Blogue de Lluvia

Because the best jokes are the ones you need to explain, the Spanish term for "rainforest" is "Bosque de lluvia." So that's where the title of this post comes from. The reason for it is that I'm currently writing from the middle of the rainforest in the Arenal region of Costa Rica.

More specifically, I'm writing this post from Rancho Relaxo, a bit west of El Castillo. Okay, it's actually Rancho Margot, but I'm planning to lobby them for a change. As I mentioned yesterday, I'm out here to check out (from a distance) Volcán Arenal, one of the ten most active volcanoes in the world. In preparation for coming here, I scoped out my sometimes trusty Lonely Planet guide, and saw their glowing recommendation for Rancho Margot. Basically, Rancho Margot was founded by Chileno Juan Sostheim and his family in an effort to promote sustainable agriculture and community development in the Arenal region. It is a large (and stunningly beautiful) organic farm on the southwestern side of the Volcano, and houses a number of bungalows and bunkhouses, in the latter of which I'll be staying for the next two nights. All electricity is generated on site (I think it's hydroelectric, from the nearby river) and the meals feature ingredients--both animal and vegetable--raised on the farm and in the surrounding area. Tonight I had some incredibly fresh vegetables, as well as an unbelievable roasted pig (one of the volunteers here told me they slaughtered it this morning). I suppose I should add that, on top of all that, I'm writing this from a hammock, and I'm surrounded by the natural beauty of the rainforest. I should also point out that when Juan asked what I do and I told him that I would be heading to Berkeley in the fall, he mentioned that he's been in contact at various points with Berkeley prof (and noted foodie) Michael Pollen.

Anyway, tomorrow I'll get the full tour of the farm, so I expect I'll have more to report then. In the meantime though, I thought I'd talk a little more about Quepos and Manuel Antonio. I wanted to keep things fairly light in my first post yesterday, but there's certainly plenty to talk about over on the Pacific coast. The major issue in the area (which, of course, not everyone realizes) is sustainable eco-tourism. Costa Rica has taken great advantage of the concept of eco-friendly travel, but--in many cases--has unfortunately done a much better job of exploiting the label than it has of applying the philosophy. The national park system is excellent, and has protected a lot of important ecosystems. However, there are a number of places in the country where there has been little thought given to longer term sustainability, and Manuel Antonio is definitely one. It has also been generally detrimental to the area's inhabitants. The serious boost in tourism has brought a lot of money to the area, but resulted in prices that are, no joke, sometimes on par with what you see in New York. It's hard to get lunch for under $10, and a beer is never cheaper than $2. I know that's not horrible, but it's obviously a drastic change from the rest of Central America. As a New Yorker, I find New York prices less shocking than most, but it means that a lot of locals are getting priced out of the area. Even Quepos, which was historically just a small fishing town, is now too expensive for many of its inhabitands. My Spanish teacher, Sandra, is originally Quepeña, but has since moved to the slightly more remote town of Parrita. As far as I can tell, the locals view Parrita the way the British view Slough.

Another issue is that the rapid influx of luxury hotels and condos has outpaced legislation and management of the drawbacks that accompany such things. So there is no water treatment facility, meaning that most of the waste from the hotels is piped out to the ocean. As a result, though the beaches in Manuel Antonio are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen, the beach in Quepos is contaminated, and not a place one should even consider go into the water. Not all of the hotels are problematic--one called Si Como No is particularly noteworthy for its green approach. But generally speaking, the focus appears to be on cashing in while the getting is good, rather than building something that might last. The local government does what it can, keeping the regional transit hub over in Quepos, away from the parkland. The lack of nightlife on the Manuel Antonio side may well also be a result of noise regulations or something else I don't really know about. Camping overnight in the park is not permitted, and entry is limited to a certain number of visitors. So, suffice to say there is a lot that is done to protect the nature here.

Unfortunately, tourists, often unwittingly, remain a major problem. A particularly prevalent issue is interaction with the monkeys. The Central American Squirrel Monkey, which I mentioned yesterday, has very few natural habitats left, and this is one. A frustratingly common sight is a tourist giving a banana to a squirrel monkey. This is a very bad thing for a few reasons. First and foremost, the human hand carries bacteria that can be very harmful to the monkeys' digestive system, and sometimes even fatal. It also increases monkey reliance on human handouts in place of actual foraging, and moreover makes the monkeys much more aggressive than they otherwise would be (I saw one jump onto a woman who was holding a banana and take said banana out of her hand).

A large part of the problem, of course, is that people have no idea that it's bad to feed the monkeys, and they're completely adorable, so who wouldn't want a picture of their kid holding out a banana to a tiny five-fingered hand? But there needs to be a much greater effort made toward educating people about this issue when they get here. It doesn't help that the locals seem to think that telling people not to feed monkeys might cost them business. Almost none of the tourists I've encountered knew how seriously problematic an issue this is, and I only know about it because I happened to read it in the LP guide, and in Quepolandia, the local magazine for tourists (all in English). Quite honestly, it would not be hard for hotels to place a small sign in rooms just letting people know the risks, or placing signs at places that monkeys tend to congregate (like the wonderful Hospedaje Costa Linda). So instead the mechanism is just that those of us who do know see someone feeding a monkey, and can only tell them after they've already done it, thus making them feel like a huge jerk. The rapid pace of development doesn't have a quick or obvious solution, but it seems to me that a little bit of education would go a long way toward curbing the monkey feeding issue.

There's also a related issue with dolphin and whale watches. Unlike in the states, they are almost never run by qualified naturalists, and numerous tour operators have encouraged their guests to get in the water with the animals. Though they don't much mind boats, these particular dolphins and whales apparently get very skittish about people in the water, and this has, in some cases, disrupted their mating cycles. As a result, a lot of the animals are moving to calmer climes, meaning the fledgling whale watch industry here is already in decline.

Based on what I've seen (and read) thus far, this situation seems to be pretty pervasive throughout the country. Costa Rica has financially catapulted ahead of the rest of Central America in large part due to a combination of their lack of military spending and their massive tourism boom. The two, as it happens, are related, because the absence of a military means much more funding for police forces, a big part of why it's such a safe country, which feeds the tourism. But it appears to me at the moment as though current efforts to keep the ecotourism sustainable have the right idea, but in many cases are insufficient. This, as it happens, is a big part of why I wanted to come out here to Rancho Margot. Arenal is one of the most aggressively touristy areas in the country. The main hub of La Fortuna literally swarms with tour operators, both legitimate and fraudulent. Plush hotels with names in English dot the landscape, without involving themselves at all in the lives of the people who actually live here. So to come to a place that is not only actively trying to change the way people interact with their surroundings, but is reputedly having a great deal of success doing so, is really quite encouraging. I feel a little bad that my expectations are almost unfairly high right now, but the little I've seen so far has me thinking I've come to the right place to find what I'm looking for.

And with that, I'm off to catch up on some z's after three late nights out with my Man Ant peeps.

Saludos,

Seth

Fotografía:

Quepos and Manuel Antonio

Arenal and Rancho Margot

More monkeys than a barrel of fun

I apologize for my recent absence from the blogosphere. I've been hanging out in the spectacularly beautiful coastal towns of Quepos and Manuel Antonio, in Costa Rica. Manuel Antonio and Quepos are on opposite sides of a large hill, with a bus that runs between them every half hour. Manuel Antonio is home to the beach and the park, and is where pretty much all the tourists go, with Quepos being a waystation between here and other cities. Almost none of the locals live on the Manuel Antonio side, or even on the hill in between. Oddly, even though all the tourists stay on the Manuel Antonio side, all the nightlife is either on the hill or on the Quepos side.

