This blog is dedicated to my Grandpa and my favorite artist, Jerry Hausman.


I am on the last leg of my trip, with only 4 days left, on an island in the middle of a lake. Isla Ometepe was formed by two volcanoes and is supposed to be a magical and stunningly beautiful place. So why am I in my room writing a blog? Because it has been pouring rain all night and all morning. And, because I have a story to tell...

Yesterday I went back to Granada expecting to take a 2PM ferry to Ometepe. It was bittersweet news to hear that the ferry leaves at 5PM on Thursdays. This meant I had more time to get to know the city that I was reluctant to explore during last weekend's carnival. It also meant I had more time to sweat myself silly and smell horse crap all afternoon. 

I didn't quite know what to do so I just took the only route I knew to the central park. I thought I would sit in the shade and people watch, but by noon all the good benches were taken. I peeked into the cathedral just off the square. After that I thought I would walk through the only other area I knew in the city looking for lunch. As I was about to turn, a series of bright buildings caught my eye and I proceeded straight ahead instead. The red building was just a cellphone store, but its neighbor, the yellow building, was a hidden treasure. 

Casa de Tres Mundos caught my eye on the map earlier, but from what I understood it was a place that gave art and language classes. I discovered it was also a mini gallery (literally). In addition to "normal" sized paintings and prints, there was a glass case filled with miniature works of art: sketches, ceramics & paintings...on toothpicks!! Two magnifying glasses hung from the case so the fine details could be better appreciated. 

The man in the gallery, Sergio, chatted up a group and I realized he was the artist. When the others left, I mentioned to the man that my grandpa is also an artist. Sergio's sketches were reminiscent of Grandpa's and some of his other works made me think of Grandpa's holiday cards. I didn't know it at the time but this connection won Sergio over. 

He wanted to show me more of his work and tell me his stories so he invited me to have a seat and review each work with a magnifying glass. I asked about a bookmark he had designed and he offered it to me at a reduced price and told me he would throw another one in for free. "When you told me about your grandpa, you won me over. I like you. You're smart." 

Sergio then started telling stories from his childhood. His mother was Mexican and his father Israeli. The religious and linguistic differences between the two made for an interesting relationship. The father always referred to priests as rabbis which drove the mother crazy. Whenever the mom made the dad angry, he would mutter things in Hebrew. And if Sergio made his parents mad, they would talk to each other in French, which sent little Sergio running for his room (he knew he had it coming). 

One time at age 12, Sergio's parents sent him out to buy tortillas. Instead, he hopped a bus to Acapulco. In another instance, Sergio and his friend, the governor of Vera Cruz's son, snuck out in the night and stole two flamingos out of the city fountain. They (stupidly) hid them in the governor's house and the two teens made their debut in the paper the following day. Another time, they put a sombrero and poncho on a statue of Mexican hero Benito Juarez, which also made headlines. 

During our talk, he pulled out four markers and placed them on the table. Each marker was meant to represent a guy. "You like this guy, but some things you don't like. This guy is good too, but not perfect. Etc, etc..." He picked up all four markers and dropped them into a cup "You can't just have them all like a portfolio of men. You go with one and you just live." Sergio added that his advice was just as much for me as it was for him. 

I wanted to record every word out of his mouth. Sergio insisted memories cannot be captured by a microphone nor a camera so my phone stayed in my purse and I tried to absorb as much as I could. 

When I went to buy a few small pieces, Sergio kept giving me discounts. "You won my heart" he told me. "Here this one is for your grandpa. I want to know what he has to say. I want to meet him." I would love nothing more to be the interpreter between those two. The room would overflow with wisdom and creativity (no thanks to me) and I would smile from ear to ear. 

Sergio currently has his own tv program called "Abuelo Sergio". He is also in the process of opening a museum. Sergio has never learned to use a computer so he wrote out the ad by hand (even his handwriting reminded me of Grandpa) and gave it to me to read:

"Micro-museum:

Get to know the incredible world of Grandpa Sergio

Micro: paintings, sculptures, Pre-Colombian ceramics, figures painted on toothpicks which you can see with a magnifying glass: fleas playing guitar & trumpet, soldiers, giraffes, elephants, owls and much more"

I walked out of Casa de Tres Mundos with a giant grin, several mini works of art, my very own magnifying glass (a gift Sergio gives to anyone who buys a mini something or other) and a new friendship that I will forever cherish. 

