandmothers answers 1. about a year and a half, --then one of the sons stepped in to answer the second question, he grabbed the turkey out of my hands by the legs held him upside down and said "about 25 pounds" then the grandmother continued "600 Cordobas" It was all quite an amusing experience -for both parties I think. I suspect I am the first American that has ever made it to their farm and it was the first time I had ever entered into bargaining for a live animal. So we haggled, there was no way i was going to pay that much for a bird that according to my estimate might weigh 15 pounds sopping wet! And the price went down by little enough for us to both walk away happy. So we tied the birds feet, and I tucked him under my arm and eventually made it back to a bus that was headed for Masaya.

The day that I got back I put him in the front garden and teathered him to a broken shovel handle. As soon as anyone would come in they would just sit on the edge of the garden and look at him. They are strange birds! They are relatively calm-at least this one. Their heads resemble that of a vulture and they have a moveable horn - I don't know the technical name for it, but it is the peace of skin that sometimes hangs over their noses and sometimes sticks straight up in the air depending on their mood. Strange animals. The first day everyone took a liking to him. He even got a name - Chompi- it comes from the way that you say Turkey in Spanish, in Nicaragua. In almost every other country they say pavo, but here the more common word is Chompipe.
I had a feeling that giving him a name was going to be a problem. You see, if you name your food it is much less likely to be your food. I imagine it has something to do with the emotional connection that gets created. So the first camp that formed in the house were the "He is our pet and we can never eat a pet" camp. Ha, then guess what happened? The first morning happened! Turns out that only male turkeys can gobble, and sweet heavens can they gobble loud. And it just so happens that almost everyone in the house is not a morning person, so when they heard the Chompi's roar at 6 a.m., they got a bit miffed. On day two the bird started receiving death threats and people started giving me cross looks. For a multitude of reasons, but primarily because I get up before the turkey does, I wasn't bothered in the slightest. I tried to explain to the house that they should be greatful for their new organic alarm clock but they didn't seem to register what I was telling them. and thus the second camp of "he is going to be deported or killed now" camp was formed.

I didn't belong to either camp!

So it's Thanks giving day, I have just finished eating my first breakfast, the house is asleep, and every time I look up I see Chompi strechting his legs and eating the corn we put out for him. He won't be going in the oven today - but not because the first camp won, but rather because he is still a bit on the small side and his original owner asked to buy him back. Turns out that she can sell him for about double if she has him come Christmas time.

So this Thanksgiving the Chompipe will not make it to the Casa-Nica dinner table, but the feast will be amazing none the less! I hope all of you guys are having a good time celebrating with family and friends. Hasta pronto!

Doctor!

Saturday night our new group of interns came in. They are two young gentleman recently graduated from UCLA and on course to start medical school soon. Before they came I had let them know that they were more than going to have their work cut out for them. I wasn't wrong.
Yesterday morning the tie and shiny shoe cald fellas, Mikey and Zayeem, went with Fran and I to meet with the assistant director of the health care system in the state/city of Masaya. We arrived before he did and were directed to the only lobby in one of the many corridors in the building. About five minutes into the wait a group of gentleman passed by us, my head was down and partially in the clouds thinking about how the meeting might go, and then I noticed the group had stopped, square in front of me. I looked up and it was a bald man sticking his hand out to shake mine. He shook it, gave me a smile and then headed down the corridor with his people en tow. "josh, who was that?" Mikey asked me. "that was the regional director of the national health care system" My mouth dropped, I got a bit excited.

A few minutes later we were in the office of the assistant director and I was making the introductions as articulately as I knew how. It almost didn't matter though. My intentions and good will were completely trumped by the mans generosity and openness to first inform us about the way in which the health care system functions in Nicaragua and then to invite us to be a part of it.
It didn't end with just words though. At one point he said "come with me we are going to meet some people."
So the four of us followed him into a very large reunion hall that was full of the directors of clinics and hospitals as well as a group of young Nicaraguans that had just graduated from studying medicine in Cuba for the past 6 years. (Have you heard about med school in Cuba?) It was a staff meeting that had not yet began because the person that was in charge of directing it was busy giving us a tour. Instead of starting the meeting then and there, he took the opportunity to introduce us to the crowd of 40+ people and then pulled out the directors of the two largest clinics in the area of Masaya to come and meet with us. I was flattered. It couldn't be happening like this, could it?