Once again, I'm staying with a lovely host family that takes good care of me, but doesn't have internet. I'm fine with that, as it means I'm more inclined to be out of the house or, when I am home, reading or playing guitar, or practicing my Spanish. My host parents are Doña Haydee and Don Victor. Don (and Doña, its feminine equivalent) is a Spanish term somewhere between "Mr." and "Sir." We don't really have the equivalent in English, but it's a term of respect that one uses with one's elders, and in formal settings. It's not very common in Nicaragua, but it's a big part of the culture here. At any rate, Doña Haydee and Don Victor are incredibly sweet septuagenarians who have welcomed me into their home. They have five children, each of whom has children of their own, and lives in the neighborhood. They also have two adorable great granddaughters who live next door, Meiying and Junmei (their mother is of Chinese descent). I've spent a good deal of time playing with them. Junmei, the older one, is three, and our ability to speak Spanish is roughly equivalent at this point, so we've had some very fun interactions. She delighted in giving me her my little pony doll, and having me do voices for that doll's interactions with a stuffed giraffe. She also likes to point at pictures of animals and identify them, e.g. "eso es mono" (this is a monkey), or "eso es tortuga" (this is a turtle).

Another reason I've been a bit out of the loop is that I reunited with my friends Ben and Sam, from Nicaragua, and we've spent the better part of my post-class days hanging out at their hostel or out on the beach. There's not a whole lot to do here other than walk through the park (which I have not yet done actually) and go to the beach (which I have). I'm okay with this, as I'm still recovering from the volcano trek. I planned this part of the trip to be a bit of a relaxing beach vacation in the midst of some more aggressive travel, so I'm okay with it. Tomorrow I'm going to Arenal Volcano, which is one of the most active volcanoes in the world. This is one you look at from a distance, as it sends up almost nightly displays of lava, fire, and smoke. The town also has hot springs, which are fed by the volcano, so I'm expecting to spend some time enjoying that as well. I've heard it's one of the most beautiful regions in a country that's full of them, so that should be pretty great.

Sam skipped town yesterday morning, but Ben is still here, and we've been having a lot of fun hanging out with a group of German girls we've met, Anna, Valerie, and Olive (the latter of whom also left yesterday). Last night the director of my Spanish school, David, invited me to come with him to a friend's house for a guitar jam session, so I brought the crew. Thomas, another good dude I know from classes, also came long. It was an interesting experience, to say the least. Almost all expats and travelers, and too many guitars (I think I counted six). There were almost no times that we were all playing the same song, so it sort of devolved into little groups of people playing and singing. It was mostly a lot of fun, though there was a weird moment when an extremely drunk expat got a bit aggressive and unpleasant (I'll write more about that later, I think). The primary point, for the moment, is that the people here are great, and life is tranquilo. Pura vida, as they say here.

The two reasons to come to Manuel Antonio are the beaches and the wildlife. I've only been to two of the four beaches, but they were pretty spectacular. Three of the beaches belong to the Parque Nacional, which requires a $10 entrance fee. I got in at the end of the day with a friend's used ticket, so I didn't have time to make it to the last two beaches. I'm expecting to get to do a bit more of that next week when my friends skip town. The wildlife, however, has been incredible even without having yet ventured into the park. Look through my pictures and you'll see two types of monkeys (including the unreasonably adorable squirrel monkey), a three-toed sloth, and various lizards. More remarkable than the presence of these animals is their ubiquity. I've seen squirrel monkeys so many times that right now there are literally over ten of them about 20 feet away from me, and I'm just sitting here typing instead of going over and taking pictures--they are crazy precious though, like little people.

The sloth, or perezoso in Spanish, is a relative of the bear. I honestly have no idea how evolution has allowed these animals to continue to exist, but I'm glad it has. It is undoubtedly my new favorite animal--it looks like an animatronic plush toy. They move very slowly. I definitely recommend checking out the pictures and two videos I took of the sloth.

Right now, however, Anna is bugging me to stop typing and go to the beach, and I think she's got the right idea. So I'll try to check in from Arenal this weekend, but you may not hear from me again until next week (I get back Monday). Pictures of Quepos and Man. Ant. available here.

Saludos,

Seth

Tranquilo

So, I'm now safely down in Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica, after a very short flight on the smallest plane I've ever ridden. Tonight will be the fifth different place I sleep in five nights, with a sixth on tap tomorrow, so I'm a little tuckered out. As such, I spent most of today taking it easy and watching football, and tinkering with the blog layout.* I did get to walk around Manuel Antonio just a little though, and I saw enough to know that I'm really excited about being here. Manuel Antonio National Park is very close by, and the town of the same name is nestled into a hill on the Pacific coastline just to the North. I'm particularly excited by the little I've seen of this place in part because the natural beauty is just stunning (an ocean can really do wonders for that), and in part because fish is a much larger part of the diet. I had a pretty incredible sauteed mahi filet for dinner, and a fresh tuna and avocado salad for lunch. Consider my mind blown.

Anyway, there will be plenty of words to devote to this next adventure, but I thought I'd take a moment to close the book on Nicaragua, since that part of my journey has come to an end. One word you'll hear a lot around Nicaragua is "tranquilo," which (as you'd expect) means tranquil or calm. If you ask someone how they're doing, "tranquilo" is the stock answer, not "bien." And based on the people I met, the answer is appropriate. It's a remarkable thing to see from a country where so much of the populace remembers the still recent civil war, and so many people lost property or, worse yet, family and friends. But in spite of the history of radicalism, and plenty of remaining bitterness towards former and current president Ortega, "tranquilo" is the way they go. They are unflinchingly even-keeled and level-headed, and ceaselessly amiable. Nicaragua is very definitely a country at a crossroads, with a stagnated economy, and a growing number of expats promoting the fool's gold that is a further increase in tourism. It is certainly a place in need of a great deal of assistance, but I definitely encountered a population that wanted to find a way towards sustainable development. Importantly, the tranquilo mentality seems to have moved them to an ethos of cool-headedness. And though it's hard to know right now, I think the approach will suit them well.

I have to say that this worldview was a very valuable thing for me to come into contact with, particularly at the start of this journey. For me, Nicaragua was in many ways a laboratory, where I got to start figuring out how I'm going to want to approach the next few months, and try out a variety of things that held some appeal. I've learned that I felt safer than I expected to while gliding along a zipline through the trees. I've learned that there are ways to deal with concerns about theft other than hiding out at home all night. I've learned that, at least in Central America, plenty of people will really start a conversation just to start a conversation, and that this is something I can even do myself (even if it's in Spanish). I've also learned that, on a trip like this, you really never know where your next friend will come from, or, relatedly, what your next adventure will be. There are times when it's important to stick to a plan, of course, but if you try to be too rigid about it, you might end up missing an experience you'll remember for the rest of your life. So, in the spirit of the people I met, the friends I made, and the things I did, I'm going to stay tranquilo, and that's how I'll handle whatever comes my way.

I'm off to bed, with my first day of classes here in Costa Rica starting in the morning. Tomorrow night I'll meet my new host family, and settle in for what should be the first of several consecutive nights in the same bed.

Saludos,
Seth


*I added the map and picture widgets on the right, as well as Google ads. Please let me know if you find the ads obtrusive. I put them at the bottom of the posts to try to keep them out of the way (as opposed to a more prominent spot). I primarily set them up because I submitted the blog to Lonely Planet, and I figure that on the off chance that they direct some traffic my way, it won't hurt to have a mechanism in place to get something out of that.