Remember when I said nothing is ever on time in Central America? Well, with every 'rule', there are the occasional exceptions. The bus leaving Jiquilillo departs at 1:30PM so I started saying my goodbyes at 1:15 and by 1:20 the staff was frantically screaming "The bus! The bus!" They could hear the bus coming and the road wasn't all that close. Shana, a friend at Rancho Esperanza, ran for the bus as I scrambled to put on my pack and hustled across the field. My friends and I managed to get on the bus with all our luggage. As we drove away, Dominic, Marike and Shana stood at the edge of the road waving goodbye. Their smiles were the perfect farewell after four days filled with joy and laughter. I was sad to leave but as my crazy Dutch friend Michiel pointed out, it is better to be sad upon departure than desperate to get away. 

After a change in buses and a short taxi, we made it to León, Nicaragua. I parted ways with my friends to head to a different hostel. The taxi driver informed me I had arrived on a holiday: La Gritería Chiquita. This holiday seemed to me like a religious Halloween without the costumes. Kids go from house to house looking for altars of the Virgin Mary. At the doorway they say "¿Quién causa tanta alegría?" (Who causes so much joy?) & the residents of the house reply "¡La asunción de María!" (The assumption of Mary). The kids then get candy and keep going.

Here is a brief history of the holiday according to Lonely Planet:

"...dates back to 1947 when an erupting Cerro Negro threatened to bury the city in ash only to stop suddenly when a local priest vowed to initiate a preliminary gritería (shouting) , similar to December's Día de la Purísima but changing the response to ¡La asunción de María! "

Once I checked in to my hostel, I went to check out the festivities. People lined the streets in the center square to visit various altars more elaborate than the ones you'd find in people's homes (with a few exceptions of extensive altars in a couple of houses that I passed). There were fireworks and music all over town and the city of León felt so alive. I visited the cathedral where a group was singing to Mary and many were taking photos. Then I wandered the residential streets, popping up at front doors when I saw another group approaching. I'd ask the question and stick out my hand like I was a little Nica kid. Instead of candy, at one house I got packets of instant coffee. It was hard to sleep that night because of the continuous fireworks and bumping music. I felt lucky to have stumbled upon a festival and therefore wasn't bothered by all the 'bulla' (Spanish for noise). 

The next day I visited three museums: Rubén Darío, Revolution, and Legends & Myths. I wont bore you with all the details but I will mention some highlights. 

At the Revolution Museum I learned about the guerrilla movement against the Somoza dictatorship that took place in the latter part of the XX century. My guide was Juan, a former guerrilla who had the scar to prove it (a piece of shrapnel just above his bum, which he showed me mid-tour). He joined the FSLN  (Sandinista National Liberation Front) when he was only 13 year olds. Kids younger than him would assist in the guerrilla movement, not in combat but in the distant mountains. The little kids would scream and bang on pots and pans to make the opposition think they were many. At the end of the tour we started going upstairs. I expected more pictures and plaques but to my surprise Juan had led me to the roof. It was made of tin and seemed iffy but I was assured I shouldn't worry. Just then a siren began to sound and church bells were ringing; It was noon in León. I had a view of the cathedral and could see two men manually ringing the giant bell. 

The Legends Museum is in a former prison built in 1921 and used as a torture center for several decades. The museum has depictions of torture methods on the wall and creepy mannequins in each room which have cultural significance and a legend associated with the image. At the end of the tour I got to walk on the upper perimeter of the walls like the guards did each night at the prison. The view wasn't nearly as nice as the Revolution roof but I still got a kick out of being high up (typical short person).

It was unbearably hot that afternoon and my last guide said it was an indication that it would rain that night. Around 6PM the winds began to threaten the city with a storm so I ran to the corner and got some food from a street vendor. As I entered the hotel with my plate of chicken, gallo pinto (rice & beans), and fried plantains, the rain began to pour and the thunder bellow. 

