Friends in Low Places

OK, so we're on a van ride from Managua to Leon (Nicaragua) with bags of rum and coke in hand. I was already super glad to be with people I know, plus I was speaking loads of English. Honestly for three weeks I was mostly spending my days avoiding conversation at work, just because it was embarrassing to work in a real news room and not be fluent in the language. I mean, I was able to get my job done and do alright, but it was still very challenging. So when me and Seattle folk met up, I talked even more than normal. I was actually starting to lose my voice.

Anyway, the van ride was fun, and when we got to Leon we checked into our hotel. Katie is a nanny for a woman from Leon, and she gave her some money so we could spend a night in a really nice hotel, dubbed as the best in Nicaragua. All old and historic, this place was beautiful. We went in and (I think Blake and I especially, as we had been traveling for a while) were absolutely stuneed. This place was POSH. I felt excitement, unease, guilt, and most of all out of place. And I was nowhere near my dirtiest. When you are more than comfortable staying in hovels, a tent or a hammock every night, going into this place is downright awkward. After a minute, though, I was able to embrace it. We hung out in the room enjoying some music and amenities like a nice bathroom and super cooshy beds. Then we went out looking for a club. I was thankful to have Christina there because she had the Nicaragua guide book and she quickly filled the position of tour guide. I had done that far too much for myself for the last 3 months so her leadership was very welcome. On the other hand, though, I felt more helpless than usual because even after a few days I had no idea how to navigate the town.

The club we went to was one of the more popular ones in Leon, especially for the college students. I had heard Leon is very touristy, but I do not think it can hold a candle to places like Antigua or Granada. In fact we were the only foreigners in the club when we first got in. Now, since high school I have been fairly apprehensive in a club setting where I am expected to dance, but something made me feel more comfortable here. Maybe it was the good company, or knowing that to all the locals, I was just another Chele* they would never see again. So the four of us got our bearings dancing together until the girls moved on to some local guys. At some point a woman we dubbed 'teacher', due to her conservative and mature looks, in the midst of her dancing with another guy started putting her hands all over Blake and I. We didn't really know what to do when she aggressively groped my booty and put her hands in Blakes pockets. Luckily, Blake and I noticed two girls dancing together that kept eyeing us. We discussed the matter, decided they were attractive, and when an overzealous guy pressured them too hard to dance, I motioned them over. They immediately came over and we hit the floor. I got the tall one. Sweet. It was going well for the first song, probably Sean Paul or some other reggaeton, but then the DJ switched to salsa, which I barely know. I think Blake and I both felt extremely nervous. The girls were nice though and got us in the rhythm. I was sure she was unenthusiastic though because all I could do were the basic steps over and over. Quite boring I am sure. On the plus side, the general salsa skills of the other guys in the club were nowhere near what I saw in Guatemala. They knew how to move. So after a couple of uncomfortable songs, Blake and I went for another beer. The girls had seemed interested in us, so we waited for some more reggaeton. Blake went to where the girls were sitting and got super denied for another dance. Why I followed after that, I have no idea, but this girl was down for more dancing. And just my luck, it switched back to Salsa right after we were back on the floor. After a bit more of this, Katie and Christina rescued me and said we were leaving. Very bittersweet. At least there were hot dogs to eat at the plaza before heading back to our hotel.

The next morning we attacked the complimentary breakfast. It was half American half traditional. I loaded up my plate with eggs, bacon (a special treat) cheese, gallo pinto, fresh fruit, fried plantains, and probably a bunch of other stuff. I accomplished my goal of making this worth well more than one meal.