Schmo Versus the Volcano

It's pretty much impossible to go to a foreign country where you don't totally speak the language and avoid making some mistakes along the way. So, on a multi-month voyage through another continent, a whole range of misguided decisions is pretty much guaranteed. To a large extent, you're relying on the distribution of the mistakes to tend towards the not-so-stupid and not-so-problematic. So, in that sense, I'm quite fortunate that the only legacy of my first significant blunder is a set of extremely sore quadriceps and some dirty fingernails. In fairness, the main issue wasn't really climbing the volcano. The issue was doing it in sandals.

Before heading off to Ometepe, I read up on the island, its lore, and its twin volcanoes in my Lonely Planet guidebook. The author, to his credit, highlighted the immense difficulty of climbing Volcán Concepción, and went as far as to say "bring real hiking shoes" and "be in good physical shape." He also mentioned that it's almost always cloudy at the top, so the spectacular vista is a rare one. So, having read all this, I decided to leave my hiking shoes in Granada and settle for enjoying Ometepe's lovely beaches and sunsets. But, damn my affable personality, I made two friends on the boat across the lake, and they were planning to go up the volcano. So, I looked at my Keen sandals, with their pretty solid traction, and I decided that I could probably make it. I had been told it was pretty tough, but I didn't think it could be that much worse than biking 30 miles in 80 degree heat, so I went with the flow. And so it was that I set out with Sam and Ben, two Oberlin grads, and Levi, our guide, to peer into the crater of a 1,610 meter high active volcano.

Even setting the sandals aside, the climb up was without a doubt the most physically challenging thing I've ever done. Levi told us that the volcano doesn't like it when people climb her, and she does her best to take it out on them. I can definitely see his point. As you begin the trek, howler monkeys fill the air with an ominous groan that signals a warning. It might be one that's worth taking. Most trails up mountains (and volcanos) involve a sequence of switchbacks to reduce the grade at which you're climbing. Not at Concepción. The trail is straight up, base to crater, with terrain in a sequence that basically goes dirt, large rocks, small rocks, large rocks, gravel, large rocks, small rocks, mud, muddy gravel, large rocks, mud, hot muddy gravel. Tree branches and thorn bushes scrape and scratch at your legs. Each sequence is more punishing than the one before it--really, "punishing" is the best word for the whole experience. It is exhausting and grueling. Because of the heat emitted by the volcano, the air coming out of the crater condenses, meaning that the summit is almost always engulfed in clouds. The day we went, the clouds stretched halfway down the volcano, which meant that, starting about 2-3 hours into our 5 hour climb, we could no longer see anything more than 100 or so feet ahead of us. We've gone back and forth as to whether this was a benefit or not, but I ultimately come down on the side of Sam's argument that if we really had known just how much farther we had to go, we might definitely have given up.

At about 900 meters the wind started to howl, and at 1,000 meters the clouds turned to rain, and dirt to mud. It was truly amazing to think that here we were, slogging our way through this maelstrom, and just a mile away people were on a beach enjoying an 80 degree day with a clear blue sky. As we climbed higher, the wind grew stronger, and visibility decreased. We were all soaked and trying to keep our breaks to a minimum. I have to give my sandals credit for the work they did getting me up the first 1,200 meters. They had excellent traction, and I was surprised at how well they worked. But as the ground got less firm, and balance and ankle support became more pertinent, I began to realize the flaw in the plan. For the last 400 meters, I lagged a bit behind everyone else, and paused several times to catch my breath and get my balance. I used my hands as much as possible for additional leverage and stability, particularly taking advantage of a plant known colloquially as "hoja grande," or "big leaf," which has very rough (and thus easily gripped) leaves and deep, strong, roots.

We stopped every 100 meters or so to catch our breath, and figure out whether this was really going to happen. I didn't say it out loud, but I was increasingly certain that there was no way I would make it to the crater. Sam was having a tough time with the mud as well, and there was a moment when he turned to Ben and expressed concern about dealing with the soggy and slippery mud on the way down. I silently wondered whether Ben might decide it was worth calling it quits, and thought I might agree. But, to his credit, Ben said "I think we can do it. We've come this far." So we kept going.

Just as I was growing certain that I couldn't do it, as I was preparing to look up and say "guys, I'm gonna wait here," I saw the other three taking off their backpacks and putting them down, placing large rocks on them to keep them from blowing away--the wind was that strong, even though we all had at least one full 2 liter water bottle in our bag, as well as a packed lunch. I scrambled up the 15 feet of mud, water, and gravel to where they were, and asked what was going on. "We're going up to the crater," Sam told me. "It's right there." He pointed and, sure enough, I saw a point only 30 feet ahead where the terrain seemed to come to an abrupt halt.

The experience at the crater was like nothing I've ever seen or heard of. The wind rushed by us at hurricane speed. We got low to the ground--the poisonous gases would kill you even if you did survive the fall into the crater. The rain was cold, but the ground was hot, warmed by the huge pocket of geothermal energy just beneath us. We crawled to the lip and looked over into a sea of fog. The clouds were oatmeal-thick, and you could not see more than 15 feet in any direction. Even the rest of the group, sitting 5 feet away from me, were like apparitions in the mist. It looked a bit like heaven, and it felt a lot like hell. We looked at each other and smiled, took a few pictures, and started the brutal journey back to the base.

As tough as the trip up had been, the trip down was worse. While the climb had been a serious cardiovascular challenge, the descent was all about muscular endurance. When you're walking down a series of 2-3 foot high bolders, each with a slick, wet surface, every step must be absolutely sure. If you slip, you could crack your skull. And it's pretty tough to get an ambulance into a cloud at 5,000 feet, not to mention the several hours it would take for someone to get down to town and notify anyone. So with every pace, I put all of my attention on my legs, ankles and feet, using my hands to cling to nearby trees with as firm a grip I could muster. I fell a few times, once drilling myself in the back with a rock on the ground. If I had lagged behind the group on the way up, it was nothing compared to the trip down. I felt bad about it, but they were very patient with me. Of course, as Sam pointed out, the thing that sucks most about being that guy is that when everyone else stops for a break and you finally catch up, everyone else is also ready to get going again. I have to express my deep appreciation for Sam, Ben, and Levi's willingness to give me an extra minute or two here and there to rest my weary ankles.

As we got out of the clouds about halfway down, we took a longer break to appreciate the view and rest up with the extra time we had. Coming down may have been tougher than going up, but it was still quicker. From the viewpoint, or "mirador" in Spanish, we could see the other volcano, Maderas, and the water flowing all the way around it. To our left, we could see the town of Altagracia, from which we had walked starting at 7 that morning. And behind us, a low forest disappearing into clouds. We stayed at that point for a good 20 minutes, feeling the full heft of our effort in our arms and legs, clothes soaked with rain, mud, and sweat. At a couple of points, some turkey vultures swooped in for a closer look, just to see if they might learn where they'd be getting their dinner that night. We decided to make sure they'd have to find it somewhere else, and walked the two remaining hours down the Volcano and back to Altagracia.

I am certain I have never been as grateful to sit down as I was when we got back to our hostel. That night we went into town to have some meat with gallo pinto--extra servings of both--and drink a few Toñas, and a lot of water.