We went back to his office and he made the introductions between us and them and then silence. It was my turn again.
So I told them our story and theirs in about two minutes. And then it was the directors turn again.
"Alright, I want you (the clinic directors) to put these two gentleman with the best and most knowledgeable doctors that you have. I want you to treat them good and make sure that they are well attended to." He explained that that kind of treatment and standard of international cooperation at every level was the policy of the fed, and that he would make sure that it was stricly followed under his watch.
Then we continued attending to the details, times that the internships would begin (they began today at 7 a.m.), where they would be at, (they are at the clinic on the north side of town) and things of that nature.

This pattern that this morning followed was cut from the same piece of cloth that yesterday was made of. The directora was late but overly kind. The verbal then physical tour was beyond thorough, and then the fellas were paired up with two young female doctors. How fortuitous!

Small Victories

En donde nacio ud? the US
Y su padre? also in the US
Y su madre? also in the US

Long pause and then, "are there a lot of planes in the US?" yes there are quite a few planes.
"Do you have bicycles there too and what kind?" Yes we have bicycles! of all shapes and colors, from mountain to road, to cruisers and trick bikes.
"i saw a motorcycle wreck the other day that happened like this...."
"do you watch movies?" yes i watch movies
"i'm going to let you borrow one of my movies -the expendables- later on today, i think you might like it" thanks Franco


That was a bit of a conversation I had this morning with my friend Franco, the 8 year bicycle enthusiast whose dad works down the street.

-----
7:00 a.m.

Ring Ring, "yosh I am about to knock on your door, I want to leave something at your house." ok.
"Here are a few flowers for you to plant in your garden, this, that, and Hibiscus." Fantastic! i'll get right on it.
"Adios." Adios.


For the past 9 months I have been rekindling the flame that was my agrarian birthright in the 500 sq. ft. of garden that is at my house. Mirna, the lady who brought me plants at 7 in the a.m., knows that and is one of the people who gives me regular advice on how to make that happen. The past handful of of people who have walked in the house have all commented "hey the garden here is nice" I smiled everytime.

Being acknowledged for something your proud of feels better than the caffeine of 10 pots of coffee running through your system.

-----


Chris, the current intern, and I have been canvassing the town for the past month in hopes of setting up a new program at Casa-Nica. It is a not so long story whose seed was planted only a few months ago and that has been watered like crazy during the month of July. The last victory came about 5 days ago, I walked into the office of the director of the branch of the national health care office in Masaya. It was my second visit there. The first one nearly ended before it began when the director found out that I was there to ask for a something instead of give something. He had said "I don't have time for this today." My friend who had gone out on a limb to get the introduction for me went out another step and broke through his lack of time. What a friend!
I was given a little over 3 minutes to make our case. It went well.
The second visit I did alone. I walked in with my letter of intent in hand, part of the formal rigamarole that has to be followed in working with institutions in Nicaragua, and went to drop it off with the secretary. I had hoped for a second audience with the director but knew that getting into his office a second time was not likely to happen. I gave her the letter, dropped my 20 questions that she didn't have the answer to, and then waited. She had to go and consult the boss. I had heard him in the next room having a meeting with a number of people. She walked out of his office followed by director. He had stopped his meeting to quickly answer my questions, shake my hand, and let me know that he would be waiting for our next bit of news to continue with the programming.
I left the building shaking the hands of everyone that had made eye contact with me on my way in and thanked them for their time. I kept my composure all the way around corner when I gave a fist pump of success then followed with a clicking of my heels in the air.

My Mango Opus

According to the locals there are two only seasons in Nicaragua; Winter and Summer or what the discovery channel calls the rainy and the dry seasons. If you ask any Nicaraguan farmer that is worth his salt as to when the rainy seasons begins he will say "winter technically begins in May, but the first rain is always May 15th." I would like to let you know that they were all wrong this year. The rains came on May 13th.

Have you ever witnessed a glut of any kind in the market? It happens on a large scale from from time to time on the commodities market but I think we may not notice that often. The only time we really notice in my country is when the gas prices drop drastically. I am not yet in my 30th year and I can say that I remember when gas cost 87 cents a gallon, that was a glut of sorts.