Then we returned back to our proper place in traveler society and checked into a $4/per person guesthouse. After that we headed to the beach nearby, Las Penitas. Only about a 45 minute bus ride, but being Semana Santa, we were unsurprisingly forced to stand. The beach was absolutely awesome. Strong currents, powerful waves made it perfect for body surfing. The intense sun was also welcome after most of my days in Managua were spent in stupid air conditioning. All day Blake and I played like 5 year olds in the surf, making up games like 'hit by a car', where we would let the wave crash right into us as it broke and slam us into shore, or cannonball, crouching up into a ball letting the wave toss us in circles. I can't remember the last time I laughed that much in a day. And swallowing that much sea water was no good for my waning voice. After a few hours of this we scavenged for food down at the crowded end of the beach where throngs of day trippers made the sand barely navigable. As we ate our carne asada and quesillos we caught more attention from locals than I was used to in Central America. I attribute this to being in a place not very frequented by tourists, but in reality it was the two white girls in bikinis. Most places you go, girls will get loads of attention until they are with guys. In Nicaragua, however, the men are bold, and they yelled all sorts of stuff at them. I wasn't sure what to do. The girls seemed to revel in it, but the balls to say that stuff with Blake and I right there just ticked me off. I shot many a dirty glare until I realized it didn't bother the girls and the guys weren't really going to do anything. I just could never imagine yelling 'sexy woman' at all, let alone when they are with two intimidating young bucks such as Blake and I. After the sunset we managed to catch the last bus back to Leon. Now I have thought many times that I have been on the most packed bus of my life, but this one is definitely a contender. We were crammed in the back where two seats had been removed. I got a bit nervous about the girls because we were surrounded by dozens of wasted men. There was some tension, but overall it felt fairly jovial. A few men spoke with us, but not even my Spanish was up to understanding most of the slurring. The guy behind me kept saying the same indecipherable but obviously perverted comments about Christina. I repeatedly told him to shutup but I don't think he could even hear anything he was so drunk. I forced myself between them, and Blake and I made it very apparent that these were 'our' girls. One of the less creepy (and this is relative) was actually able to have a decent conversation with us, but after trying to kiss Katie's hand and getting told off, he was extremely apologetic to Blake and I. We had fibbed that Blake and Katie were married and that Christina and I were dating. It was a fun experience, especially when all the guys cheered for me when I took a swig out of their gutrot liquor. Pretty much the whole ride was chaos, and when it was over I was not disappointed. As Christina stepped out of the back of the bus I saw a young extremely inebriated young guy deliberately reach for Christina's backside. Luckily I forcibly grabbed his arm and pushed it away. He didn't seem to notice, and right after the fact I regretted not just punching. He might have noticed that. Then we were followed for about 5 blocks by two young boys under the age of ten that repeatedly executed the same maneuvers on Katie and Christina. No amount of yelling at them would get them away. I felt ridiculous with 2 kids getting the better of me. I can't hit them and my Spanish wasn't good enough to effectively cuss them out. Maybe I need to spend more time at the soccer games to improve that aspect of my vocabulary. Either way, it makes me worried that this behavior will just get passed on for who knows how long.

That night we were pretty tired, plus we had an 11 oclock curfew at this guesthouse. So we didn't do much except ride a topless bus around the town for about half an hour.

The next morning=Easter!. We had been told mass was at 9, but when we got to the Cathedral (the biggest in Central America I might add) it seemed like people were leaving more than they were entering. 2 Things became apparent: We had missed mass, and Easter Sunday is very different than it is in the states. Basically they have a whole week to celebrate, so Sunday isn't really that much more celebrated than most of the other days. We sat in the pews for a while just taking in the beauty of the cathedral and relaxing. Eventually a young woman with a baby came and sat right in front of us and struck up a conversation. I was less than shocked when she spoke of medical bills for her baby and how expensive they were. Apparently he had been born with 3 testicles and needed to get one removed. Now anywhere other than this setting I would have reacted completely different. However, it was Easter and we were in a church and regardless of the number of testicles on her son, I was not about to send her away. She led us to a market where we bought her a large amount of a very expensive milk formula. She was appreciative, but I couldn't help but notice that this was the exact thing that I did on the other side of the world no more than 2 years ago. In India you can be expected to get all sorts of scams (like in this one the woman just goes back to the shop where the milk formula came from and sells it back for a bit less than you paid). I had witnessed almost none of this activity in Central America so this really threw me off. Either way I couldn't help but think of the bible story when the man helps the homeless guy and it's really Jesus in disguise. And even if she wasn't Jesus, and her son had the correct number of testicles, it was obvious that she was poor and not being victimized by big-business begging like in India. So in the end, I felt fine about what we did. This might have made me seem fairly cold and callous, but I think that is what India can do to you.