I've taken a lot of pictures on this trip, so I understand that most people aren't going to bother going through them--and certainly not through all of them. But I definitely recommend taking a tour through the pictures of Ometepe in general, or at least just the trip up Concepción if that's all you have time for. The swirl of fog around us was completely out of this world. It felt like one of those levels in a Super Mario game where you can't see anything except a small circle around your character. But real. And totally freaking crazy.

¡Oh-my-tepe! Dos

So, I'm sitting in an airport hotel room in San Jose, Costa Rica, getting set to head out to Quepos in the morning for two weeks of beach and nature preserve, and I figured I'd tie off my loose-ends, blogically speaking. The Granada album is now complete, and available here.

I spent the bulk of this week in Ometepe, an incredible island in the middle of Lago Nicaragua (generally known as Colcibolca, which is Nahuatl for "sweet sea"). As I mentioned, I befriended two solid dudes named Ben and Sam on the boat out there, and spent the whole time traveling around the island with them. We were there for three days and, as Sam later pointed out, we saw something completely unique and incredible every one of those days.

We found an amazing little hostel called Hospedaje Ortiz, in Altagracia, where the ferry docks. It's not in the LP guide, but if you find yourself in Ometepe, I recommend Ortiz very strongly. It's all run by Mario Ortiz and his family--his son and nephews are the most visible staff, though his wife also does a fair amount. Levi, one of the nephews, was our guide on the hike up the volcano (post on that coming very shortly).

Ometepe, in addition to being something of a tropical island paradise, also has a much more rural feel than Granada. There are only two major cities, and the bigger of the two, Moyogalpa, is comparable in size to a slightly more touristy version of Hancock, NY, where I went to summer camp. In Altagracia, where we spent the first three nights, you can eat at the hostel, or at one of the two restaurants. After that, if you want to check e-mail, you can head to one of two places in town with an internet connection. Fortunately, the small-town feel worked in our favor, as Mario directed us to the local eatery run by Esmeralda, who grills a mean pork tenderloin. For three nights straight we had--and thoroughly enjoyed--grilled meat, plantain chips, a scoop of salad (basically cole slaw sans mayo), and a heaping portion of gallo pinto (fried rice and beans). Esmeralda took very good care of us, getting our occasionally idiosyncratic orders (pork *and* beef, no salad or platanos) just right.

The first day there, Sam, Ben, and I rented bikes and rode towards Santo Domingo beach, nestled into the isthmus that connects the two volcanoes. There is exactly one paved road in Ometepe, and we managed to be on it for a little while, but ultimately had to turn off onto a slightly treacherous and rather steep rocky hill. We got through it with all our limbs attached, but still felt it would be wise to take the bus back at the end of the day (note: the bus had a beast of a time getting back up that hill). Along this rocky bumpy road, we saw some signs for Ojo de Agua ("eye of water") and decided to check it out.

Ojo de Agua, it turned out, was about as close to paradise as I've experienced. It is a stream fed by several mineral springs, and running to the lake, and someone at some point had the brilliant idea to put in a small dam to slow the water, thus creating a natural mineral water swimming pool. It was like swimming in Perrier. And did I mention it was on an isthmus between two volcanoes? I think I did.

So, the day was off to a great start, and we decided to spend much or all of it at Ojo de Agua. After a little while, however, we noticed that one of the other guests at the pool had the number 18 tattooed on the back of his head, full-head sized. Normally I would not have paid much attention, but the night before Sam had been talking about the Mara Salvatruchas, one of the most violent gangs in Central America, and their affinity for head and face tattoos. We basically spent the day conflicted between how amazingly wonderful the location was, and a small amount of fear that this guy might go Tony Soprano on someone at any moment (he was of the upper-management set, we're fairly certain, based on his age and his traveling with a lackey). We contemplated leaving, but felt it would be best just to ignore the situation and enjoy the day. Ben put it best when he said to me, "well, everyone needs vacation." Wikipedia later informed me that the gentleman probably belonged to the 18th Street Gang, which is actually a major rival of the Salvatruchas, and is, at the very least, less internationally notorious--take Wikipedia's word however you'd like. At any rate, I took several pictures of Ojo de Agua so that you can see what the place looks like, but I elected to forgo taking any pictures of Captain Headtats.

After several hours relaxing, we took our bikes and headed off to Playa Santo Domingo, just to see the beach and grab a beer. Not much to report other than the fact that the beach was stunningly beautiful and we saw some cool fauna (howler monkeys, magpies, and plenty of turkey vultures).

The next day we attacked Volcán Concepción, a story I'm choosing to leave to its own post (which will be up very shortly after this one).

On Thursday, which turned out to be our last day at Ometepe, we went over to Moyogalpa, the larger city. We rented bikes again, and headed over to Punta Jesus Maria, a natural sand spit that juts a mile out from the island, and serves as a natural fishing pier with incomparable black sand beaches. The sunset, out above the mountains on the mainland, with the lake in front of us, was a remarkable experience, and, judging from the attendance, is one of the main attractions in town. We spent the night carousing in Moyogalpa, and reveling in the excellence of our time in Ometepe. The next morning, Ben moved on to San Juan del Sur, while Sam went to check out Finca Zopilote, a small farm on Ometepe. I'll hopefully be seeing both of them again in Costa Rica.

As for me, I headed back to Granada for a quick final 24 hours, and caught my flight down to Costa Rica today. Tomorrow I'll be out in Quepos, starting the next phase of my journey. I'm trying to decide whether I have any final encapsulating thoughts on Nicaragua to share. But until I decide that, I have another post to put up, a hot shower to enjoy, and a bunch of sleep to catch up on.

Hasta luego.

Saludos,

Seth

Fotografía:

Ometepe

¡Oh-my-tepe!

I got back to Granada this afternoon after three days and four nights in Ometepe with my new friends Ben and Sam (yes, together we're Seth, Benjamin, Samuel). Ometepe was on the short list for a revised version of the seven wonders of the natural world this year, and walking around there you can easily see why. Tomorrow's a travel day (off to Costa Rica), so I'm hoping to spend the trip putting digital pen to digital paper to give you some further insight. I'll have some pictures up tomorrow night as well. Be prepared to hear stories of magical restorative oases, American gangsters, Esmeralda the best grillmaster ever, and the most physically challenging thing I have ever done (hint: if you're going to climb a volcano, wear real shoes).

Saludos,
Seth

Nicablogua Cuatro

I've finished uploading pictures from yesterday's Mombacho trip and zipline tour. The videos are on their way up too, but they take a lot longer to upload. There are also a few videos from the baseball game, including the "si se puede" chant.

Last night my host brother Noel asked me for some music for his ipod (he has a new 80GB version I've never seen--very slim with internal speakers and video). I gave him a whole range, including the Beatles, Jay-Z, Michael Jackson, and others. This morning, when I was taking a shower and getting ready to head out, I heard "Earth Song" blasting from the kitchen (Brie, I hope you see this), and could not have been much happier. I hadn't even recommended the song. It was just the one he chose to put on first. Of course, he then did in fact make me happier by following it up with "Chacarron," the greatest song in the world. Apparently a chacarron is a type of insect, though I couldn't work out what kind.

