7-6-08
An addendum to my earlier comments about fruit: I think that Sara, the maid/cook/nanny, buys fruit at the beginning of the week, and then stretches it out until Sunday, so while my breakfasts until about Thursday were excellent, after that point the fruit situation started going down hill. I’m hoping that it’ll be fresh again tomorrow morning!
This was a good weekend. On Friday my friends from the school Steve and Roberta and I met our teacher Alejo at Café Nuit, for a night of dancing. I sampled the local beer, Victoria and Toña, as well as having some good Nicaraguan rum called Flor de Caña, which was smooth and excellent—I even liked it just having a sip on the rocks! Drinking is a big part of the culture here, for better or worse; the brother of my host, Jairo, tells me that he used to start drinking at 9:00 am, and continue throughout the day, spending upwards of $50 a day on rum alone, and his story seems to be pretty common here. As for dancing, we didn’t get a very good sampling of the local ability at Café Nuit because it was full of foreigners (including more than a few frat boys, one of whom took off his shirt, tried to climb one of the trees in the bar courtyard and got thrown out). There was a decent live band, and the setting of the bar itself was pretty cool—the bar and the dance floor were covered, as well as part of the seating area, but about half of the bar was roof-less, with vines and big tropical flowers around the tables.
After staying out much later than we said we would, Roberta, Steve and I got up at 8:00 to go on a canopy tour on the east face of the volcano Mombacho. We—along with a few other people—piled into the back of a land rover-esque van/truck and proceeded to bounce along for about an hour, up a small mountain “road” (essentially a little arroyo just wide enough for the car, with an uneven bed and big rocks in the way). Not what you might call a hangover cure…. Despite our upset stomachs, the ride was worth the view from the coffee plantation over which we zip-lined. It was funny for me—having facilitated ropes courses—to be a participant and not a guide, but I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I was hoping to see more birds, and also to have the guides give us some local history or talk about the plantation a little, but it was pretty much just the zip lines. Not that I’m complaining! The best part was the very end—rappelling down a HUGE tree, in free fall for a couple of seconds. After coming down, we took a short walk through the plantation back to the main house, where we had some delicious coffee before bouncing off back down the mountain.
Saturday evening I decided that I would eat dinner in town—as much as I like gallo pinto (beans and rice), I’d been having an acute craving for a big salad. Steve recommended a place called “El Tercer Ojo” (The Third Eye)—as the name implies, a very new-agey restaurant with Buddha statues and various vegetarian dishes. While I was waiting for my food, I browsed one of the bookshelves near my table, and found a bilingual collection of Walt Whitman’s poetry. I took it back to my table with the intention of trying to read one of the poems I know well in Spanish, but ended up reading “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” in English, stunned once more by Whitman’s genius—such a strong voice, speaking to me out of that poem (as indeed the speaker says that he will) from across the last hundred years. I don’t know when I last read that poem, but it was a joy to read it again.
After dinner I met up with Roberta and Steve again, for drinks. Saturday was Roberta’s last day, so we wanted to give her a send off. We didn’t have any particular location in mind, so we walked down La Calzada—the main touristy street that goes from the cathedral in the center of town down to the lake—because we could hear music coming from there, and there seemed to be a lot of locals walking that way. What we found was “Carnival”: it seems to be a yearly exhibition of music and dance sponsored by various local bars, radio stations and other companies. What luck! We saw a preliminary round of a beauty pageant, some mediocre rap, beautiful and lively folk dances—from both the Caribbean and Pacific cultures of Nicaragua—some amazing break dancing, and one group of three women who danced with a little girl who couldn’t have been more than 4, and could shake her hips better than I can! Music is so integral to the culture here that they must all learn a sense of rhythm in a much more deep way than we do—practicing dance moves in front of the TV while still in diapers and listening to music all day. It was a great send off for Roberta.
Today I went to church. I decided that since something like 90-95% of the population here is Roman Catholic, that this would be a good place to experience a Catholic mass. It was a great people watching opportunity, and though the echoes in the cathedral made it hard for me to understand what was being said, I liked watching all of the pomp and ritual that goes with the mass. From what little I could catch of the sermon it sounded like it was about science and the church. I wish I could have understood more of it—the only complete point that I understood was when the priest pointed out that the universities in Europe all started out in the church. I’m not sure whether he was then saying that for this reason the church ought to be more accepting of science and its goals, or whether he was preaching for a return of science to the values of its roots. All in all, it was a lot of stand-sit-stand-sit-pray-sit-stand-pray, and some pretty hymns. I like the way churches sound when they are full of people.
When I got back to the house I was exhausted! I laid down for a nap, set my watch to go off after about 15 minutes, and woke up an hour and a half later feeling very odd. I got up, and went out for a walk to wake myself up a bit, and started to feel much better. I walked up to the old train station, where there is a park called Parque Sandino, named for the man who inspired the Sandinista movement. Apart from its political content (a statue of Augusto Cesár Sandino with plaque), the park has a series of sculptures in the shape of heads with poems and poem fragments written on them. It was raining, but I had my umbrella and it felt oddly appropriate to be walking around this park reading poetry in the rain. I want to go back during the week—I think that there’s a museum of some kind in the old train station, and it looked like you might be able to get tea/coffee/snacks at the park as well.