From León I went to the mountain town of Matagalpa. I stayed only one night but can attribute a great stay to my local guide Guillermo. The night I arrived we went to salsa night at a place called Artesano & I tried his homemade pineapple liquor. The next morning we did a brief city tour and continued on to the Apante Nature Reserve. His tour was perfectly planned, supplemented with Darío's poetry, music, binoculars & a magnifying glass, and natural foods. I saw caterpillars, vultures, lady bugs, crabs, waterfalls and flowers. We rushed through the Reserve because I had a 2PM bus to catch. At the look out point I took a few pictures as Guillermo told a legend (I was admittedly distracted by the view and my undying thirst). We raced down the hill and I didn't fall! 

I got to the bus station just in time to push my way on. (Side note: buses in Central America, known as chicken buses, are most often recycled US school buses). While looking for a seat I felt like I was on a school field trip and everyone had saved a seat for their best friend. No one let me sit with them and I got stuck with the seat that has the big bump in the floor. As a kid, I loved that seat because it meant my feet could touch the ground. As an adult, it means I am practically hugging my knees to my chest, which is no bueno after 5 hours of hiking and no time to stretch. 

I switched buses in the market town of Masaya. I planned to wait for the next bus so I could have a seat but the attendant coaxed me into standing in the aisle. Once standing in the middle of the bus, the same guy shouted for us to squish together. Only in Latin America can you fit three adults in a seat intended for two school children AND THEN pile 20-30 more people in the aisle. I made it to Granada just fine, only to discover I had stumbled upon another Nicaraguan holiday. 

Here is what Lonely Planet has to say about carnaval in Granada:

"Fiesta de Agosto- Granada celebrates the Assumption of Mary, with fireworks, concerts, rodeos and horse parades by the lake front". I took to the streets with three new friends from the Basque Country in Spain to watch the parade. Women scantily dressed and several men in drag danced down the road to the sound of drums and other percussion instruments. It was nothing like a 4th of July parade. Pedestrians walked in the middle of the street against the grain of the parade and the sidewalks overflowed with spectators. On the main road, the music was so loud I could feel it in my gut and all the restaurants were packed. Drunks ambled through the streets punching lamp posts and acting belligerent and I latched tightly on to my purse. 

That night in bed I heard a blood-curling scream that lasted 15 seconds without pause. I thought I had imagined it, but upon checking in with reception I found out the truth: a woman and man had been robbed at knife point in front of the hostel at 11PM. The security guard on duty confirmed that the two were alright, just shaken up. My heart raced as the guard said tomorrow would be even worse: more people, more drunks, more crime. I planned to go back to Masaya for the market and try to avoid the madness.

The bus back to Granada didn't make it to the point from which I had originally left. The roads were shut down for another parade. I followed the crowd and eventually oriented myself in front of the cathedral. Unfortunately, I only crossed off half of my shopping list so I ventured out to buy some more gifts in Granada. I got caught in a parade of horses and thought I was going to be trampled. After eating quickly in the park, I practically ran back to my hostel and hid there until the next morning when the festivities had come to a close. 

In the morning the city was back to normal and I was able to relax a bit more. There were less people in the streets but now there were many vendors and traffic and a lingering, rank smell. I went on a boat tour of some 365 islets and left town ASAP. 

The shuttle bus left 10 minutes early while I was in the bathroom (another exception to Latino time). At the scheduled time of departure I went to reception to confirm my 3PM transport and they called the driver to turn around. 

By 4PM, I had made it to Laguna de Apoyo where long ago a volcano turned into a crater/lagoon. The moon rose from 5PM onward and I couldn't be happier to be back in nature. I spent the night chatting with Brits and Germans, while constantly admiring the moon and its reflection on the lake. 

Only the Germans at the hostel know it is my birthday, but I have managed to have a beautiful day. I woke up at 7, had a typical Nica breakfast, paddled out to the middle of the lake in a kayak, read a book and wrote out Guatemalan itineraries for fellow travelers who are heading north. 

I don't need a party nor a cake (although I will order a Nutella crepe for dessert). This trip has been the greatest gift my parents could give me. Every day in Central America has felt like my birthday. Today is particularly special because there will be a full moon and I am incredibly grateful for nature's gift to me on my birthday. I will have another paddle in the moon light and perhaps a massage tomorrow morning. I am a happy camper and thankful for all the birthday wishes I have received thanks to modern technology. 

Six days til the States. See ya'll soon!



And I will leave you with a quote from John Lloyd Stephen's 1841 book, Imcidents of Travel in Central America, Chiapas and Yucatan:

"A traveller never forgets the kindness shown him in a strange land, and I never felt so sensible of it as in Central America."