I thought I'd talk a bit more about baseball crazyness here, and the fact that it's a universal language. Whenever I get into a conversation with a local, it's almost always very easy to talk about baseball. Most people wear caps of various US sports teams (caveat in next paragraph). As I think I've mentioned, the Yankees are extremely popular. What's interesting though is that although people know a lot about the game itself (and that includes the Major Leagues) they are completely disconnected from its history. This isn't particularly surprising, as I'm certain the Major Leagues have only been popular here for as long as they've been televised here. Nonetheless it was interesting to get into a conversation with someone yesterday who had no idea that the Dodgers and Giants used to be in New York, and had never heard of Jackie Robinson. His name was Job (insert Arrested Development comment here), and he drove me out to the volcano (insert Job vs the Volcano joke here). At any rate, Job is a fan of the Florida Marlins, because he likes the fact that they're a team of young upstarts, as opposed to the Yankees, who go out and buy all the best players (his words, not mine). The fact that he knows enough to know that, and to make the more complicated decision about fandom indicates to me that he's a serious baseball fan with a good grasp of the game. So it was interesting to me that even for him, baseball basically started within the last 10-20 years. It's also worth noting, by the way, for seamheads out there, that the level of play here is really quite low, perhaps even lower than I initially realized. One of the best players in the league, Augustin Septimo (who hit two homers in the game I attended), is a 25 year-old shortstop. In 2008, his age 24 season, he put up a a 576 OPS in the Marlins FSL affiliate. This year, he played in the Indy Leagues, where he faired a bit better (.779). He was one of the league leaders in home runs here this season, with 5 in a little over 50 games. So the game I went to was basically the equivalent of seeing the Newark Bears with a more rabid fan base.

The other thing I wanted to discuss (again) was the poverty, because there are just some interesting things to contemplate here. It is an extremely common sight to see a Nica walking around in a shirt that says, for example "Monmouth High School Track." A large portion of local clothing clearly comes second hand from the U.S. This occasionally makes for some it-would-be-funny-if-it-weren't-sad moments, like the guy I saw in a "Rush Week 2003" t-shirt. As an American, it's quite an uncomfortable feeling, and it definitely makes one pause for a moment. Considering the amount of old t-shirts of that ilk that I gave to Goodwill when I moved out of my apartment, it's entirely feasible that I could see someone walking around here in my old Wesleyan Orientation Leader t-shirt. The thing that's most striking about it is the extent to which even the relatively well-off people here live to some extent off of our second hand goods. It's the second poorest country in the hemisphere (after Haiti--donate here), so it's not exactly a surprise, but one is constantly reminded of the fact that Nicaragua-rich is still Rest-Of-World-poor. Nicaragua-poor, of course, is pretty destitute. Most of the kids don't make it past fourth grade here, and a lot of them start huffing glue before they even reach double-digits. It's heartbreaking, and there's still a serious need for international aid here. But what is also interesting about it is that, at least in Granada, the majority of people still seem to get by reasonably well and at least on the surface appear to be reasonably happy. This is, at a minimum, a country that functions, with an economy that may not be growing, but does exist. But in every way you can think of, it lags far behind our standard of living--tickets are handwritten receipts, you cannot buy anything on the internet, and transactions are almost universally conducted in efectivo (cash), except at the places designed for the wealthiest tourists.

What's tough is that I really don't know what the solution is. More tourism adds some money to the economy, but comes with a whole host of other serious issues, both for the locals and for the tourists. For centuries, there was a large bull shark population in the lake (it connects to the Caribbean via the Rio San Juan), but that was grossly overfished by the Somoza administration for leather and shark's fins, and is now, for all intents and purposes, extinct. They have a variety of interesting fruits (nispero and zapote, for example), but I've heard that most of them spoil quickly, so exporting them wouldn't necessarily work. They have very good coffee, which I think helps some, but it's not something you can use as the base of a monocrop economy when people can also get it from countries like Colombia and Costa Rica. So there's not really an answer to the major problems here, as far as I can discern. Focusing on the kids and keeping them in school is a good start, certainly, so, to that extent organizations like Casa Xalteva do a reasonable amount of good. Beyond that, there's really no obvious solution, and it seems like exactly the kind of place that is likely to get forgotten in a global recession.

Anyway, I'm not sure there's a particularly ideal way to end this post except to say that this trip is reminding me of just how incredibly fortunate I am in a nearly infinite number of ways (not the least of which is the opportunity to take this trip, and the comfort to be able to contemplate this stuff from my perspective instead of the local one).

And with that, I'm going to finish my lunch and head down to the lake to hop on the four-hour boat ride to Ometepe.

Saludos,

Seth

Nicablogua - Volcán Mombacho

I don't have a whole lot to report today, as the morning was mostly about good views, and I think the pictures do a better job of getting that across than I could with words. I was very excited to discover that my computer has software for stitching together panoramas from multiple photos, so those will probably start showing up here with more frequency. Anyway, this morning I went up to Mombacho Volcano to do a hike around the crater and check out the zip line canopy tour.

Pictures of the volcano and hike here.

Pictures of me looking like an idiot zipping around a cloud forest canopy here.

My Granada album, available here, is now complete, with several pictures of food (per my father's request).

I'm planning to grab a boat to Ometepe tomorrow afternoon. I have no idea if I'll have internet there (I haven't even decided if I'm going to bring my netbook), so I'll either be in touch from there, or I won't until I get back Thursdayish.

Saludos,

Seth

Nicablogua Dos

(you should be able to click the above picture for a larger view. It's a panorama I took down by the lake)

So, I just had a lengthy phone conversation with my parents during which I remembered that there are a couple of other things I wanted to discuss. I'll do this notes-style so I can pretend to be Peter Gammons.

• If you've looked through my pictures, maybe you've noticed that Parque Central is full of hot dog And coffee stands. I don't mean hot dog stands and coffee stands. I mean hot dog and coffee stands. Because Disney is incredibly popular here, many of them have random Disney characters painted on. There are some photos in my Granada album, so definitely check 'em out.

• My new favorite slang term that I learned here is "fresa," which literally means "strawberry." But they use it to mean "snob," because "strawberries think they're better than all the other fruits." Here in Nicaragua, they generally think the Ticos (Costa Ricans) are "muy fresa." I was also asked whether New Yorquiños are fresa, to which my answer was "a veces," or "sometimes."

• I mentioned that the language study is going well, but there are two important quirks to note. The first is that Nicaragua is one of only very few places--though Argentina is another--where they use "vos" instead of "tu." This would be easy if it were just the one word that got switched, but it's an entire new grammatical structure, e.g. "Vos sos" instead of "Tu es." The other thing is that the accent involves dropping s's like crazy. So, instead of "gracias," you get "gracia," and instead of "uno mas," you get "uno ma." It's tough to understand when you're not used to it, but, as they say, knowing is half the battle.

• The next point is directed at the local roosters. Seriously guys, you need to cool it. You start your cock-a-doodle-doo ing no later than 4am (when the sun isn't remotely close to being up) and you continue until 9 or so. I have to sleep with earplugs because of you. Seriously guys, can't you take it down a notch? No wonder people feel compelled to taxiderm you and turn you into baskets.

• Two additional interesting things from the perspective of Marlon, my Spanish teacher. This is less an insight into Nica culture and more an insight into the perspective they have on the rest of the world. First off, Marlon attended Franklin Delano Roosevelt High School in Jinotepe, Nicaragua. He never knew who Roosevelt was until fairly recently, and always thought he was a famous Nicaraguan. Additionally, when it came up that my grandparents had survived the holocaust, he expressed surprise, because he knew I was "part Jewish," but didn't realize that it was enough to have warranted oppression. When I explained that it was a little more than "part," he was very surprised, because he never knew Jews could be white. I think the idea of discrimination being a racial thing is so ingrained, that he just assumed that anti-Semitism and racism were one and the same. They're similar of course, but the idea of whiteness is quite different here.