Tomorrow, back to the grindstone for week two!
Monday, July 7, 2008
Friday, July 4, 2008
Stories
7-02-08
Things have settled down here, though the little doggy friends at my homestay have remained just as irritating as they were at our first meeting. I love walking through the streets—around every corner an award-winning photograph is waiting to be taken, and though most of the buildings are in the same style, there’s always something new to see.
This is my third day here, and already I have had the best watermelon and pineapple I’ve ever tasted—the variety of pineapple they have here is different than what we usually have back home; the fruits are bigger, and the flesh is very light yellow, almost white. It is so sweet and succulent! I wish I could bring some back to share. I also had a fresco (fruit juice) yesterday (from some kind of fruit whose name I can’t remember) that was bright purple. It was clear that it was fresh-squeezed, but I want to see the fruit it came from! Apart from fruit, the food is simple: frijoles y arroz (beans and rice) for lunch and dinner, sometimes supplemented with a porous, very salty cheese, steamed or fried plantains and fresh (delicious) tortillas. Yesterday my frijoles y arroz came with shrimp and pasta in some kind of alfredo-esque—though lighter—sauce. Que rico!
As I walked home from school yesterday I bought myself one of the little bags of cut up mango they sell on the streets. It was delicious! As I was paying, an old beggar woman extended her cupped hand towards me. The evening before I had been reading about begging in my guide book, and decided that since I had my change out already I could spare a cordoba. When I placed the small silver coin in her palm, her whole face lit up! How’s that for instant gratification, eh? As my guide book says, the beggars here are not aggressive like those in India, and the poverty—at least here in Granada—is not as dire or overt as in the streets of many Indian cities. The book does say to be careful of giving money to “glue sniffers”—young drug users—but after my good experience I decided that I’m going to carry my 1 cordoba coins in my pocket, and give them to people who beg from me. With the exchange rate, I can give a cordoba to 100 beggars for less than 5 bucks! I think I can spare the change….
My teacher Erick told me this morning about a saying that they have here about people who eat very fast—they say they are “muerte de hambre,” literally “dying of hunger.” After thinking about this for a little while it seems to me more like black humor than just a saying, since this is so literally true of many humans, dogs, horses and others in this country.
This afternoon I went to the Iglesia San Francisco with my two new friends Roberta (from Winnepeg) and Steve (from outside Edinburgh, Scotland). San Francisco is the oldest church in Granada, and possibly in the country. They have a museum set up there displaying beautiful Pre-Colombian pottery and a large collection of stone statues (also Pre-Colombian period) collected from the Isla de Zapatera, showing human and animal shapes combined. After sitting in the courtyard of the church in some great rocking chairs, we went to a juice bar on the main (very touristy) street, and met the owner who was from Ireland and made excellent smoothies. Together we formed a happy little collection of Anglophones, and rounded off a very pleasant afternoon.
About 20 minutes after arriving home the sky emptied over Granada, relieving the heat of the sunny afternoon and stranding me in my room (I have to cross a tiny courtyard to get to the rest of the house). I stood in my doorway, watching and listening. It was lovely, and fierce. I have a deeper sense now of why rain so often plays a part in novels and stories from this part of the world.
Tomorrow: more class, an expedition to the book store, and another church (not sure which one yet…)
7-4-08
My patriotism (clearly..) runs very deep: I didn’t realize that today was the Fourth of July until my fourth teacher of the day asked me about it…Even though I had written the date in my notes this morning. Ah well!
Yesterday I went in the afternoon to two tour companies in town to get information about Kayaking and zip-lining, etc. I signed up for a tour to Isla Ometepe which will only go if other people sign up also, so I don’t know when I’ll get to that. I hope it goes! Then I went over to a place called Mombotours to ask about the kayaking—they said they had a tour leaving that afternoon at 3:30 with two other people already signed up. I had planned to wait until the weekend, but the guy said that there wasn’t anyone signed up yet for the weekend, so I decided to seize the moment! I was a beautiful trip, low key (though my shoulders are definitely a bit sore today), through a series of tiny islands (called isletas) that were made when Mombacho, the local volcano, tossed large masses of rock and lava into Lake Cocibolca. Many of the isletas are now the sites of vacation homes (both of foreign and local rich families), but there are still many indigenous people living in little shacks on their family island, scraping by. We saw some beautiful flowers, various birds and I got to try a baby mango, which our guide said that people eat with chili powder and/or use like a lime with salt and tequila. It was sour, and a little bitter, but also tasted like mango. One of the birds we saw was (I think I remember the name correctly) the Oropendula, whose males weave elaborate nests that hang from the branches of a specific tree (the national tree of Guatemala, whose name I can’t remember…). We saw nests and birds, and I really wished I had brought binoculars!