I will preface this entry with a couple of quotes from my Lonely Planet guidebook:

"While some pockets retain a salt-crusted colonial charm, La Unión is the kind of town Popeye would look over his shoulder in. It's hot and downright dirty, with little to keep you here but an overdue boat headed for the horizon. The heat is brutal; even dogs whimper at noon."

Hotel San Francisco--

"Fernando is the eccentric barefooted owner of this colonial structure that is more impressive from the outside. Rooms are pricey given the old beds and leaky bathrooms."



And now for my take:

When I bought my ticket back in May, I was feeling ambitious. My flight arrived to Guatemala City in the beginning of June and I booked it out of Managua, Nicaragua at the end of August. I figured three months was enough time to really get to know three Central American countries: Guatemala, El Salvador and Nicaragua. I have come to realize that it is hardly enough time to get to know two countries. I decided to cut El Salvador out of my itinerary to dedicate more time to Guatemala and Nicaragua. 

Regardless, I needed to pass through El Salvador to get to Nicaragua. After returning to Earth Lodge for two nights (which was fantastic) and spending two nights in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, I made my way to the capital. 

On Wednesday morning at 7:30AM I left for San Salvador. I was told the trip would be 4 hours and so I planned accordingly. At this point in my travels, I should know better to take an conversation regarding time as fact. Nothing ever leaves on time and travel is always longer than anticipated.  In this case, my trip doubled in duration. One hour into the trip, the attendant on the bus informed us, in a very solemn tone, that the Salvadoran border had been shut down due to a strike. The attendant said we would proceed just the same and hope the border would open at 11AM. I got online right away, because the bus had wifi, and searched for articles to explain what was happening. I read that Guatemala and El Salvador had come to an agreement to let tourists pass more easily in the first week of August for the holiday in El Salvador. I also read multiple articles about the number of violent and accidental deaths that had occurred as a result of the holiday. Needless to say, I was anxious, confused and slightly scared. Fortunately I was going to stay with friends in El Salvador but when the wifi cut out I could no longer contact them with such ease. 

The traffic stopped at the border and we moved maybe half a mile over the course of four hours. One attendant said we might not make it across, my friends said we would definitely cross but it would take a while and the second bus attendant kept reassuring the passengers that we would cross the border very soon. At 2:30PM we were finally moving and at a good pace. We got into the city two hours later and my friends, Gabi and Jose (guests I met at the Lodge 4 days earlier), picked me up from the terminal. 

The city was more beautiful than I imagined and despite the unrelenting heat, I was so happy to be there. It turns out that the day I arrived was also Gabi's birthday. We went and bought a cake and then went straight to their house. I showered and changed and we spent the rest of the day in the living room or on the terrace. Their friends arrived, we ate pizza & cake, and I tried to keep up with all their conversations. Although I didn't really get to know the city, I got to know my new friends and pick up Salvadoran slang. 

In the morning Gabi made blueberry pancakes & French-press coffee and we exchanged silly stories over breakfast. I had hopes to go on a city excursion in the morning but after a much needed Skype session, I practically ran out of time. Jose met Gabi and me for lunch at a place called Pupusería la Paciencia #1. I ordered two pupusas: one with beans, cheese, and pork & another with cheese and a squash called ayote (the last time I had pupusas was when I was in Honduras, sick and with no appetite). They were steaming hot but irresistibly delicious. With a cold Coke, the whole meal cost me $2. At the table I made several phone calls to work out my hotels for the next few nights and my boat to Nicaragua for the following day. I had read online that a boat left once a week, Friday at 8AM, from La Unión, El Salvador to Potosí, Nicaragua. When I called the hotel in La Unión, the owner insisted there was no such boat. When I called the hotel in Potosí, they were certain there was a boat but they had no clue when it left. They told me to go to La Unión and inquire upon arrival. 

Gabi put me in a taxi at 1:30 so I could catch the bus at 2 and arrive by 5. Once again, I naively took this information as fact. On the bus I made friends with the woman next to me, Mayra. She could hardly believe I was traveling on my own and remarked how strong I must be. Mayra has a brother who loves to backpack around Latin America and she worries about him all the time. She tried to imagine how my parents must feel. At 5PM, we still had not arrived to La Unión but Mayra got off the bus. She promised me that everything would work out and that she would never forget me. 