• The locals love bright colors. The origin of this apparently has to do with when the conquistadors came and made the natives put on full-body clothing. They didn't really know what to do, so they just chose the brightest colors they had. All kinds of neons. Now this manifests as very brightly painted houses and buildings, as well as all kinds of neon lights that are added to cars (including taxis).

• The way Granadiños deal with direction is quite interesting. They almost never say "left" or "right" unless you specifically ask. The directions Marlon was given when he took me to my house were "go past the park a little bit, bear sort of North West, and then it's a block after the bridge, sort of up that way." East, West, North, and South are used much more frequently here. In a lot of ways, it makes sense, so long as you understand the layout of the city (which is admittedly quite straightforward).

The other thing I wanted to say, which is way off-topic and sort of a somber way of ending this otherwise light post, is that it's remarkable to see the outpouring of sympathy and concern for the victims of the Haiti earthquake. Nicaragua is the second poorest country in the hemisphere (after Haiti), but at the game last night there was an announcement that the government was sending C$500,000 (about $25,000) to Haiti. There was also a minute of silence before the game. So, in the spirit of doing what I can, I'd like to direct your attention to Partners In Health, which has had people on the ground in Haiti for over 20 years. This recommendation comes courtesy of my former colleague Pierre Cremieux, who some of you know, who is heavily involved with an international aid organization called Medical Aid Committee. According to Pierre, Partners In Health is very well positioned to help out based on their longstanding presence, so I urge you all to join me in doing what you can to support them.

I hope you all have splendid weekends. I'm off to Mombacho Volcano in the morning, and hopefully Ometepe on Monday, so I should be able to check back in at some point with some pretty awesome pictures of crazy things we don't have in New York.

Saludos,

Seth

Granada Oriental Sharks vs Lion Lions

So, I went to the Granada-León baseball game tonight, and I thought I'd share my thoughts, because there was a lot to take in. First, the more general stuff. I found it very amusing that a city that has so many hot dog vendors had none at the baseball stadium. The logical explanation is that hot dogs are here for the tourists. Given that they're really only in Parque Central, I think that must be true. That said, it strikes me as very strange that they seem to think that Americans eat mostly hot dogs. Sure, a nice ballpark frank hits the spot from time to time, but it’s pretty far from a staple outside of sports venues.

The Granada team, as I mention in the pictures, is called the Tiburones (sharks). For reasons I do not remotely understand, they are also called Oriental. Some things said Tiburones, others said Oriental. Others said Granada. It's like if the New York Mets were also the New York Europes, and the names were used interchangeably. Unfortunately, two names weren't enough to will them to victory, as the Oriental Sharks dropped game 1 of the series, 3-1. León's team name, by the way, as far as I can tell, is the Leónes. This means their name, translated, is the Lion Lions.

Culturally, the game was just straight crazy. Both teams have brass bands, and songs that they sing. The most common chant was "ponche," as in "punch" as in "punch-out" as in "strike out." The starting pitcher for Granada (he looked like Guillermo Mota, and I sort of hope he was) did a nice job and got a number of these two-strike chants, and a number of those also paid off. The place is packed to the gills and seats are general admission. Moreover, if you get up from your seat, you can expect that it will likely be gone when you return, unless your friends are willing to be very agressive on your behalf. I actually watched the game standing up behind all the chairs, because we couldn't find enough seats.

Easily the best thing is the chant they do during a rally: "¡Sí se puede!" I was pretty psyched to get to chant along with that one. Unfortunately, Obama couldn't come through for the Tiburones. Other noticeable cultural things: they use scantily-clad women even more than we do, they don't do a seventh inning stretch, and the teams arrive in school buses. Different parts of the stadium are fenced off, so that you can't move to the infield if your ticket is for the outfield, and vice versa. There were tons of very aggressive scalpers in the parking lot, yelling at us that the ticket office was sold out, but for 100 Córdobas, ($5 US), they would sell us tickets. It wasn't sold out, so we paid our 40 Córdobas ($2 US) instead.

This is the part where I'm going into seamhead (a.k.a. baseball devotee) territory, so if you don't really care about interesting baseball things, you might want to skip the rest. Thing 1: I know you can't walk your way off the Dominican Republic, but apparently you also can't walk up through Honduras, Guatemala, and Mexico. The first walk of the game did not occur until the top of the 8th inning. In fact, the first three-ball count of the game occurred in the top of the 8th inning (and subsequently turned into the first walk). Moreover, the batter walked on four pitches, and it may well have been the old unintentional intentional walk (I couldn't tell because I had no way of knowing who the players were). There was also an intentional walk in the 8th, to load the bases for Granada's second consecutive inning-ending rally-killing double play.

Friends, I saw some moments of fundamentally unsound baseball tonight. I know, it's not exactly the Major Leagues, or even the NY-Penn League, or even the Venezuelan Winter League. But wow. The León centerfielder dropped a routine pop-up (granted it may have been Luis Castillo, I don't know). Players were hacking at everything, chopping grounders. The Tiburones stranded at least three runners at third, after they got them with less than two outs. One guy came up in the second with a runner on 3rd and one out and promptly struck out swinging at something stupid. Another player bunted and dove into first base, giving me horrible memories of Robbie Alomar, Roger Cedeno, and the 2002 Mets. There was some really bad baserunning. One player failed to score from second on a single, when he really should have, but he stopped at 3rd. Another guy hit a grounder down the 3rd base line that was a clear single, and he got thrown out at second by about 20 feet, trying to stretch it into a double. León were able to win because they hit three solo homers, and Granada beat themselves. In the 7th inning, Granada was down 3-1 with a runner on 1st and 3rd and one out, and hit into a double play. Next inning, bases loaded, one down, and another double play. On the second pitch (first was about two feet outside).

The aforementioned pitcher who looked like Guillermo Mota had a Mota-Piazza type moment at one point. He got out of a jam--largely thanks to a friendly out call on a León player over-running first base and getting tagged--and pumped his fist and jumped up and down like crazy. This was in the 5th inning, when he had already given up the first two home runs of the three he would allow, and his team was down 2-0. I don't really care when players show emotion, and sometimes it's nice to know they're as pumped as you are. But this was a bit much given the situation. And I do know that if he were, in fact, in the majors, he would get a fastball up at his eyes.

It was a really fun experience, and felt like a much rowdier and somewhat dirtier version of watching a Mets game in St. Lucie. I'm pretty sure they even borrowed some of the stupid drunk fans I've seen in Queens, and taught them to swear in Spanish. Really fun time though, and now I'm off to bed*.

Saludos,

Seth

*Note: I'm writing this at home after the game on Friday night, even though it will actually go online midday Saturday (I think).

**For those interested, here's the recap of the game (via Google Translate).

Fotografía:

Nica Baseball Championships

Nicablogua

Okay, so after almost a week, I'm finally finding some time to write my first real blog post. It's been basically impossible to find time this week, since I'm busy all day, and my house doesn't have internet, so I'm going to try to catch everyone up on everything. Let's start with the cast of characters.