Our guide was very helpful, and spoke decent English, with some funny idiosyncrasies thrown in—I asked him about Mombacho canopy tours, and he set one up for me, at a discounted price since I had already done the Kayak tour. Again, I’m as yet the only person signed up for that, but I’m hoping that they got some people today and that I can go tomorrow!
I’ve met several more of the students at the school now, and today I met Todd (??) who is a UC Davis ecology and agronomy student!! He’s friends with some of mine and Conor’s friends, and lives not very far from us in Davis. How wild to come to Nicaragua and meet someone from Davis! He said that a few of his Davis friends are coming in a two weeks, and I’m sure we’ll get together again. Yesterday I also met Jim whose family now lives in Montpelier, VT, my home town. The world grows ever smaller.
My reasons for coming to Nicaragua were not particularly specific—my friend Emma had spent a year here and raved about it, and I was planning on doing something to improve my Spanish over the summer, so I checked out some schools and found that Nicaragua is quite reasonably priced! As I am interested in Latin American poetry generally, I have been asking people here about poetry and have found that, quite by accident, I’ve come to a country with a rich literary history, of which I was previously totally ignorant. Beginning with Rubén Darío, Nicaraguans have given voice to their culture through many generations of poets, and there is an alive and pulsing artistic culture producing great works today. I’m glad that I have the time and leisure while I’m here to find out what I can about it! I’m planning to make a trip to the bookstore this afternoon, and maybe I’ll be able to bring some poems into my classes so that my teachers can help me read them. One of my teachers told me about an international poetry festival that they hold here in Granada every February—poets and writers from all around the world come and read their work. I hope I can come back for it one day!
The Nicas I have come in contact with so far all like to talk, a lot. It’s fairly easy to get them going on various subjects—politics, Nicaragua vs. US culture, food, festivals, life in Granada and especially romance and relationships. Most of the men I’ve talked to have expressed some form of a wish for a girlfriend from the US, and a few have said that they have ex-girlfriend from the states. They are not at all shy about asking you how old you are, if you have a significant other, and if you do, how things are going with that person. Everyone is very friendly, and eager to answer questions.
Tonight a few of us are going out with some of the teachers from the school. My guide has a lot to say about Nicaraguans being excellent dancers, so I’m hoping I’ll get to experience some of that part of this culture.
Things have settled down here, though the little doggy friends at my homestay have remained just as irritating as they were at our first meeting. I love walking through the streets—around every corner an award-winning photograph is waiting to be taken, and though most of the buildings are in the same style, there’s always something new to see.
This is my third day here, and already I have had the best watermelon and pineapple I’ve ever tasted—the variety of pineapple they have here is different than what we usually have back home; the fruits are bigger, and the flesh is very light yellow, almost white. It is so sweet and succulent! I wish I could bring some back to share. I also had a fresco (fruit juice) yesterday (from some kind of fruit whose name I can’t remember) that was bright purple. It was clear that it was fresh-squeezed, but I want to see the fruit it came from! Apart from fruit, the food is simple: frijoles y arroz (beans and rice) for lunch and dinner, sometimes supplemented with a porous, very salty cheese, steamed or fried plantains and fresh (delicious) tortillas. Yesterday my frijoles y arroz came with shrimp and pasta in some kind of alfredo-esque—though lighter—sauce. Que rico!
As I walked home from school yesterday I bought myself one of the little bags of cut up mango they sell on the streets. It was delicious! As I was paying, an old beggar woman extended her cupped hand towards me. The evening before I had been reading about begging in my guide book, and decided that since I had my change out already I could spare a cordoba. When I placed the small silver coin in her palm, her whole face lit up! How’s that for instant gratification, eh? As my guide book says, the beggars here are not aggressive like those in India, and the poverty—at least here in Granada—is not as dire or overt as in the streets of many Indian cities. The book does say to be careful of giving money to “glue sniffers”—young drug users—but after my good experience I decided that I’m going to carry my 1 cordoba coins in my pocket, and give them to people who beg from me. With the exchange rate, I can give a cordoba to 100 beggars for less than 5 bucks! I think I can spare the change….
My teacher Erick told me this morning about a saying that they have here about people who eat very fast—they say they are “muerte de hambre,” literally “dying of hunger.” After thinking about this for a little while it seems to me more like black humor than just a saying, since this is so literally true of many humans, dogs, horses and others in this country.
This afternoon I went to the Iglesia San Francisco with my two new friends Roberta (from Winnepeg) and Steve (from outside Edinburgh, Scotland). San Francisco is the oldest church in Granada, and possibly in the country. They have a museum set up there displaying beautiful Pre-Colombian pottery and a large collection of stone statues (also Pre-Colombian period) collected from the Isla de Zapatera, showing human and animal shapes combined. After sitting in the courtyard of the church in some great rocking chairs, we went to a juice bar on the main (very touristy) street, and met the owner who was from Ireland and made excellent smoothies. Together we formed a happy little collection of Anglophones, and rounded off a very pleasant afternoon.