The last hour was filled with worry that the boat to Nicaragua didn't exist. When we arrived at 6, the bus attendant insisted my hotel was only three blocks away and I need not take a taxi (even though it was getting dark and my backpacks are getting heavy). 

A few blocks up the road and there was no sign of the hotel. I stopped to ask a woman and she had no idea. She didn't even know the name of the street we were on. An older man carrying a tv on his shoulder quickly chimed in and walked with me to the hotel. I inquired about the boat and like the rest of people I had asked, he was unsure. He insisted I go drop off my bags and then we would walk to the port to find out for sure. I was quite skeptical but I dropped off all my valuables (and Jose dropped off the tv in my room) and I walked a few paces behind him towards the port making small talk to calm my anxious mind.

The first man we asked was also clueless. The second was the official on duty who insisted that the boat left daily from 9AM onward. I asked lots of questions to be certain and the man replied "Don't believe what the others tell you." 

Jose then walked me to the central park where I bought two more pupusas and a Coke for each of us. Total: $1.80. The Coke was served in a plastic bag with a straw because we could not take the glass bottles with us. Plastic bags, I have discovered, are common receptacles for beverages in Latin America. Jose finished his drink in two slurps and threw his bag to the curb. I wanted to ask him why he would do such a thing, but I understand that littering is very common in this part of the world, especially in coastal towns, and I didn't want to scold him after he had been so helpful. He told me of his days in the navy and how he considers it his duty to take care of "people like me" which was a euphemism for clueless gringos. 

Back at the hotel, Jose picked up his tv and we agreed to meet at 8AM so he could take me back to the dock. 

I went out on my balcony to enjoy some fresh air and immediately heard a shout from down below: "¡Una moneda!" A rail-thin woman was begging for a coin. I went into the room and returned with two dollar coins. I tossed the first one which landed at her feet and then the second, which landed at her feet and rolled to the middle of the road just as a motorcycle came whizzing past, honking the horn. I shouted out of fear that she would chase the coin immediately but she waited for the bike to pass. As she walked away I advised it was best to spend the $2 on food and not booze or cigarettes. I told her to take care of herself and watched her disappear down the dark, dirty road. 

My room at Hotel San Francisco was a hoot. The first thing I saw upon entering was a rusty sink. The second was the hammock strung in the middle of the room. I have recently decided to rate my accommodation based on the quality and range of motion of the hammocks they offer. This hammock was a net, not my favorite material, but swung freely between my bed and the table (a 7 out of 10 I'd say). I kicked back and watched the news, which was disturbing, so I switched to the dubbed version of a dramatic US tv program I didn't recognize. 

Although the fan was directly above my bed, I struggled to sleep, still concerned about this elusive boat to Nicaragua. I woke at 7AM to search for an ATM and breakfast. El Salvador uses the US dollar and most everything seems to cost a quarter. They use the word "quarter" in English with a Spanish accent which is just as hard for me to pronounce as it was to understand. I got two bananas and three tortillas for $0.50. 

Clearly, Jose was late but when he arrived we went straight for the dock. When we arrived he gestured for me to have a seat while he went to inquire. A girl with a black hat and and hardcore demeanor came over and said that she would be going to Potosí but seemed really pressed for time. She made it seem like she would be getting on the boat any minute and I needed to hurry. 

(Another note about Latino time: many of you know the Spanish word "ahora" means "now". However, "now" in Latino culture does not mean RIGHT NOW. It could mean in a moment, an hour or sometime that day. So when the girl said she was leaving "ahora" I shouldn't have panicked in the slightest.)

Jose and I rushed to immigration to get my exit stamp. The woman at the desk also seemed stressed about time and told me I should have arrived earlier. Everything was processed in 5 minutes and Nexcy, the serious girl in charge of the boat, ran off to make a copy of my passport. She told me to go wait at the dock and she would alert me when it was time to go. The estimated departure time was 11AM so what was all this stress and rushing around? 