We hung out for a while longer in the market then noticed another church service was starting so we went. It is fun how regardless of bad acoustics and weak grasp of Spanish, a Catholic service is still pretty simple to follow if you grew up in the church.

After that it was back to the beach. On the crowded bus about 5 minutes from the beach I heard a commotion on the back of the bus and I looked back to see people trying to disperse. A fight was going on and I heard a couple girls scream, making me think, 'gun!' Luckily it was not the case, but we did see one guy lift himself up on the overhead bar and kick the guy with both feet. The whole thing lasted less than 30 seconds before people managed to shove them out the back door. I am not sure what happened, but I like to think they were able to finish their scrap right there in the street. After that the day carried on in a very similar fashion. More swimming and just enjoying the atmosphere. Just about sunset, we headed back over to catch a bus back, and as expected, it was just as crowded as the day before. Somehow, though, we were all able to score seats right in the middle. Before taking off an obsenely drunk young guy made his way next to us, and I could tell if something was going to go down, it would be him. I was relieved to see him change his mind and stand about 2/3 to the front of the bus. And it didn't take long. About ten minutes into the ride I saw a ripple of movement in front of me. Sure enough, another fight. I could not see much, but I did see a middle aged woman fall. I don't know if she was involved or just fell from all the commotion. Then I heard screams and my heart skipped a beat. Everyone was panicking, children were crying, some people were trying to see, others were ducking in case the worst happened. The bus stopped, but whoever was fighting was still on. I could sense a struggle to get at least one person off the bus, and it took a few minutes. When they were finally thrown out, the bus sped on. Then I heard a bang coming from the back of the bus and girls screamed and everyone ducked. I think it was just a heavy rock he threw at the bus. Then, I think due to traffic, the bus slowed down, followed by more girls screaming. I saw the back door briefly open. This guy was nuts. I don't really know exactly what happened, but people managed to keep him off. I do know that he tried to keep up with us for a while. When it was finally all over all the passengers seemed to just laugh it off, like, oh yeah, just another Easter at the beach. My adrenaline was raging.