About 20 minutes after arriving home the sky emptied over Granada, relieving the heat of the sunny afternoon and stranding me in my room (I have to cross a tiny courtyard to get to the rest of the house). I stood in my doorway, watching and listening. It was lovely, and fierce. I have a deeper sense now of why rain so often plays a part in novels and stories from this part of the world.
Tomorrow: more class, an expedition to the book store, and another church (not sure which one yet…)
7-4-08
My patriotism (clearly..) runs very deep: I didn’t realize that today was the Fourth of July until my fourth teacher of the day asked me about it…Even though I had written the date in my notes this morning. Ah well!
Yesterday I went in the afternoon to two tour companies in town to get information about Kayaking and zip-lining, etc. I signed up for a tour to Isla Ometepe which will only go if other people sign up also, so I don’t know when I’ll get to that. I hope it goes! Then I went over to a place called Mombotours to ask about the kayaking—they said they had a tour leaving that afternoon at 3:30 with two other people already signed up. I had planned to wait until the weekend, but the guy said that there wasn’t anyone signed up yet for the weekend, so I decided to seize the moment! I was a beautiful trip, low key (though my shoulders are definitely a bit sore today), through a series of tiny islands (called isletas) that were made when Mombacho, the local volcano, tossed large masses of rock and lava into Lake Cocibolca. Many of the isletas are now the sites of vacation homes (both of foreign and local rich families), but there are still many indigenous people living in little shacks on their family island, scraping by. We saw some beautiful flowers, various birds and I got to try a baby mango, which our guide said that people eat with chili powder and/or use like a lime with salt and tequila. It was sour, and a little bitter, but also tasted like mango. One of the birds we saw was (I think I remember the name correctly) the Oropendula, whose males weave elaborate nests that hang from the branches of a specific tree (the national tree of Guatemala, whose name I can’t remember…). We saw nests and birds, and I really wished I had brought binoculars!
Our guide was very helpful, and spoke decent English, with some funny idiosyncrasies thrown in—I asked him about Mombacho canopy tours, and he set one up for me, at a discounted price since I had already done the Kayak tour. Again, I’m as yet the only person signed up for that, but I’m hoping that they got some people today and that I can go tomorrow!
I’ve met several more of the students at the school now, and today I met Todd (??) who is a UC Davis ecology and agronomy student!! He’s friends with some of mine and Conor’s friends, and lives not very far from us in Davis. How wild to come to Nicaragua and meet someone from Davis! He said that a few of his Davis friends are coming in a two weeks, and I’m sure we’ll get together again. Yesterday I also met Jim whose family now lives in Montpelier, VT, my home town. The world grows ever smaller.
My reasons for coming to Nicaragua were not particularly specific—my friend Emma had spent a year here and raved about it, and I was planning on doing something to improve my Spanish over the summer, so I checked out some schools and found that Nicaragua is quite reasonably priced! As I am interested in Latin American poetry generally, I have been asking people here about poetry and have found that, quite by accident, I’ve come to a country with a rich literary history, of which I was previously totally ignorant. Beginning with Rubén Darío, Nicaraguans have given voice to their culture through many generations of poets, and there is an alive and pulsing artistic culture producing great works today. I’m glad that I have the time and leisure while I’m here to find out what I can about it! I’m planning to make a trip to the bookstore this afternoon, and maybe I’ll be able to bring some poems into my classes so that my teachers can help me read them. One of my teachers told me about an international poetry festival that they hold here in Granada every February—poets and writers from all around the world come and read their work. I hope I can come back for it one day!
The Nicas I have come in contact with so far all like to talk, a lot. It’s fairly easy to get them going on various subjects—politics, Nicaragua vs. US culture, food, festivals, life in Granada and especially romance and relationships. Most of the men I’ve talked to have expressed some form of a wish for a girlfriend from the US, and a few have said that they have ex-girlfriend from the states. They are not at all shy about asking you how old you are, if you have a significant other, and if you do, how things are going with that person. Everyone is very friendly, and eager to answer questions.
Tonight a few of us are going out with some of the teachers from the school. My guide has a lot to say about Nicaraguans being excellent dancers, so I’m hoping I’ll get to experience some of that part of this culture.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Driving, Driving, Driving
Here’s what I wrote on Thursday (I haven’t had a chance to post since them…):
6-26-08
Here we are, already at Thursday! These sorts of great vacations just shoot by. We did end up going to the pizza party, on the ATV, in the rain both ways. Like life in these parts, it was a muddy, wet adventure!We haven't done a whole lot the last couple of days--we came down to the beach a few times, used the internet here at the Totobe Resort, and have been relaxing in a general and excellent way. One thing I wanted to mention last time is the wildlife and vegetation here; it’s a whole other class of night noises and bird sounds all day! Just sitting on Uncle Ed's porch and walking around the area we've seen at least 15-20 different species of birds, various squirrels, lizards, butterflies and excitingly fat beetles, and a few foxes. There's a big toad that likes to sit outside of my door...I've started thinking of him as my bodyguard. I've seen only one scorpion so far, though they are around, and we've been warned to shake out any towels, clothes or shoes before using them, and not to step on anything that looks like a leaf. As for plant life, they’ve got a ton of different tropical trees, and so many different kinds of fruit right on the property. It's pretty wild to have come across the country from California--where it hasn't rained since February--to Saratoga, where it was cold and lush, and finally here where the sheer amount and variety of life puts you on sensory overload. What fun!