My Host Family: Berta and José Orlando, and their three children José (23), Noél (20), and Rosanna (18). They're incredibly sweet. Berta is warm and welcoming, José Orlando is engaging and interested, and José works all day. I've gotten along very well with the younger kids, Noél and Rosanna, first bonding over the fact that they're both starting to learn guitar. They asked me to play a couple of songs for them, which I very self-consciously did. It turned out Noél was secretly recording me on his cell phone, which was kind of funny. It's nice to have a thing I can teach someone, given how much time I'm spending learning while I'm here. I'm teaching Noél the Book of Love (by the Magnetic Fields) to sing to his girlfriend. And that way, he'll also have it ready for his next girlfriend next week. Noél is also learning English. His favorite word is "motherfucker." Rosanna is a sweetheart, and a total nudge. She really enjoys giving me a hard time, and told me as much. A few days ago, after I'd eaten a particularly large meal (we'll come to that in a bit) she asked me how many months pregnant I was. She certainly seems to get my sense of humor, though, so it's nice. I really enjoy living with them, and can only hope that my future residency situations are this good. I have my own room, and Berta cooks up to three meals a day (though I usually just have breakfast and sometimes dinner at the house, and lunch in the city). They also have an adorable dog named Lucky (see pictures) who likes to jump on your lap.

The Dutch folks: Rene and Mirona are also staying at Berta and José Orlando's house. They've been here a few weeks doing volunteer work and learning Spanish. I've gone out with them a bit the last couple of nights, and they've been a lot of fun. They speak English very well (qué suerte), so that makes my life a little easier. I know that it's better for my language skills to spend as much time speaking Spanish as I can, but after doing it all day, it can get a little exhausting, just because of the amount of extra thought required to say a basic phrase.

My teacher: Marlon, is a super nice Nica. He's got a great sense of humor, and is an extremely patient teacher. He's very good at letting me take my time to work out how to say something, and is helpful when it comes to correcting my mistakes. He's from Jinotepe, a town not too far from here, and he tells me about their interesting varieties of fruits. He also runs a lot of the activities for the school, so he's often around when I'm visiting other parts of the city, which is very helpful. He's got a great sense of curiosity, so we talk about all kinds of things, ranging from the underlying causes of the U.S. economic collapse to the scientific explanations of dreaming (thank you Radiolab). Yes, I do manage to express a lot of the complex thoughts involved in these things, but it usually takes me a while to form what I'm trying to say.

Other students: I've gotten along quite well with some of the other students at the school. The classes are individual, so I mostly interact with them during the breaks and the activities. I've spent a decent amount of time at the activities with Kenny and Keren, a sweet couple who are super Californian. Keren is an excellent Spanish speaker, and Kenny knows a lot about hammocks and random other things, something I can appreciate as an aficionado of miscellanea. I've also spent some time hanging out with two students named Brendan and Rosalind, a couple about my age. He's from Oregon and she's from Nevada. They're a lot of fun. Last night over drinks I learned that they studied a lot of crazy math in school, which of course makes me like them even more. We're going (along with Marlon, Rene, Mirona, and maybe Kenny--quite the ragtag crew) to the baseball game tonight. It's the first game of the best-of-7 championship series, Granada against Léon, so that should be pretty awesome (¡Vayan Tiburones!).

My school is called Nicaragua Mía, and the teachers are really great. They're clearly very well-practiced, and are excellent at picking up on the areas where you need help. I have class from 8-12 in the morning, and then optional activities in the afternoon. I've posted photos (links below) of everything so far, and you can see some of the activities. We went to Las Isletas (a series of small islands in Lago Nicaragua that were formed by an exploding volcano several hundred years ago), Masaya (a nearby town with a large market of local artisanal crafts), and had a cooking class. The large meal I mentioned earlier was at the cooking class, where we made our own empanadas. I used the inside part of my plate as a guide, and it turned out that I happened to have the large plate. So I made (and ultimately ate) an unreasonably large empanada. An empanada is basically plantains smashed into a pulp, and then used as a kind of dough, wrapped around some cheese. Then it's pan-fried. So if you see the pictures, keep in mind that the thing I'm eating is fried plantain and cheese. You have permission to feel a little ill. I still do.

The comida typica (local food) is generally not super diverse. Gallo pinto (mixed fried rice and beans) is the staple, although quesillos (sort of like a rolled quesadilla) are also all over the place, and are pretty tasty. Breakfast is almost always eggs with some kind of vegetable and bread, which works great for me. Chicharrones (pork rinds) are something of a delicacy here, which is unfortunate, to say the least. I've managed to have them only once. Interestingly, hot dogs and burgers are very common. As you can see from the Granada pictures, there are hot dog and coffee carts all over the Parque Central, which is the main square here. I made myself try a local hot dog, out of curiosity, and it honestly could've been from Coney Island. It was quite flavorful. I actually am writing this from a balcony restaurant overlooking the Parque, where I just ate "the best hamburguesa in Granada." It goes against just about everything I stand for to go to a different country and eat a hamburger, but I had to see what their take on it was. This particular one was really good, mostly because it had a perfectly fried egg on top. So really, how can you go wrong?

The local beers are Toña and Victoria, the latter of which is definitely superior. Victoria is a pilsner, and I believe Toña is a lager (I have a Victoria in front of me right now, so I'm not really sure). I've had some other really interesting local beverages, Tiste (a drink made of toasted corn and cacao) and Chicha (a crazy pink ginger drink). You can get chichi at the local market, but it's sold in a plastic bag and is apparently not the most hygienic thing in the world, so I skipped it there and had it at a restaurant instead.

Granada is a beautiful city in a lot of ways, though smaller than I expected. You run out of road pretty fast if you go North or South, and the lake is downhill to the East. There's an incredibly impoverished shanty town to the South. I was up there yesterday with Rene and Mirona, who volunteer there. We were supposed to play baseball with the kids, but then it turned out they'd already played before I got there. So hopefully, I'll get to do that on Tuesday instead.

Central Granada is downright full of gringos. Somewhat surprisingly though, the industry that feeds off of the tourists is not that aggressive here. The Parque Central is definitely full of people selling random tourist crap, as is La Calzada (which is the street with all the gringo restaurants). But if you say "no, gracias," they leave you alone. It's significantly less in your face than most other places I've been where tourism is a major industry. There's also a decent amount of poverty, but again, it's not as bad as I've seen it in other places. The average standard of living is much lower than the states, obviously, but in the center of the city, the poverty is less apparent. In fairness, that's mostly because the homeless have moved down the road to the shanty towns, but even there they have televisions and refrigerators (with pirated electricity). I don't mean to downplay the severity or significance of the poverty, it just looks a bit different here than anywhere else I've been.

One of the major downside to Granada (aside from the fact that there is a *lot* of litter) is that can get very loud. There are cars that are paid to drive around blasting advertisements from loudspeakers, and that can get tiresome at times. The cars are also older, obviously, so they get quite noisy. And, based on the frequency of car horn usage, I can only assume they're being used to communicate very complex thoughts in Morse Code.

As I said, gringos are everywhere, but particularly in places like Kelly's Bar, O'Shea's pub, and Kathy's Waffle House. "Et in arcadia ego," I guess. The only one of these I've been to was Kelly's Bar, to which I went on Wednesday night with Rene and Mirona to hear some live music. The local band really loves Credence, it seems. They kicked off the show with "Have You Ever Seen Rain?" They also played pretty sweet covers of "Creep," by Radiohead (not TLC), and "Knockin' on Heaven's Door," in the style of Guns ‘N' Roses.

My Spanish is coming along quite well, to the point that yesterday I rented a bike in town, and the salesman asked where I learned Spanish, and told me it was excellent. The key moment was when he told me that the amount I gave him included the deposit, and that I'd get back $75 out of my $80 when I returned the bike. He asked if I'd understood, and when I said yes he asked me to repeat it back to him to make sure, and I did (successfully), which got me points. This is much better than the issue I've run into once or twice where someone gives you instructions, you say "sí," they walk away, and a minute later you realize that while you know roughly what they're talking about, the specifics could be one of at least two very different things. One example is the time Berta, my host mother, told me I didn't need to lock the deadbolt when I left her house, because the door locks automatically. Only when I was walking away did I realize I wasn't sure if she had meant that, or that I should always lock the deadbolt in addition to the automatic lock. It turned out to be the former, so thank goodness that worked out okay.