On Monday we took a day trip out to San Jacinto a small town outside of Leon with one 100 yard cobblestone street and a billion excited kids. The attraction of this town was the volcanically heated mud pits. When we got off the bus we were greeted by a 10-year-old named Carlos, who offered to be our guide. We started to discuss the price when about 6 other kids came up and surrounded us. I had told him that we will pay 5 Cordoba each. At first he interpreted this to mean we would pay each children 5 Cordoba each, but I quickly cleared things up and that we only wanted one guide. So Carlos led us down the road, and about half the kids followed us. I explained again that we only wanted one guide, but they kept following. When we got to the mud pits all the kids fought for our attention, pointing at things as obvious as 'this is a mudpit, it has mud in it. It is hot'. It was cute, but I knew at the end they would all be expecting payment. I stayed close to Carlos, only listening to him. Was this wrong? Either way, the mud pits were kinda cool, but I had the impression that we might be able to soak in them. Unfortunately they are all boiling. One of the young guides scooped up a load of mud in a bag and affectionately gave it to Katie. We took turns rubbing the mud on our face as war paint and Hitler mustaches. After we got tired of the mudpits, Carlos led us to where we could buy fruit, water and a coconut popsicle thing. Then he told us he wanted to show us the rivers. So we followed him down a long dirt road lined with fruit trees. When we got to the ojocote** tree all the kids climbed high up into the trees and stuffed their pockets with the fruit. Their offerings were more than we could eat. At this point the group now consisted of Carlos, Chele (that's just what they called him because of his lighter skin), Estrella, and two other young boys. When we got to the river, they showed us a small pool above it that ran into the river. They said to only swim in the pool because the river is full of horse and cow poo. They all stripped down to their unders wear and leaped into the pool. At its deepest it was about 3 feet, and about 10 feet by 15 feet. These kids were jumping into it from about 8 feet up. I don't know how they didn't break all their legs. This ended up being one of the highlights of this part of the trip. We played with the kids in the pool for nearly two hours. We had races across the pool, lucha libre matches, the kids found us dozens of rocks to take home as memories and sometimes they just dragged us around the pool by our legs yelling 'coche coche coche!' (car). To me it seemed more like 'rickshaw, rickshaw, rickshaw!' but I don't think they would have understood. When we finally tired of the pool, Carlos decided to take us to 'where they bathe in the river' I didn't really know what this meant, but we followed. He led us down the horse poo river and when we came across a hornets nest on the side of the river. Well, being kids we had to throw rocks at it. After about 5 minutes I nailed it right in the middle and we all turned and sprinted. I was running so fast I didn't notice that I had cut my foot on a rock in horse poo river. And what do you know, now it's kinda infected. The bathing spot was where two pipes, diverting water from somewhere, poured into the river. Young men and teenagers of the town were coming out here to bathe their horses and themselves. And the two white girls bathing with the kids was quite the sight for them. The kids really loved us, but the horse guys just seemed kind of annoyed to share their cleaning area with some tourists. Except for the girls being there, they didn't seem to mind that. The best part of the day though was when we headed out of town to catch the bus and we paid Carlos double what we had agreed upon because he ran immediately to the store and bought an ice cream. It made me glad that he and his family did not have to rely solely on the occasional tourist passing through and for Carlos it seemed more like a fun way to have fun with foreigners and get some pocket change. We also gave the other kids enough to go buy an ice cream, though only two of them did. They all waited at the bus stop with us until it came. Christina gave her journal to the kids to draw or write something. The best was Carlos'. He drew a horse pooping. One of the other kids struggled to sound out the one word he knew in English, hello. I think it came out Alo. Or something like that.

Oh, and real quick. Two highlights of our time in Leon were Katie thinking that all the cheese we were eating came from pig milk, and also messing with Christina and Katie's lack of Spanish skills. I explained to them that because their Spanish is not that good, that they should apologize and tell them that they are embarrassed for their Spanish. What they didn't know is that saying 'estoy embarazada' does not mean I am embarrassed, as you might think. It means 'I am pregnant.' The first time we got them was trying to buy water from a corner store. When they fumbled over the words, I told them to apologize and tell them you are embarrassed. And basically in unison they smiled and said 'I am pregnant' for no apparent reason to the women, who looked confused and in shock. The girls noticed that I couldn't contain my laughter and asked why. I covered by saying that they had said 'embarazado' meaning they are an embarrassed man not woman. This was not true, but nice save Joey. The second time we got them was on the bus ride back from the beach when one of the creepy guys on the bus home was trying to chat with her. Her telling him that she was pregnant seemed to have very little effect on his interest in here.

*Chele is the Nicaraguan slang for light-skinned people, the equivalent of 'guero' in Mexico. It comes from switching the 'ch' and 'l' in the word 'leche' meaning milk.
**Ojocote is the size of a giant grape, and when ripe tastes like a peach, but before ripe is like an apple.

End of the Paper Beginning of the Vacation

Well, I can't believe it, but it's actually coming to an end, so now a brief (yeah right) recap of the last few weeks.