This morning Antonia and I went in search of the “Jesus Lizard”—you know, the one that runs across water, flailing its arms. Gwen and Uncle Ed said that if you walk down the river near their house, you’re bound to see them running across. I don’t know if we were making too much noise, walking in the wrong place, or there at the wrong time of day or what, but we didn’t see any lizards. We did wade in and out of the river (managing to ford without breaking an axle or loosing a family member) but the adventure made for a soggy walk home! This afternoon we’re going for a ride on Uncle Ed’s horses, so maybe we’ll go back to the river and have better luck.
Tomorrow we’ll head back to San Jose. As it turns out, Uncle Ed’s neighbor Marie is driving in to town, so we get to ride with her instead of taking the bus back. Woohoo! As much as I enjoyed the “rustic” experience of the bus ride, I’ll be happy to arrive in San Jose without feeling as though every part of my body has been through a meat tenderizer. On Saturday Antonia will get on her flight back to the states, and I’ll be staying an extra night in San Jose before taking a bus up to Granada on Sunday. I may or may not write another entry this weekend, time and internet access permitting, but I’m sure I’ll have tales to recount when I get settled in Nicaragua!
06-30-08
Boy howdy, was I right about having tales to recount! As it turned out, Uncle Ed’s friend wasn’t going in to San Jose, so Antonia and I decided that we would take the 2 am bus (not a typo… actually a bus that comes to Uncle Ed’s house at 2 am) back to San Jose so that we would have some time to go shopping and tool around in the city. We woke up at 1:45, blearily gathered our bags, and headed down to the bottom of the hill to wait for the bus. It came just before it started pouring, so lucky us in that respect! They played absolutely the worst film I have ever seen, and because it was so bad, I’m bummed that I can’t remember the name. It had to have been fairly recent because of the age of the actors (some of them were fairly well known) and the cultural references they were making, but the video quality (it was probably a bootleg, now that I think about it…) was awful, the acting was clichéd, the script was horrible, and even the premise of the film was on pretty shaky ground. All of this was made worse by my being bus-sick (no puke, whew!), and the fact that at 8:30 am we were still about an hour from San Jose.
We had planned to disembark in central San Jose, but when the bus got to the airport we decided that we needed to get off, and took a taxi in from there. All in all, it could have been worse….We got to the Hotel Santo Tomas—a quaint little old building with excellent amenities such as free in-room internet, free breakfast and helpful front desk staff—and while we were checking in I realized that I did not have my passport. Luckily, I knew exactly where it was: in my pillowcase at Rhodeside. Doh! I could not believe my own stupidity. I called Gwen to see if there was anyone coming in to San Jose in the next day or two, but there was not, so I quickly began to see that my only option for staying on schedule and retrieving my passport was to rent a car, and drive out there and get it. And so, with some finagling and help at the front desk, I reserved a car for the next morning (Saturday). Then Antonia and I went out for some retail therapy—I’m not usually much of a shopper, but our little outing certainly helped to cheer me up!
Saturday we were up at 6:30, and ready for the car at 7:00. It would seem, however, that in Costa Rica appointments—especially ones in the morning—are more of a suggestion than reality. Suffice it to say that we didn’t get on the road until 8:30. With only one wrong turn, we made it to the highway, and to the airport, where I said goodbye to Antonia. I so wished she were going to accompany me on the drive! But, on I went. I’d stored up quite a few good podcasts, so as far as entertainment went, my drive was great. It seems that people there don’t really understand the idea of staying in the right lane until you need to pass a slower car; even though the highway out of San Jose has three lanes with their respective speed limits printed in 10 foot high white paint on the road at regular intervals, nobody pays any attention to who they might be blocking, or for that matter, who they might be merging into. Once I got out into the countryside a bit more I was much more comfortable. It’s a gorgeous drive out to Bejuco, and I got a nice—though hot—sunny day to take in the sights. I arrived at Rhodeside at about 1:00pm, put my passport into my bag, had a quick lunch of fruit and yogurt, and then turned right around to drive back in to San Jose. There was a lot of traffic on the way back, but the return journey was uneventful until I got back to San Jose at about 6:15 (dusk), where I promptly got completely lost. Where I first found myself was a nice neighborhood, so I asked someone out on a stoop for directions to the hotel. Uncle Ed had told us about how people don’t know the names of the streets in San Jose, and instead, navigate by landmarks, but I had some good maps, and tried to get the guy I was talking to to show me on the map how to get to the hotel. He didn’t point out where I was, but did give me directions back towards “el centro,” saying that he knew the street I was asking for, but didn’t think there was a hotel there—this of course was ridiculous, as I had stayed in the hotel the night before! So I went on my way. A few minutes later, I saw one of the few street signs that are actually posted in the city, as well as a sign on one of the cross streets. I stopped, and found myself on the map, in a place totally other than where I had thought I was. I continued on for a little while, unsure of exactly how to get where I wanted to go (there are a lot of one way streets in San Jose) except that I wanted to turn left. So I picked a street and turned, hoping to find another of those rare street signs, but found nothing until I looked up, high on one of the buildings and saw a faded sign for “Calle 5”; I looked on the map, and it was the street that Antonia and I had been shopping on the day before! I can’t express how happy I was to finally know where I was!! From there, it was only a few blocks to the hotel. I got in under the wire at 6:45 (the car place closed at 7), and stood my ground with the guy on the phone who wanted me to return the car the next morning. All concluded beautifully with a “caprese” salad (slices off of a block of mozzarella (not fresh) and tomato, with a big glob of pesto on top of one piece of lettuce. I’m glad they brought bread.), and I fell into bed.
