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Wednesday, January 30, 2008

The Window

Yesterday I signed up for a new Howard County Library card, cementing my status as a re-established Marylander. Card in hand, I purposefully strolled from the front desk to the Fiction section, as if I already knew what I was looking for (I didn't). I found myself face to face with the "H" shelf and strode to the left until I arrived at the Ks. Something inside me drove my body towards the works of Milan Kundera, although once I arrived there I discovered I'd already read all of the books available (and own a copy of most, as well).

From the Ks, I retraced my steps until I arrived at the Cs, knowing I was in search of something by Michael Chabon. For some reason, the discovery of an almost brand-new copy of "The Yiddish Policeman's Union" caught me by surprise. I snatched it immediately and carried it to the check out desk as if it was a fresh, fragile egg. Elated, I walked out of the library feeling like I'd just won a prize, and in a way I guess I had. This is a book I've been meaning to read for ages, and 24 hours later I was already more than halfway through it -- at once wanting to tear through the remaining pages and also never wanting it to end.

But I still find my thoughts returning to the works of Kundera. So much of his writing is dedicated to the examination of (what I see as) the truth that two people can never share a common memory or even hold true images of each other in their minds. All of our memories of events and people (including ourselves) are tainted by our personalities, desires, and fears. And yet, despite this seemingly insurmountable obstacle that reality places between us all, we form these very real connections and love still blooms.

I'm now living in a place that for a long time was not much more than a memory to me, and I'm simultaneously flooded with a whole new set of memories of another, far off place. I remind myself, and discover reminders everywhere, that the world in my mind and the physical world are not the same place. The act of remembrance is like looking at the world through a window, with the frame blocking part of the view. Living, moving objects are visible, but our minds will never allow us to see the whole thing. Whether it's a memory of a sandwich or a friend, what's in our minds is never what -- at one time -- we found before us.

And so I am all the more amazed at the ease with which two people can remain connected over time and distance. It's a remarkable, apparent simplicity in a very complex world.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

The Last Day

Managua, NICARAGUA -- It's my last day in Nicaragua, my last day of traveling for a while. I arrived in Managua around 9:00 this morning, which was surprising because I didn't leave Granada until almost 7:30, but the bus was efficient, although packed. I quickly found a room in a part of the city that Lonely Planet describes as "quiet and leafy." Well, it's not only that, but also close to a mall, lots of restaurants, and 50-cent per hour internet. My room is a double with a private bathroom, and it costs $15 for the night. The owners are super helpful, and I'm loving it. The Lonely Planet guide lists the hotel as "Nicaragua Guesthouse," but it's actually called "Backpacker for Backpackers." I know that doesn't make any sense, but neither does "Mochilera de Mochilera," the Spanish name that is also written on the front sign. No matter, the place is a mini-paradise.

This area of Managua reminds me a lot of Zapote (the area where I lived in Costa Rica). It's middle class and everything is colorful. It's actually almost suburban. The streets are a lot better here than they were in CR, though. Pretty much everywhere has better streets than CR... I bought fresh baked bread (2 loaves for a dollar) at a nearby bakery, and purused shoestores in search of new footwear. I wore through two different pairs of sneakers on this trip. Since today's search was unsuccessful, I am heading back to Maryland (where supposedly there is snow on the ground), with a pair of torn up mesh-sided sneakers and black flip-flops that are beginning to curl at the heel. Ah well, as I return to the land of climate-controlled buildings and cars, I have a feeling my footwear won't matter nearly as much to me as it has for the past 5 months.

Anyway, I am totally tuckered out, even though I haven't done a whole lot today. Basically, I am ready for home. This trip has been such an adventure. Although the last leg was a bit of a disappointment, I still feel great about the whole thing. I loved Granada, and I made a few really good friends in La Prusia. I hope we all keep in touch, and I think we actually will thanks to these good ol' internets. Leaving La Prusia was harder than I expected. As I walked down the dirt lane for the last time, I kept passing people I realized I was going to miss. There were lots of hugs and kisses and well wishes. It's amazing how quickly that community opened its arms to me.

I have to admit I am already researching discount airfare from Baltimore to Mexico City. I hope to go back for a visit around Easter. Another teacher from Instituto Heslington wrote to me about his own rough transition away from Mexico. "I think you're suffering from Mexico withdrawal . We had it good there. Didn't we?" We sure did. It's hard to be so spoiled and not realize it. I wish I hadn't taken so much for granted in Mexico. The food, the weather, and most of all the company. I'm happy to say I think I fully appreciate it all now, and when I go back I am going to soak up every drop of wonderfulness.

Signing off from Latin America...