I think I left off midway through La Prensa. I really did not enjoy my first week that much, but then once I got into a rhythm, I really liked it. One of the more interesting things I did was cover a press conference with Daniel Ortega, the president of Nicaragua, and former rebel leader and enemy of America. I also covered some of the conflict going on in La Chureca, Managua's dump. Basically what the issue is is that the community that lives and works there in the dump, about 1500 people, make their living by sorting through the trash looking for recyclables. Or things to sell. It's like really intense dumpster diving, but the result of even more desperate situations than the thrifties that do it in the states. The problem now is that the government employees that collect the trash all through the city have been sorting through the trash and taking all the good stuff. This led the community to block the trucks from coming in. So this was in the paper almost every day. The closest thing that ever resembled a 'human interest piece' at La Prensa. The trucks eventually were diverted to other dumps in towns nearby Managua, I'm sure much to the delight of the communities that live at those dumps. One day I went to the dump and photographed the protesting, another day I went to take pictures of the school in the dump started by a Dutch guy (though the story turned into another story about politics and didn't mention the school, so my photos didn't really work). Another day the residents marched through the streets (making stops in front of both newspapers and other media outlets) and made their way to the Mayor's office and banged on the gates. After the crowd was dispersed, the journalists were let in to speak with the vice mayor. The mayor's quarters were plush with a nice swimming pool and outdoor restaurant to serve all the people involved with the mayor. The contrast between the filthy dump workers and those just inside the gate the churequeros were pounding on was ridiculous. I am not sure what they saw peeping through the seams in the gate made them jealous, or if they just wanted fair access to trash. On another occasion I went out of town to watch the dump trucks come and dump garbage all the way from Managua.

On another day of work I got to go out of town to Rivas (we left at 6 AM) to cover a religous festival. A mixture of street fair and church services. Some were entering the church on their knees, and everyone lit candles and received blessings. It was a stretch for me, being the whitest guy around, and getting right in people's faces with my camera while they made their religious pilgrimage. Good experience though. After that, we went over to San Jorge, a popular beach on Lake Nicaragua. Locals were having picnics and drinking beers while fishermen came in with their catches. One guy hanging with the fishermen had a pretty sizable boa around it's neck, probably 5 or 6 feet and much thicker than Bob. He let me hold it for a while, and tried to sell it to me. He offered it for $30, then quickly lowered it to $20. I probably could have gotten it for 10, but I think getting it back would have been tough. Then I realized they are not pets here, and me buying it would mean me cooking and eating it...Interesting, but I think I have too much of a connection to snakes to eat them.

On my second weekend at La Prensa, I was able to get the days off so I could go to Isla de Ometepe. I have mentioned this before. It's the island on Lake Managua made out of two volcanos, one of which erupted in October. This was my first exposure to the touristy side of Nicaragua, and it was very strange. Getting off the ferry in the main village (still quite small) everything was colorful, there were many restaurants with pricier food, foreign-owned guesthouses and jewelry shops. I waited around for a bus and took it about 30 minutes to a beach of which the name has escaped me. Basically, it was a 15 minute walk from where the bus dropped me and the walk there put me back in the rural Nicaragua vibe. Cows languidly made their way down the road with the larger volcano, Concepcion, looming right over them. I had seen the volcanos from the boat on the way in, but nothing compared to being right under them, staring up at all of its volcanoey glory. As I walked with my back to Concepcion, I frequently had to stop, turn around, and just stare at it for a couple more minutes. I really didn't do much here except for relax with the little time I had. I met a couple of interesting Brits, watched the sunset with them and just hung out for a bit. The next morning I went for a walk to a nearby lagoon where I heard some sort of monkey (howler perhaps?) making a real ruckus. And that's about it for Ometepe really. I stopped in San Jorge, the beach on the lake, on the way back as it was the Sunday at the beginning of Semana Santa, basically a week long religious celebration just before Easter. I joined some locals for a couple beers and took one of the last buses back to Managua.

I was delighted to find out at the beginning of my third week at La Prensa, that Semana Santa is taken so seriously, that most of the staff had the whole week off and everyone had Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunda off. Therefore there were no papers for 4 days. This boggled my mind, but I did not complain one bit. It was sad to leave though, especially because I didn't get to say goodbye to all the photographers that had the whole week off. They were a great bunch of people.