Sunday morning I got up to catch the 7:30 bus to Managua, Nicaragua. Now, one would think that with my bag being lost, my camera stolen, and the events just recounted that I ought to have exhausted my bad luck, but one would be mistaken. I got out of the taxi at about 7:10, pushed through the crowded station to the ticket counter, and was abruptly told that the bus to Managua was full. I had decided to take the 7:30 bus instead of taking the 6:00 to give myself a little extra sleep, assuming that there would be no problem. The next bus with that company went at 12:30 and didn’t get to Grenada until 9:00 pm, an hour after the school I was making for closed, so clearly this was an issue. I went over to a phone to try an call the school to tell them that I would be arriving late, but then realized that no one would be there yet, as it was before 8:00 am. As I was making my way back to the ticket counter to ask about any cancellations for the 7:30 bus, and/or about buying a ticket for the 12:30, a man with a TicaBus jacket asked if he could help me (I must have looked confused and worried, which I was…). He told me to try the other bus company, TransNica, whose station was just around the corner, and which had a bus that would be leaving at 9:00! Que suerte! I tramped over there and bought a ticket with no problem, and then sat down with my Nicaragua guide book to read about local history. I didn’t get very far when a gringo by the name of Mike asked if this was my first time in Central America. We chatted for a while—he had been traveling for about 5 weeks already, and had nothing but great things to say about Granada, which cheered me up plenty. I also found out that he was an accountant (in fact, head of international accounting) for American Apparel—a dirty bus station was definitely not the place I would have expected to find an accountant!! It’s always fun to see what kind of people you’ll meet while traveling (especially when gringos stand out so much here). On the bus, I made another travel friend, Maria Jose, who is from Managua, and is learning English. We chatted about all sorts of things, and when we got to the border (which Mike quite accurately described as a zoo) we stood in the various lines together.
Here’s how they do it: we drive up to one building, and everyone gets out to stand in line to have their passports stamped. While in line you get accosted by various guys with large wads of money saying “Cambio? Cambio?” These guys will change your dollars or colones for cordobas with probably the worst exchange rate in either Costa Rica or Nicaragua. After getting your stamp, everyone piles back into the bus, paying the exit tax ($1 for Nicaraguans or Costa Ricans, $8 for me, which is still cheaper than leaving by plane, where you have to pay $26) to the driver, who also held on to all of the immigration forms and the passports. This last detail made me feel pretty uncomfortable (given that I had just driven for an entire day to retrieve the thing), but nobody else seemed too worried about it, so I just decided that it was all out of my hands (which it was…). Then we drove over to another building, where everyone got out of the bus again, and made a swarming surge for the luggage compartment. Mike told me that he knew a guy who had someone slip a few ounces of coke into his bag at a stop like this, so I guess it’s important to get into all of that jostling to try to keep an eye on your bag. Crazy! I checked all of the pockets and crannies of my bag—no drugs. Then we all stood in line with our bags, for inspection and to hand the customs form to the single customs worker—never mind that there are whole families of unemployed people hanging around the border; you would think that they could staff the place pretty completely… but there was just the one guy. When it got to my turn, the guy took my form, gave me (and my pale, pale skin) one slightly comic look, and gestured me back towards the bus, without even glancing at my bag. Done, and done. The TransNica worker putting our bags back into the bus was asking for destinations, and I found that the bus did indeed stop in Granada on it’s way to Managua—excellent news, as this would save me about an hour of travel time (1/2 hr past Granada on the highway, and then ½ hr back tracking in what they call a minibus—small and cramped). At about 5:00 I was dropped off in Granada—the only person to disembark—and I hailed a cab to take me to the school. Bus Fare: $21 Cab Fare: $1. Finally finished traveling: priceless.