As I waited at the dock, vendors came through selling most everything you could imagine: fruit, cheese, bras, shirts, boxers, nail polish, hair accessories, light bulbs, remote controls, cell phones, medicine, lotion, you name it. I thought this idea was simply absurd. Why would someone waiting for a boat suddenly realize they need to buy toothpaste? Until the sock vendor came through and I realized I could use a fresh pair. I mean it was two pairs of socks for a dollar. How could I say no?! I put my criticism aside and pulled out $1. 

Nexcy came by and said we were almost going to depart. I continued to wait in the unbearable heat and Jose eventually shook my hand and left me to fend for myself. I was relieved because his company continued to make me uneasy. His conversations with friends passing through the port were crude and awkward for me to overhear. Plus, he barely spoke to me. He mainly just gave me a blank stare. 

After almost 2 hours, Nexcy came up and said it was actually time to go. I hauled my bags down to the sandy area where I put them on a cart. Then I was told I too should get on the cart. Two men pushed me, Nexcy, and my bags through muddy water. I felt like I was on a chariot. The further out we got, the worse it smelled of rotten eggs. We hopped from the cart to the boat where we were joined by two men, each almost 300lbs. The boat set sail and I was overflowing with joy. I did it! 

Along the way, Nexcy's serious expression relaxed to a smile. She would lean over and point out various islands: "That's Amapala. It belongs to Honduras. That's Manguera, where I live." Suddenly she went from being an intimidating hard @$$ to a total sweetheart. Within minutes she wanted to exchange information so that I could come back to El Salvador and stay with her. 

We dropped of the obese señores on the island where Nexcy lives and then we had to switch boats. Now it was just me, Nexcy and the driver. We zoomed over the bay with hardly any bumps and zero protection from the sun. The view was stunning and my heart almost exploded with happiness. I was so relieved that Nicaragua was on the horizon. 

Although my time in El Salvador was short, it was the most adventure I've had yet in my travels (even more than jumping off a rope swing & face planting or swimming through a cave with only a candle to light the way). 

In Nicaragua I have climbed an extinct volcano and spent four days at a beach hostel in a small fishing town. I also took a turtle tour in a rain storm where I saw lightening illuminate the distant skies and released recently hatched turtles into the sea. I have met a hilarious Brit and a one of a kind Dutch guy & had so many laughs that my stomach still hurts. 

Less than two weeks til I am back in the States. So if there are few reports between then and now, I promise to give the full report in person. 

Lots of love from León. ¡Hasta pronto!

Mon Ami

A charming hotel in front of Lago Petén Itzá

Colors of the Caribbean

Fresh water with small schools of fish

A refreshing breeze and a breath of fresh air

How to leave a place so beautiful



The door to the dorm

A ceiling to the first level

But a door to the second

Above the stairs like an attic door

But twice the normal size

Made of dense, dense wood

To open, one must not use their head for it is much too heavy

Two hands pushing with ten times the force used for a usual, vertical door

To keep it open, a rope-pulley system

(Which I find out later has come undone)

When I complain to the owner, Don Santiago Billy, he huffed and puffed

Claiming it was a simple task

That the door opens with just the tip of your index finger

I huff and puff back that it's hard for a young lady like myself

In Spanish, but with a French accent, Santiago replies

"No, it's easy for a lady. Maybe it's difficult for a girl from San Diego"

I laugh and for the remainder of my stay Don Santiago continues to tease me



I don't want to go just yet

I struggle to open my door

But run down the stairs

"How hard would it be to change my ticket?"

No verbal response as Santiago makes moves for the phone

I ask again

He reminds me it's Sunday, the day of rest

Maybe his driver has gone to bed early

He ends his thought and starts his call

With a grin he says "It's okay. We are here to serve you."

He then leaves a facetious voicemail,

"Hey, so it turns out the girl is bothering me again. She doesn't want to leave tomorrow."

When the driver calls back minutes later, I breathe a sigh of relief

It's settled, I'll stay another night

"Feliz como un lombriz."

Huh?

"You're happy as a worm."



With big headphones on

Santiago cleans a small glass case

I sneak a peek

Tiny, colorful gems

"Marry me & I'll cover you in diamonds."

Oh, silly Santiago!

How I will miss you



Santiago's Neighbors

The neighbors of Santiago are young

"They throw parties and steal my internet and my dock!"