And here, my time in Nicaragua takes a drastic turn for the awesome. Blake (friend from Seattle who had been traveling in Costa Rica and Panama for about a month) and his friend Maddie came up and met up with me in Managua on Tuesday of Semana Santa. On Wednesday we tried to go clubbing, but it didn't work. We went to the "Zona Rosa" which is probably the deadest Zona Rosa in Central America and Mexico. We sat at a bar sipping beers for like an hour or two. And we were the only people in the entire place the whole time. We debated the casino nearby or the 'other' club that charged a $5 cover. We opted to head home.

The next day I took them to some Markets to find certain things. First we went to Mercado Oriental, described by boss at La Prensa as a cancer that won't stop growing. The most dangerous market in the city, and the largest (rumored) in Central America. Word on the street is that you can get an AK-47 there for $50. But that's not what we wanted. We wanted mortars. The huge bombs that shoot out of the tubes and make a simple bang, far surpassing the radness of M-80's. Unfortunately Semana Santa had closed much of the market, including mortar dealers. Then we tried to find some iguana, but this was unfindable as well. We wandered a bit more and found ourselves in a piece of market that seemed suspiciously dead. As we wondered why everything was specifically shut down, Maddie started to buy plantain chips from a guy walking buy. She gave him a C$20 for a C$2 bag, and he said he didn't want to get change because it is the dangerous area of the market. He told us to follow him. This means that a) he is a nice guy looking out for us and himself or b) he is proving his point of the danger, and taking us into a dark corner of the market where is friend would rob us. Luckily it was the former. And as we walked through the deserted area of the market (he explained that nobody could sell stuff in this area because they would just get robbed) I felt for the first time a sense of uneasiness in Managua. The people that passed us gave us looks that warned that we were on their turf. Their abundance of tattoos and heavy chains didn't help reassure me either. He eventually led us to safety where we got our change and chips, and even a bus to the next market. I knew that you could buy iguana at Mercado Huembe, so I was excited about this. The plan was to either keep it as a pet (I had been looking into the paper work on bringing one home) or keeping it for a few days and then eating it for an easter feast. To our disappointment, this market was even more dead and iguana-freeer.

Katie came in from Seattle that night which was fun. We went to a local dive and drank liters of beer while the locals utilized the jukebox to play a ridiculous mix of traditional latin music and cheesy American music (i.e. the Final Countdown) singing loudly to all of them. They were good people. Then we saw a sign with the name of a soup I had never heard of. Blake guessed that the carved iguana might mean that it is iguana soup. I asked, and he was right. However, they only make it on Saturdays. We would be long gone by then. So the church continued.

Friday morning we went out to Pochomil, the closest beach to Managua. The day consisted of swimming with hundreds of local vacationers, eating ice cream, eating Katie's cheezy plantains while she wasn't looking, eating Maddie's leftover huge fish, drinking bags of water, listening to roaming live musicians, listening to blasting reggaeton out of cheap speakers, and general jubilation. Then the stress came. The final ingredient for the recipe of ridiculous, Christina, was arriving in Managua at 6:30, and it was already 4:00. We had a 1.5 or 2 hour bus ride back to the city to get her and the line for the bus was at least 100 meters long. We were not getting on...but wait. There is no such thing as a full Nicaraguan bus, so while some of the line got on, most of them waited for the next bus so they could actually get a seat on the bus. So we had to stand, but at least we could make it in time. This was the beginning of my realization that the more people involved in the traveling, the more stress there is. Until then I had been entirely on my own, and on my own schedule. I was responsible for my well-being and that was it. Now things get exponentially more complicated. But that's the fun of it right? So we got in Managua with just enough time for me to go get my laundry (which had only been soaked in water, not cleaned or dried) and for Katie to go pick up Christina at the airport. The plan was for all of us to meet at the bus station with just enough time to catch the last collectivo van to Leon. We all arrived at the same time, but the problem was that the vans don't leave unless they are full or they get the cost of what it would be if it was full. There was only one woman waiting in addition to us. So we discussed our options and all decided to pony up the $8 or so to get going with this. And thus starts the party van. We bought some cokes in bags and busted out our Ron Plata, Nicaragua's budget rum. And we had drinks all the way to Leon. I will leave this entry on this note, because the rest of the trip just gets ridonculous.