At the school, I met some of the boys who were brought up there (I can’t remember their names right now, but I’m sure I’ll catch them again later) and the director, Roger. We spoke in English and Spanish for a while, waiting for the person from my homestay to come and pick me up—it felt a bit like he was testing me to see what level I was, but I’m not sure if he was or not. It seems that at the school they treat pretty much every conversations as a teaching/learning opportunity, so I’m sure that I’ll be able to improve my speaking abilities a ton while I’m here. After a little while, Katya (sp?), my homestay host, came to get me. She’s young, maybe late 20’s early 30’s, and she has a 10 year old son. I’m not sure where his father is, but he doesn’t live here. When we arrived at her house, I met her brother (whose name I forgot! Again, I’ll try to catch it tonight….I’m so bad with names!) who talked my ear off, but was very cheerful, and took me out to the local pizza joint (I had mini calzones with mozzarella and spinach, which were actually really good!) and drove me around pointing stuff out. He really is a talker. He’s (I think) got two kids who now live with their mother, and he’s a photographer. I had fun talking (mostly listening) to him, but I was relieved to get back home and go to bed.
This morning I was woken up at about 6:15 by the two little dogs who life in the little courtyard outside of my room. I like dogs, but man! These ones are shrill, and since the courtyard is enclosed, their barks echo. I hope that doesn’t happen every morning!!! It wasn’t so early, in the end, because I wanted to leave for the school a little early so that I could go to the ATM. I was also excited to get to walk around Granada a little. It’s a beautiful city; all the houses (and the churches!) are painted bright colors, and everyone sits out on their porches from the time they get home from work until they got to bed I think. It has a very strong sense of colonialism that has gone to seed—grand buildings with peeling paint squashed up against smaller, more modern buildings—but it is also pulsing with music and culture. I am really excited to get to know more about it, and to explore the streets and the numerous churches.
My classes this morning were good, but I’m pretty tired now. I like the system they have set up at my school—in my four hours, I have four different teachers, beginning with vocabulary, then grammar, then conversation, then exercises (basically working on pronunciation and anything that I find difficult). I liked all four of my teachers—Eric (?), Olga, Helen and Alejandro (??), and I got to talk a lot, although I had to repeat things like where I’m from and what I do, and what I want to study, and if I have siblings or a boyfriend four times. By the end of the four hours I couldn’t remember what I had told to whom. In terms of actual exercises, we did some pretty basic stuff, but that was great for the first day. I think it will round out to a nice combination of review and new material for me, along with a lot of practice speaking.
After classes I met three other students—I think there are only maybe 5 other people taking classes at the school, and one of the people I met said that there are more people this week than there were before. No one I met is staying as long as I am, so I’m sure I’ll get to meet some other people in future weeks. There’s so much to do around here! And it sounds like a lot of it is possible in the afternoons, or on weekend day trips. I think that later this week I’m going to try to do a zip line canopy tour, and maybe this weekend I’ll go climb one of the 6 active volcanoes they have here in Nicaragua—apparently you can climb all of them (if you have the time and want to travel around a lot).
Now that I’m settled, I hope that I’ll be able to write a bit more frequently, and won’t have to type out these tomes for you all to read! Hasta Luego!
6-26-08
Here we are, already at Thursday! These sorts of great vacations just shoot by. We did end up going to the pizza party, on the ATV, in the rain both ways. Like life in these parts, it was a muddy, wet adventure!We haven't done a whole lot the last couple of days--we came down to the beach a few times, used the internet here at the Totobe Resort, and have been relaxing in a general and excellent way. One thing I wanted to mention last time is the wildlife and vegetation here; it’s a whole other class of night noises and bird sounds all day! Just sitting on Uncle Ed's porch and walking around the area we've seen at least 15-20 different species of birds, various squirrels, lizards, butterflies and excitingly fat beetles, and a few foxes. There's a big toad that likes to sit outside of my door...I've started thinking of him as my bodyguard. I've seen only one scorpion so far, though they are around, and we've been warned to shake out any towels, clothes or shoes before using them, and not to step on anything that looks like a leaf. As for plant life, they’ve got a ton of different tropical trees, and so many different kinds of fruit right on the property. It's pretty wild to have come across the country from California--where it hasn't rained since February--to Saratoga, where it was cold and lush, and finally here where the sheer amount and variety of life puts you on sensory overload. What fun!
This morning Antonia and I went in search of the “Jesus Lizard”—you know, the one that runs across water, flailing its arms. Gwen and Uncle Ed said that if you walk down the river near their house, you’re bound to see them running across. I don’t know if we were making too much noise, walking in the wrong place, or there at the wrong time of day or what, but we didn’t see any lizards. We did wade in and out of the river (managing to ford without breaking an axle or loosing a family member) but the adventure made for a soggy walk home! This afternoon we’re going for a ride on Uncle Ed’s horses, so maybe we’ll go back to the river and have better luck.