I have a new instance that is sharp on my mind that is not yet a memory because I am still living it. It is the mango glut! Two months ago the trickle started.
As I would work at the butterfly garden in the zoo the two full timers would occasionally come in the room with green mangos. I had heard of people eating green mangos - mostly I had heard about the Colombian folk doing it. In my head I always labeled those kind of people as impatient. Why would you eat a green mango when you can wait a week or so and have a ripe one? The reason, is that when you slice it up and then squeeze lime on it and mix in some salt and some spicy peppers it turns into something that will make your taste buds sing new songs. Fortunately the generosity of those two guys surpassed my eating habits, otherwise I might have come off looking
like a greedy glutton. They started sending me home with bags of mangos. I thought that they were nuts to send me home with 20 mangos every time i turned up to the zoo. I was convinced that I was robbing them of a very pricey delicacy. (where I am from the mangos that you can get are all imported from Mexico and if you are lucky you might find them for around 80 cents a pop.) I was wrong. Turns out that the zoo is built on an old mango plantation and each one of the trees that are still left produce around 3 to 5 thousand per year. A wheelbarrow can hold around 300 mangos, and we collected between 10 to 20 wheelbarrows full of mangos from each tree.
Not only did the zoo have an over abundance of mango trees but so did the orphanage, Laura Vicunca -the school on the volcano, and Melania Layaco -the school for kids with special needs. In the past two months except for the two weeks that I went home (did i tell you i went home?) my mango consumption has become a bit comical. My first experiment came from some inspiration from an uncle of mine that had made a berry cobbler. I got his recipe and did the same thing but with mangos. Mine came out good but not great - I blame it on my oven. From there I took to copying my work friends at the zoo, and started making green mango salads on a 5 times a week basis. Then the mangos found their way to the blender and with the help of some milk and ice cubes, mango smoothies were born. From their I started finding my way to the base of the mango trees during the break between the Ag. and English classes that we are teaching. I would put away about 5 of them in less than then 10 minutes. I got so skilled at peeling them with my teeth that I am convinced that I can now do it better than any Cutco pearing knife could ever dream of. Then they found their way to our Thursday night family dinners in the form of a mango marinade on sunfish and a mango,basil,spinich salad. My Nicaraguan friends think I have gone a bit overboard and they even laugh about it from time to time. When that happens I just let them know that I was 25 years old the first time I tried a mango and that I am doing my best to make up for lost time.

It was all a tasty experience but there was something missing. You see, I am a first generation city dweller and as such I had the privilege of going out to the country as a child to visit parts of my family. On both sides my grandparents still lived in the country and both sets were active for the entirety of my childhood in making jellies and jams. I had seen it done and even participated in it a number of times, but I had never been the head jelly chef. It was my turn. So this past Sunday I took Hemmingway and a chair to the kitchen and read as I stirred the three varieties of mango that I had peeled and then put on to boil. In the three hours I was their I learned some pretty important lessons.

1. a plastic collander is a perfectly acceptable substitute for a metal chinois strainer

2. pectin is not necessary for your jelly to set right. I think it is actually better without it because the jelly spreads easier.

3. washed plastic peanut butter jars are just as good to put your jelly in as your glass mason jars that have been dipped in a scalding hot water bath. You may not be able to store them as long term, but I was looking for immediate consumption so that is ok.

I suppose if I wanted to be faithful to my roots the only part lacking now would be to give one of the jelly jars away to someone. Besides, how Magnum can the mango jelly be if it is only recognized as such by it's maker? Can I interest anyone in some jelly?

Today

It was fantastic. Things worked out that we didn't work for. We met the movers and shakers of circles that we had only dreamed about meeting. We had offers handed to us that will make work that would have taken us months, happen in just a few days time. And our second volunteer arrived from France today. It felt as if the heavens were smiling down on us.
I am not sure where it all will go but I am looking forward to seeing and sharing it as it does!

hasta pronto mis queridos!

Shades of Red

Last Sunday was a red day.

It started out while teaching English classes across town. One of the professors had invited me to his class to help him out. When I walked in the class he told me the topic and said "They're all yours". He handed me the white board marker, had a seat and turned into a semi unruly spectator. It was an awkward first ten mintues. That was about how long it took to find the topic that the students wanted to talk about. It was the same topic that would have been interesting in almost any classroom. We talked about girl friends and boy friends - what they are really like and what they would ideally be like. According to that group of students It seems that what they are really like is something that might leave most a bit wanting and what they ideally would be like is something a bit unrealisitc - who knew?
In the midst of the students getting fired up about the shortcomings of their significant others the teacher got inspired. He spoke up from the side of the class "i have a joke, but I can only tell it in spanish". I stood at the front of the class and listened. I don't feel the need to repeat the joke, suffice it to say that it was extremely off-color and left me feeling more than a bit awkward -my company was of mixed gender. I put my head behind the door let out a loud fake laugh and returned some what redder than I was before.
Two seconds later a girl started up a conversation that would change the rest of the day. (I think she noticed the awkwardness and was trying to break my silence). "hey josh, how do you like dancing?" It opened up conversation and better yet an opportunity for Elliot and I to go to a lazy sunday afternoon shindig at someones house.

