Category Archives: 2010 blog posts

Hard Landing

into the cave

into the cave

Our house was all clean and waiting, the chickens and cats in full attendance, spring setting in so early that daffodil buds are on the verge of opening. But, my homecoming is shadowed by middle-aged body-falling-apart woes. Not just the cracked tooth but also an eye thing which the internet informs me is some kind of problem with the retina. A phone chat with an opthalmologist, and all of a sudden I have to head back off the island tomorrow so I can be in his office at 8 o’clock Monday morning.

Fear is a funny thing: even though this kind of eye problem (flashing peripheral lights and a floating dark spot) can hold risks for vision, and might require high-tech intervention, I can face it matter-of-factly. Whereas the dental repair I need sends me up the wall with pointless apprehension, and I’m probably going to wimp out and take valium before I even walk into the building.

I’ll be away from my computer for a few days, so I’ll be forced to rely on pens and paper for awhile to hold my words.

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Almost back

One final night before we make it home: Lazy in a freeway-side Burlington motor inn, Olympics on TV, truck crammed with luggage, groceries, chicken feed, laundry. We would have been all the way back to the island by now, except that I seem to have cracked a tooth yesterday and so this morning was taken up with attempting to get dental care. I’m petrified of dentists, but the trauma is being postponed til I come back to Seattle next week. I’ll just chew on the other side til Wednesday. With two friends facing cancer treatment, I can’t take my own dental phobia seriously, so I’m working hard to cultivate courage.

Right now the anonymous comforts of an American motel room: big beds, TV, bathtub, microwave, fridge. Bob is lost in a Canadian ice hockey game, and I’m wallowing around in my 1400 travel photos. What we appreciate most so far about being back in our own region (besides all our people being close by): Cool air. Cross-walks. Food variety (that’s a big one.) Knowing we can walk up to almost anyone and make ourselves understood. Laundromats. Hot water. Bathtubs. Snow on the mountains. Springtime.

I’ll make a folder of good travel photos, but meanwhile, here are a couple random ones:

child on a bus in Nicaragua

Child on a bus

parade in Diriamba

parade in Diriamba

Above Laguna de Masaya

Above Laguna de Masaya

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Liminal

The liminal state as defined on Wikipedia: Liminality (from the Latin word līmen, meaning “a threshold”) The liminal state is characterized by ambiguity, openness, and indeterminacy. One’s sense of identity dissolves to some extent, bringing about disorientation. Liminality is a period of transition where normal limits to thought, self-understanding, and behavior are relaxed – a situation which can lead to new perspectives.

I spent about half an hour this morning just looking at the sun shining through green and yellow leaves in our hostel courtyard. Absorbing the unconditional warmth, the constancy of it buoying us.

Yesterday afternoon at Laguna de Apoyo was another dreamlike tropical swimming experience. Crystalline lake water in a lush green volcanic bowl. Air and water the perfect temperature, always. Little plastic kayaks and inner tubes to paddle around at will in the empty blue lake. Green grass to stretch out on under the crimson flowers, the lush lush leaves. Cold beer and pizza, the murmur of many languages from a handful of other sunbathers. So idyllic it´s practically ridiculous.

Half our thoughts are already racing homeward, even while we get ready for this afternoon´s night-time volcano tour. We´ve arranged our taxi to the airport and are settling our Seattle plans, and at the same time trying to gulp down the sights and sounds and feel of this place so we don´t lose them when we leave. I´m still too embedded in the density of each moment here to know if this journey has changed me at all, but I´m curious to find out.

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Pondering tourism

Back in Granada for our last three days, with many mixed feelings. This gracious and slow-moving city is the center of Nicaragua´s small tourism industry, and the effects of tourism are unfortunately obvious in the central parts of town. The main square is thronged with vendors selling overpriced souvenirs, and beggars flock to the outdoor cafe tables which line the main street. Anyone who comes up to you in the square and starts a conversation will inevitably get around to asking for money, so authentic interactions are few and far between unless you´re involved in some sort of nonprofit community project. Or unless you get out of the central zone and chat up the person standing next to you in line for something. Doña Olga, who sells grilled chicken on the sidewalk around the corner from our hostel feels like an old friend now, and we did hang out talking politics with her last night. But she´s well outside the tourist area, and all her customers are her neighbors.

Up north in Matagalpa, there is almost zero tourism. Hotels there are for country folk who come to town for bank business, dental appointments, or whatever. Or for the random traveller from slightly farther afield, like the doctor we met from El Salvador at our hotel. In Matagalpa, so many spontaneous conversations arose that we were almost socially exhausted at the end of a day. Everyone was interested in us. Anyone with any English would come up and shake our hands and say, “Hello. How…are…you?” in very carefully enunciated syllables. Middle school kids asked us how much our airline tickets had cost, and one urgently self-important local insisted on giving us a tour of the Matagalpa police station. We ended up travelling back to Granada with the Salvadoran doctor, in his brother´s car. They insisted on stopping and buying us iced coffees and introducing us to throngs of family and friends, and we spent a half hour in someone´s back yard, eating oranges, while the brother washed down the car. We offered a reasonable contribution to the cost of gas, but they certainly weren´t looking for anything from us besides friendliness.

So, Granada. Everyone here thinks tourism is just great, and wants lots more of it, and you can´t argue with poor folks looking for a few more of the world´s resources. But already the central parts of the city are beginning to become a Disney-fied caricature of themselves, and Bob and I keep on chewing over the complexities of it all.

Last night we handed about $10 to a charming rogue who approached us in the square with a funny offer of Spanish tutoring and a sad story of poverty and single parenthood. We liked him in spite of the fact that he was hitting us up for money… so even though we have no idea whether a word of his story was true, we went with our gut feeling and gave to him. The kids, we don´t give money to, though we used to; the local municipality is circulating flyers in English and Spanish, imploring travellers NOT to give money to the children who beg. Apparently there is basic nutritional support available to all children here, so no one is starving, and the kids who successfully beg end up dropping out of school because they can earn money on the street. The families suffer because the kids no longer have to stay home and obey parents, and then these street kids become prey for drug (glue) dealers and get sucked down into sad dead-end lives. It´s a confusing business.

Anyhow, speaking of tourism: we´re taxiing out to a volcanic lake this afternoon, to sit in the sun and swim and dawdle. The laundry elves will deliver impeccably folded clothing back to our hostel while we´re out playing, and tomorrow we´re taking a night-time tour of the local volcano. Finishing up our trip with all that we can cram in, these last few days.

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A morning of dances

Teenagers in Indian (indigenous) costumes, complete with cardboard bows and arrows, poured out of the creamy front doors of the cathedral. They joined a throng of onlookers, including dozens of other young people in brilliant-colored flamenco outfits.

Across the street, painters on a scaffolding were hastily putting a fresh coat of white on a worn-out school building, while students inside crowded at the windows to watch the goings on.

In the street between the two, a national TV news team was filming a cooking demonstration, with a whole kitchen set up on the pavement and a guy cutting and frying peppers on camera.

Police milled around here and there, and guys selling popcorn and vile snow-cone knockoffs (regrettably, I bought one and ended up with sticky hands and a trash disposal problem.)

Matagalpa is just launching its 100th anniversary, and it´ll be going strong all weekend. Sadly, we`re on our way in a few minutes to the bus station because we have commitments in Granada … but at least we had the chance to see the Indians and the flamenco satin people dance in the morning sunshine. We´re trying to record everything now in our memories, because our time here is so short.

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