Bad vibes, says Santiago

Buena onda, I say

Two Guatemalans, two Argentines

An archaeologist, a writer

A juggler in a contemporary circus

That's to say, there's no tent

And the last guy, well I don't know his name

Nor his profession

I just know his smile

We swim, we smile

We dry off, we swim

We eat, we drink

We laugh, we play

A game of chess

The pieces not black vs. white

Spanish vs. Inca

He wins, I lose

We hug, we say goodbye

See you soon, see you in Nicaragua



Lake Lights

24 white lights

2 blinking red

1 small, glowing city in the distance

1 shining star

7PM

2 massive clouds iluminated by lightening

Like lightbulbs in lampshades

An airplane?

No, a shooting star!

Countless stars

9PM

Only the sun on the horizon

5:45AM



Bicycle Baker

Bakery on a bike arrived to the dock

Brown bread, carrot bread, banana bread

Bird tours by boat

Lou, the bicycling baker, talks politics

"Ya understand?"

He doesn't like Facebook

Nor "Tweeter"

Why? "Because they're spyin on us! Ya see?"

Facism, corruption, votes, oil

Corruption. Causes? Remedies?

"Take it to the streets! A good candidate will pop up."

We hope...



In the night, Lou's carrot bread was attacked

Maybe by rats or ants

Maybe both

The next day, in a town 30 minutes away

The bicycle baker is back!

He is at the window of my van

And he hands a carrot muffin through the window

"A gift for my friend"

This makes up for the creepy crawlers who thieved my bread in the night

A beautiful Spaniard named Beatriz

An American with beautiful Spanish named Bobby

A guide named Olivario, his son: Olivario Jr.

Spider monkeys, toucans, pisotes, a tarantula

Temples, palaces, plazas, an acropolis

Sun, sweat, shade, sweat, hot hot heat

Tikal: Tik'al

Up, up, up, breathe

Down, down, down, don't slip

Tour ends, tour begins again

Without Olivario, without crowds, without words

Two hours up Rio Dulce

To the buga, la boca, the mouth

The rain pours and we seek shelter under a black tarp

As the boat races up the river

I dream of the Caribbean 

Of a mix of cultures

Garifuna, ladino, indigenous, chinese & hindu

The rain stops, the boat arrives

It is not what I dreamed of

Fried plantains and coconut water

I eat no seafood despite my desire & stay in an unimpressive location

But spend my day at a hotel at which I'm not a guest

I sit and lament several decisions

I didn't do the tours to hot springs nor to the beautiful beach (although I hear it is littered with plastic)

So I soak in the only nice view I've found in town 

It could have been better, but oh well

Just keep traveling and you'll find some place that suits you better

Sure enough

Rio Dulce Pt 2

Back to the river

Let's try this again

A place called El Tortugal 

Where sailors dock their boats

And everything is open and breezy

I swim a few laps and rest on a dock in the middle of the water

Why didn't I stay here to begin with?

International pizza

One slice Thai, another Hawaiian, the last Italian

A documentary on Guatemala

The 80's: a period of violence, corruption, kidnappings and murders

Despite the graphic scenes

I sleep peacefully

And leave early, wishing to stay longer




The Bus Ride

Totally full, capacity 47

Number of passengers closer to 80

Closer to the temperature inside the bus

People sitting on stairs, sitting on the dashboard, the engine, practically in the driver's lap

The rest in the aisle and 47 with seats

A vent held in place with chewed up bubble gum

A sideview mirror maintained by duct tape

A door slightly ajar tied by rope

Wires hanging above

The destination sign on the verge of falling

"Not heavy, but it hurts"... Not reassuring

The bus blessed by stickers of Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary (Guadalupe), Ernesto "Che" Guevara & Tweety Bird

Woman and child get on, "¡agua de coco!"

5 bags sold then they're gone

Two brothers get on: one young, one old, one skinny, one fat, both soaking wet from the waterpark on the highway

Wait, is that water or sweat?

Either way, please don't lean on me

A French female companion with me on the dash

Did you know you can stay for free in fire stations?

"These are not things they are writing in travel books"

No, they certainly aren't...

Tucked away in a swamp

A quiet hostel run by a quiet man

Who smokes a cigarette from time to time

And sticks toothpicks into a lime

Familiar faces, a family from the Lodge

An unfamilar animal as a pet

A micoleon (Google it)

Draped over my bed a mosquito net

Hot and humid, restless sleep

Happy to leave for Livingston