There were two trumpets, a trombone, a snare drum, and a base drum with a symbol screwed into the top of it playing at the entrance of the house. There were a handfull of people sitting outside and in the main living room that had its doors open to the street there was about 20 people all in rocking chairs rocking and facing the center of the room. No one was dancing.
The señorita that had invited us brought us out a vodka and tonic - custom i suppose- and a plate of cannoli. 15 mintutes into the conversation I asked if I could go see the dancers - that was one of the main reasons I went. It was supposed to be a new type of dance that I hadn't heard of and I was quite curious as to what it would look like. I walked to the living room and looked inside and the same 20 rockers were still full with the exception of one older looking lady that was dancing by herself. "ah, that's nice that she is still able to dance but kind of sad that she is dancing alone" is the thought that raced through my head. She spun around and saw me and I made a bee line for my chair outside. About 30 seconds later there was a tapping on my shoulder and the lady said in English with a heavy Nica accent said "COME DANCE WITH ME!" I let her know that I was not familiar with that kind of dancing and that I would be a poor choice as a dance partner. "COME ANYWAY!" She was the age that I remembered my grandmother at when she was in her grandmotherly prime of life . My Grandmother loved to dance and if she had asked some fella such as my self to accompany her to the dance floor and he had said no then I would have been more than a bit angry. That was the thought process that shot through my head. So I accompanied her to the dance floor. We were the first ones to get there but all any dance floor needs is one pair of dancers to break the ice and the rest will follow. An hour into it no one had followed. Grandmother was inspired by more spirits than anyone half her age and twice her size would have needed and the crowd all rocked in unison and occasionally nodded in approvement and let words out like "ese gringo si sabe bailar". My face looked mildly sunburned for the entire hour.
The señorita that invited us eventually came to get me and I was able to sit long enough for my face to regain its natural color before the tapping started again. "Let's go dance again!" I tried to say no and was even quite generous in offering my companions to accompany her back to the dance floor but they and she wouldn't have it.

The second hour was a little more awkward than the first and she was a little more inspired. The Maypole music -Nicaraguan Music from the Caribbean side of the country- came on and her interpretation of it involved her backside touching the ground multiple times. I was shocked and amazed. The fact that she could do that and not fall over was more than impressive -keep in mind she had age and alcohol going strongly against her. So we danced. At the end of the second session she let me know her opinion of my dancing and then planted a huge sweaty kiss on the side of my cheek. My face was on fire.

On the way home Elliot let the teasing rip. We sat down with Fran at the table and he felt the need for some reason to recount our wonderful afternoon in one sided detail to her. He didn't get 2 minutes into the story before he got interrupted by his phone ringing. He answered and then began talking in English, then he turned and with a massive grin on his face handed me the phone.

"hello"
"HI, Josh it's me ..., I wanted you to know what fun I had dancing and that I want to invite you to go out dancing with us the next time we go out."
"umm, wow, that's really nice of you, uh yeah, well yes you just keep me posted"
"OK, but don't forget!, I will see you soon!"
"que tengas un buen dia"

Fran and Elliot and heard the whole conversation. The ribbing stared again and was a bit harder this time.
I spent the afternoon wondering how lady luck had managed to bring me and grandma together on the dance floor instead of Shakira's clone. I suppose I will be working on making lemonade out of this one for a while.

Friends

Last week was nothing short of fantastic. I got the chance for two completely separate areas of my life to cross -home and here. Home came in the form of a 5 foot and a few centimeters tall friend that decided to take a vacation down to Nicaragua. Her name is Caroline. She is one of those individuals who got bit by the Wanderlust bug a few years back and has been sick with the travel fever ever since. What a wonderful ailment!

Caroline is one of those people that I would consider an amazing friend - and I am one of those people that I would also consider an amazing friend to Caroline. Let me give you two examples of events that happened during the week that fully illustrate those bold statements.

1. Why I am an amazing friend:

So I couldn't sware by this, but I would venture to say that almost all of us human beings have things that scare us, sometimes even to the point where we develop a phobia of those things. For the past several years Caroline has developed an almost phobia of winged creatures, namely birds. She has been the victim of several angry birds on various occasions which has lead to this almost phobia of them. Last Monday I took her to the Zoo -it's one of the projects we are partnering with. I started out the day being kind enough to wake her up at 5:30 in the morning so that we could be out the door by 6 a.m. Before we got there the decision fell on me to choose where we were going to work. At that point we had only been rotating between three different stations 1. the bodega -it's where the food for the animals is prepared, 2. the Mariposario - it's a butterfly garden and i think this place might be the definition of tranquility 3. The Centro de Rescate - it's the part of the zoo that works with abused animals. They are in the process of rehabilitation so that at some point they can be released back into the wild. In the Rescue Center there are about 20 monkeys, 1 sloth, 6 squirrels, 2 jaguarundi, 5 animals whose names I cannot pronounce, and about 200 birds of various shapes, colors, and sizes.