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Fotos de la Esperanza (and other Granada things)



<-- This is the volunteer house in La Prusia where I used to live. It looks quite nice from the outside, doesn't it? Oh, looks can be so deceiving. :-)








A dolled-up Granada street. The colors are --> spectacular, but this street is really just dressed up for tourists. Most of the businesses here are restaurants (over priced), travel agencies, and real estate agencies. But hell, it looks great, doesn't it?







<-- This is the best picture I could get of the lagoon, but it doesn't nearly capture how truly breathtaking the place is. The Lake de Nicaragua is a smelly, gray thing. But this "lagoon," which is located beyond La Prusia in a volcanic crater, is blue and clear and fantastic. I am going back this weekend.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

A Turn In Nicaragua

GRANADA, Nicaragua -- The "colonial heart" of Nicaragua is a colorful, lively town filled with travelers from all over the world, funky restaurants, book swaps, and dozens of volunteer opportunities. I selected one with Casas de Esperanza, a small organization dedicated to helping the residents of La Prusia, a barrio outside the Granada city limits, to construct durable dwellings with running water, light, and working indoor bathrooms.

I arrived on January 3, expecting to begin work on the project immediately. From the website and emails with the organization's coordinator, I gathered that most work was focused on construction, and on-site education ranging from carpentry to languages. The demand for volunteers seemed high, and I was excited. Plus, the organization has a communal volunteer house where you can stay for free as long as you are working on the project.

On the Friday that I met up with other volunteers to learn the route from Granada to the volunteer house and project site, it was hot and sunny. I walked uphill for an hour and a half with all my stuff. The volunteers I met that day had all arrived individually from Spain, but seemed to be a close knit group, and I looked forward to getting to know them better and practicing my Spanish.

However, things didn't quite go as planned. Although La Prusia is a poor community, the need for housing is not as urgent as I had thought. Many families are building homes in the project site, but also have quite comfortable dwellings along the one road that connects the La Prusia community. Although the houses that the families made on their own are mostly made of wood and have "improvised" toilets, all are equipped with electricity and running water. When you see the homes form the outside, they look like dilapidated shacks that belong in the forest. But inside, there are couches and La-Z-Boy chairs, TV and stereos, comfy beds with many blankets and mosquito nets (which are very necessary here). Homes here don't need to be air tight or climate controlled -- they need to be airy and waterproof. Many of these families have been living in these homes in La Prusia for generations, and the leaks are things of the past. People are comfortable.

Most people are building second or third homes at the project site because the materials and property are offered for a $1000 no-interest loan by the organization. True, the project houses are sturdier and built to last. But they are farther from Granada than many of the La Prusia houses, and they don't have the well-known comfort of the hand-me-down houses on the lane.

Anyway, working at the project site is a trial in patience. Often, there is no work to be done because no one from La Prusia is working on their house. Volunteers don't build houses, they just help. Also, there is only one ladder at the project, two levels, two shovels, and a shortage of basically every other material as well. The result: only a couple of people can work at a time.

One thing that the organization has done really well is construct a school on the project site. I am teaching two English classes there. One is for kids and meets three times weekly. I teach adults every day for an hour in the afternoon. But there are no desks in my classroom, just one table that seats about 5 or 6 students. We don't have books for the students other than very basic English-Spanish dictionaries. There is certainly no copy machine or other way to provide handouts. It's really hard to teach, but I have supposedly been successful. Judit, the coordinator, tells me everyday that the people on the lane keep talking about how much they enjoy my classes. Teaching fun classes is one thing, but I really want to teach in a manner that helps my students retain the information over a long period of time, and I'm not quite sure I am doing that. But I am doing what I can, and I guess it helps a bit.

Today, I left the communal volunteer house. After 11 days there, I had enough. At first, living there was okay. I shared a room with one other person, and the two other communal bedrooms were occupied by one person each. Another volunteer slept out in the living room with his dog. We had two bathrooms, and we took turns cooking for each other. Dinner was usually around 7:30pm. But then Judit arrived from the States, and her presence dramatically changed the dynamic in the house. She is originally from Spain, and tilted the cultural balance in the house severely to the European side. Dinner suddenly got pushed back to 9, 10:00 at night. I like to wake up at 6:00 to start work at the project before it's too hot, so eating late definitely wasn't going to work for me.

Then, Judit and another volunteer started bickering. Then more volunteers arrived. Soon, the house was a crazy place. The walls don't go all the way to the ceiling, so the noisy combination of snoring, midnight visits to the bathroom, early morning chit chat, roosters crowing, dogs barking, and general night time sounds made it impossible to sleep. Plus, the kitchen was always dirty or crowded. All I need to do in the house is sleep and eat, and I couldn't do either. So, Jess, another volunteer from the States, and I moved down to a hostel in Granada today.