The bike ride, it's worth noting, was great. The other Americans I know here seemed to think I was nuts, but even the busy areas in town are not nearly as bad as riding a bike in New York or Boston, so I was fine. At any rate, I mostly strayed from the most traffic-heavy parts of town (I went through once to swing by the house). Instead I headed down to the lake. I took a lot of pictures that show off just how incredible it looks down there. The lake is pretty enormous, and there are mountains and volcanoes on pretty much all of its shores, so the vista is just remarkable. It is incredibly polluted though, which is a shame. There were also more flies there than I've ever seen in my life. Riding along the water, you collide with so many bugs that it literally feels like rain. A number of them died on my shirt as though I were a windshield. Yeah, gross. Generally, the insects here aren't too bad. I've gotten a little bitten, but not much. Bug spray goes a really long way, it seems. There aren't any stinging insects in Granada, as far as I can tell, so that's good too. I guess I should also mention that it's ranged between 70 and 85 degrees every day, without a drop of rain. So, that's nice. The locals get very cold when it gets down to the high 60s and low 70s at night. A lot of them put on sweaters. I've gotten a little burned on the back of my neck, but otherwise no real burning or even tanning. I expect that will change once I get to Costa Rica.

I've gotten to the point of feeling pretty comfortable here. The first few nights I refused to leave the house after 6pm. The truth is though, that the city is really very safe. I now realize that my family lives in the rough equivalent, neighborhood-wise, of park slope, so the few robbers that supposedly do exist here just aren't in that area. They hang out closer to the touristy areas, I assume. The people here are wonderful. I've found myself in random conversations with dozens of natives who are just very friendly and welcoming. I think they're very happy that their city is a place other people want to visit. It sounds like the war was a really rough time for the residents. Marlon was telling me yesterday about the first time he tried chocolate. He was 10 years old, shortly after the war ended, and he came across it for the first time. He tasted it and thought it was so incredible that he only took one or two bites, and hid the rest in his bedroom. He was afraid that it would disappear from the country, and never come back, so he wanted to reserve the small amount he had. But after a while he came to realize that chocolate was here to stay, so he stopped hoarding it.

Now that I feel more comfortable here, I'm very excited for the coming week. As I said, tonight I'm going to the Tiburones (Sharks) game at the baseball stadium. I'm going to try to go to Ometepe—an island in the middle of the lake consisting of two volcanoes connected by an isthmus—for the next few days. Concepción, the bigger volcano, is visible in the distant background of one of my pictures of the lake. It's got a caption that says so, if you want to see it without searching too much. Next week I'm planning to visit Mombacho and Masaya volcanoes, both pretty close to Granada. You can see the Masaya volcano from my pictures of the trip to the Masaya market, and Mombacho in the pictures of Las Isletas. I'm also going to try to get to Laguna de Apoyo, which is a spectacular nature preserve. In an ideal world, I'll make it up to Cerro Negro, a very young volcano covered in black sand, from the top of which you can ride a toboggan to the bottom.

I think that's all I have for the moment. I figured I'd give a broad overview here, and if you want specifics on the activities you can check out the pictures, most of which have captions. I'll try to check out comments. As I mentioned in the last post, I don't get to the internet much here, and when I do it's not usually for very long. I think that'll change in future destinations, but it's just the way things are for the moment. I recently discovered a hostel near my house with free wi-fi though, so maybe that will change some. I'm off to reserve my ferry ride to Ometepe, and try some raspado (shaved ice).

Saludos,
Seth

Fotografía*:
Granada
Las Isletas
Masaya

*Note: as of this posting, I am in the process of uploading these pictures. I have to be somewhere in about 30 min, so they might not all make it online before I leave. The Granada album will almost certainly be updated again, though the other two will not.

Granada

So, I'm in Nicaragua. Things are great but very busy and my host family doesn't have internet. I just wanted to check in and make sure everyone knows I'm okay and having fun. I've seen some cool things and taken a lot of pictures, so I'll try to get those up pretty soon. I've also found my Spanish improving greatly in just the three days I've been here, so that's a plus. More on that later, too.

Right now, however, I'm extremely hungry. And, as many of you know... you wouldn't like me when I'm hungry. So I'm off to grab a quick quesillo and read up on my adventure for the afternoon. But rest assured, I'm safe and happy.

Saludos,
Seth

George Bush International - Gateway to adventure

So, I told a few people I'd probably make my first (legitimate) post from the airport, and I've decided it's important to follow through and get in the habit of letting my parents know my rough geographical coordinates. So, right now I'm in George H. W. Bush Int'l Airport for a roughly three hour layover before my connecting flight to Managua this evening. Once I get to Managua, I'll be meeting someone who will drive me to the school I'll be attending in Granada.

Unfortunately, since I'm not yet in the spectacular natural setting of colonial Granada, its lakes, and its volcanoes, all I have to write about at the moment is the airport here in Houston. In most respects, it's like any other airport, but it definitely has a bit of a Texas feel to it (at least if the stereotypes I've always relied upon are accurate). For example, the airport has a bass fishing store, which prominently displays a t-shirt reading "I've got your corporate ladder right here," and a picture of a hunting stand. There are also "Don't Mess With Texas" shirts (and even people who buy them) and lone star neck pillows.

Aside from the hints of Texasness in the place, I can also be sure that I'm in Houston because of the larger than life portrait of Jeff Kent to my left:

Do any other baseball fans find this strange? This is the town of Biggio, Bagwell, and Bell (in my mind the Killer B's will always include Big Pimpin Operation Shutdown Derek Bell, and not Fat Elvis). They still have Berkman and Carlos Lee. They have a ridiculous little hill that tries to kill people. And Jeff Kent is immortalized in their airport? The guy had two solid-but-unspectacular seasons here--a shorter tenure even than his grossly unpleasant time in a Mets uniform. So, I just find it a bit strange that his moustachey face is so prominently positioned in my sightline. Maybe they just like his enjoyment of pretending to fall off things he's not really washing.

At any rate, it's clear that the Houston airport offers very little to write about--unless you think Jeff Kent is a jerk. In fairness, this was mainly supposed to be a post just saying hi and welcoming you to this place where I'm gonna talk about things, and you have a limited forum in which to respond. If I learned anything from being around Wesleyan students, it's that if you have the louder megaphone, your opinion is more important.

I've left my phone at home, so I won't be reachable at my usual number for the next few months. I do have an international phone and SIM card, but it's pretty unreasonably pricey, so if you want to chat, let's try to do it on skype, and leave the cell phone for emergencies. But, just in case it comes up, my number here is 011-44-787-224-6757. I know, it's a lot of numbers. But I'm pretty sure it connects to me, and not the Mr. Sparkle Factory in Hokkaido, Japan*. My Skype username is Sethuel, and you can, as always, email me at seth.samuels at the gmails.

I'm going to head upstairs to the Fox Sports Sky Box to grab a grossly overpriced beer and watch the Jets-Ochocinco game. In about two more hours, I'll be back up in the air, and in about 6, I'll be reunited with my 35 lb backpack.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, it's currently 85 degrees and sunny in Granada.

Besos,

Seth

*I'd like to apologize right now for the frequency of obscure references I'll regularly be making that only my brother and a select few others will likely get.