Any guess which one I chose for Caroline to work at? A nominal friend would have probably have chosen the butterfly garden or the food prep area. I am not a nominal friend. I am a friend that was concerned about her overcoming her almost phobia and as such I chose the place where that was most likely to happen. She fed the birds, cleaned their cages, swept their rooms, and even made friends with one or two of them to the point where the birds would follow her around in their cages. I am patting my back right now for having helped her take that first and often times difficult step in over coming our fears.

2. Why Caroline is an amazing friend:

A couple of weeks ago I saw a picture on facebook of a dewberry cobbler prepared by one of my uncles. If I could have fit the computer screen in my mouth I probably would have. It looked tasty. -Did you know that Cobbler doesn't exist as an option on the dessert menu almost anywhere in latin america?-

So I made a cobbler. There aren't berries, peaches, or apricots to be found anywhere in Nicaragua, so I settled on the next best thing - mangos. I made the filling first and I think I did more than a half way decent job on it if I do say so. Then came the pastry. I made it, and it looked pretty and it even smelled quite nice. Then came the taste test. It was...good...ok...not bad...mediocre. Well the filling was dang good but the pastry would have been hard to give away. I ate it anyway, but it was far from what I remember eating back home in Texas.

A nominal friend would have tried it and said "wow josh, that is really good"

Caroline tried it and said something to the effect of "you should have added more sugar and butter, it doesn't taste right." HA! that my dear friends is a nugget of truth not clothed in even a thread of flattery! Nope, you couldn't mistake that for a compliment in a million years! and she was right, it didn't taste right. Cheers to good friends!

Hasta prontito hermanita!

Fancy Fast Food

I was in Managua today with Fran and Elliot, for weeks now we have been wanting to show her around there but time has been against us but thanks to an unforeseen event our wednesday was left open. So we took Fran on a tour of Managua. It was a nice trip.

Now the eating experience. Have I ever shared with you about fast food in Latin America? It's a strange experience. It's not the same as what I remember it being stateside.

Back home fast food is McDonalds 33 cent ice cream after boy scouts (it was a while ago), it's Sonics 25 cent corndogs before the friday night high school foot ball game (also it's been a while), or just just about any chain you can think of that has a dollar meal menu which was a second home of sorts during my college years.

As soon as you go south of the Rio Bravo (Rio Grande to us from the US) the story changes. Fast food goes from being a greasy second resort to a date worthy experience. Today under the golden arches I saw 1. few people with their laptops out 2. employees that looked fit to walk into any white collar job 3. an airconditioned play room that made me more than a little jealous and 4. one fella even rolled up with a bottle of wine at McDonalds?!

I don't get it but I do enjoy it, only occasionally though, fine dining isn't cheap!

That was two days ago.

Lost Keys

I have been working on keeping up with my keys for along time now. I am one of those that has the gift of being able to loose them about 10 times a day. Those of you that have lived or worked with me would probably say I am being a bit conservative with that number. Old habits are hard to shake though and this is one of the worst. I am writing to ask for a little help in finding my keys that I have once again managed to misplace.

They are a pecuilar set of keys and unfortuantely I only had them for a short time before they they disappeared. I will give a short description of them and if you could keep your eyes peeled I would appreciate it.

These keys opened strange doors. In the short time I had them they opened the door for me to visit the private island of one of Nicaraguas richest families. (Something that I had nonchalantly attempted to open before but never had the right key.)

They opened the way to an invitation to Nicaraguas Aggie club -something I didn't even know existed before the door was opened right in front of me.

One of these keys opened communcation with a hitherto semi-unruly orphan girl. That door took about 10 minutes to open (I had been trying for about 2 months)

These keys opened up the door to the giving side of my neighbors/landlords. I never knew to expect a gift from them, but with these keys in hand I was hand delivered a tasty cake by the children of my landlord.

As you can see these are not your typical keys and due to that I am in a hurry to recover them. Any information as to there whereabouts will be rewarded with a bottomless bag of mangos. Thanks.

-oh, I suppose a picture of my keys might help you recognize them if you are to come across them.