Now we have a 45 minute walk in the mornings to the site, and 45 minutes more in the afternoon, but that's okay with me. I hate to be a whiner or a quitter, but feeling like the impact I am making here is minimal and feeling uncomfortable in the volunteer house has pushed me to give in a little and change my plans. Instead of staying here for a month or five weeks, I'll probably only do one more week after this one, for a total of three.

This is really the first disappointment I have ever faced traveling, so I don't have much to complain about. Not everything can go as planned. And truly, there are some great things about my experience here. Granada is cool. I like the other volunteers. The kids love me, and teaching them is fun (although exhausting!) My adult students are usually so enthusiastic, they leave class and immediately begin practicing whatever they just learned, even when it means calling the volunteers crazy. (We practiced using the verb "to be" with various adjectives.) I am working on some houses, and the efforts I make aren't in vain.

This isn't what I expected but it's not bad.

The other reason I am thinking about leaving early is that, for the first time in all my travels, I feel homesick. I am getting older, and I appreciate my family now more than ever. I am not going to ignore the fact that I miss them, I am going to go to them. I miss Mexico, I miss Erick, and I miss the wide open friendliness that greeted me at every turn until my arrival here. I've been spoiled by too many good people and too much good love. How could I possibly complain about that?

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

The Burning (of) Bush

Feliz Año Nuevo! I write to you from the Benito Juarez International Airport in Mexico City. The last bus that would drop me off here did so at 10:15pm, but my flight doesn't leave until 6am. Thank goodness for all night Internet cafes.

It's cold, I mean really cold. I have three shirts on, including a hoodie. I am also wearing gloves (with the fingers cut off) and have my hood pulled way over my head. I can see my breath. The weather just got like this a day and a half ago. It's as if Mexico had to prove itself to me. "See Mel, I can be just as frigid and unwelcoming as your country. So ha!" Well, only the weather is frigid and unwelcoming. The rest of the country is still quite nice.

Anyway, the reason I am risking finger frost bite to write tonight is because I have to digitally immortalize the proceedings of the New Year's party I attended.

In Mexico, there is a tradition that every New Year's Eve, people burn effigies of old men. The scarecrow-like dolls are stuffed with fireworks, and meant to represent the old year. Erick's family wanted a good muñeco, so Erick volunteered to only "old man" mask he had in his possession: a rubber George W. Bush face.

Erick and his cousin worked for several hours on el viejito, including a good bit of time dedicated to hunting down good wood shavings for the stuffing and fireworks for emphasis. We finished stuffing Georgie around 7pm. Then we ran some errands, and got ready for NYE dinner.

Another big tradition in Mexico is to prepare a large family meal to be eaten right around midnight. I thought it best to save the food for after midnight, since eating would help alleviate the anti-climactic feeling that always casts a shadow over New Year's. But Erick's aunt was hungry, so we dug in to our seafood feast around 11:15. I enjoyed three kinds of fish, shrimp, and soup until 11:45 (we bought almost everything from the frozen foods section of Sam's Club). Then, we headed outside to burn the man.

We started by pouring gasoline all over George's pants. "Sorry we're burning your president," someone from the family called out. "Oh, believe me, I don't mind!" I thought. To Erick's fam, the man could have had anyone's face... Jack Lemon's would have worked just as well for their purposes.


The gasoline caught quickly, and ignited a couple fireworks right away. Then, there was a long period of slow, painful burning in which all the cloth and wood slowly turned to ash. Finally, the big fireworks caught and explosions rung out into the Tehuacan night. Other families all over the city were doing the same, and standing out in the cool night air, I was able to imagine for just a second what it would be like to live near a firing range. A family down the street must have stuffed at least $100 worth of fireworks in their muñeco, which is crazy considering how cheap fireworks are in Mexico. (They're illegal too, but that doesn't stop the stores from selling them.)


Watching George explode was fantastic. I couldn't think of a better way to welcome the new year. Because the mask was made of rubber, his face stuck around much longer than his body. Watching it contort and dissolve under the heat of the flames was comical, yet satisfying.


When I told my mom about burning George Bush and being so pleased about it, she jokingly hushed me, saying, "The government is gonna arrest us for talking like this!" She was on her cell phone and I was calling from an international pay phone. The sad odds are, our conversation probably wasn't private. But seriously, I can't be the only American gal burning an effigy of the president for pleasure.

My fingers are thoroughly numbed, and I am starting to lose feeling in my feet. It's time to find a warmer spot, and maybe a hot chocolate, and pass the next two hours until I can check in for my flight. Then, I will be allowed to cross into the forbidden land beyond the security desks where it is warm and the benches don't have arm rests (which means I can lay down).