Tomorrow we’ll head back to San Jose. As it turns out, Uncle Ed’s neighbor Marie is driving in to town, so we get to ride with her instead of taking the bus back. Woohoo! As much as I enjoyed the “rustic” experience of the bus ride, I’ll be happy to arrive in San Jose without feeling as though every part of my body has been through a meat tenderizer. On Saturday Antonia will get on her flight back to the states, and I’ll be staying an extra night in San Jose before taking a bus up to Granada on Sunday. I may or may not write another entry this weekend, time and internet access permitting, but I’m sure I’ll have tales to recount when I get settled in Nicaragua!
06-30-08
Boy howdy, was I right about having tales to recount! As it turned out, Uncle Ed’s friend wasn’t going in to San Jose, so Antonia and I decided that we would take the 2 am bus (not a typo… actually a bus that comes to Uncle Ed’s house at 2 am) back to San Jose so that we would have some time to go shopping and tool around in the city. We woke up at 1:45, blearily gathered our bags, and headed down to the bottom of the hill to wait for the bus. It came just before it started pouring, so lucky us in that respect! They played absolutely the worst film I have ever seen, and because it was so bad, I’m bummed that I can’t remember the name. It had to have been fairly recent because of the age of the actors (some of them were fairly well known) and the cultural references they were making, but the video quality (it was probably a bootleg, now that I think about it…) was awful, the acting was clichéd, the script was horrible, and even the premise of the film was on pretty shaky ground. All of this was made worse by my being bus-sick (no puke, whew!), and the fact that at 8:30 am we were still about an hour from San Jose.
We had planned to disembark in central San Jose, but when the bus got to the airport we decided that we needed to get off, and took a taxi in from there. All in all, it could have been worse….We got to the Hotel Santo Tomas—a quaint little old building with excellent amenities such as free in-room internet, free breakfast and helpful front desk staff—and while we were checking in I realized that I did not have my passport. Luckily, I knew exactly where it was: in my pillowcase at Rhodeside. Doh! I could not believe my own stupidity. I called Gwen to see if there was anyone coming in to San Jose in the next day or two, but there was not, so I quickly began to see that my only option for staying on schedule and retrieving my passport was to rent a car, and drive out there and get it. And so, with some finagling and help at the front desk, I reserved a car for the next morning (Saturday). Then Antonia and I went out for some retail therapy—I’m not usually much of a shopper, but our little outing certainly helped to cheer me up!
Saturday we were up at 6:30, and ready for the car at 7:00. It would seem, however, that in Costa Rica appointments—especially ones in the morning—are more of a suggestion than reality. Suffice it to say that we didn’t get on the road until 8:30. With only one wrong turn, we made it to the highway, and to the airport, where I said goodbye to Antonia. I so wished she were going to accompany me on the drive! But, on I went. I’d stored up quite a few good podcasts, so as far as entertainment went, my drive was great. It seems that people there don’t really understand the idea of staying in the right lane until you need to pass a slower car; even though the highway out of San Jose has three lanes with their respective speed limits printed in 10 foot high white paint on the road at regular intervals, nobody pays any attention to who they might be blocking, or for that matter, who they might be merging into. Once I got out into the countryside a bit more I was much more comfortable. It’s a gorgeous drive out to Bejuco, and I got a nice—though hot—sunny day to take in the sights. I arrived at Rhodeside at about 1:00pm, put my passport into my bag, had a quick lunch of fruit and yogurt, and then turned right around to drive back in to San Jose. There was a lot of traffic on the way back, but the return journey was uneventful until I got back to San Jose at about 6:15 (dusk), where I promptly got completely lost. Where I first found myself was a nice neighborhood, so I asked someone out on a stoop for directions to the hotel. Uncle Ed had told us about how people don’t know the names of the streets in San Jose, and instead, navigate by landmarks, but I had some good maps, and tried to get the guy I was talking to to show me on the map how to get to the hotel. He didn’t point out where I was, but did give me directions back towards “el centro,” saying that he knew the street I was asking for, but didn’t think there was a hotel there—this of course was ridiculous, as I had stayed in the hotel the night before! So I went on my way. A few minutes later, I saw one of the few street signs that are actually posted in the city, as well as a sign on one of the cross streets. I stopped, and found myself on the map, in a place totally other than where I had thought I was. I continued on for a little while, unsure of exactly how to get where I wanted to go (there are a lot of one way streets in San Jose) except that I wanted to turn left. So I picked a street and turned, hoping to find another of those rare street signs, but found nothing until I looked up, high on one of the buildings and saw a faded sign for “Calle 5”; I looked on the map, and it was the street that Antonia and I had been shopping on the day before! I can’t express how happy I was to finally know where I was!! From there, it was only a few blocks to the hotel. I got in under the wire at 6:45 (the car place closed at 7), and stood my ground with the guy on the phone who wanted me to return the car the next morning. All concluded beautifully with a “caprese” salad (slices off of a block of mozzarella (not fresh) and tomato, with a big glob of pesto on top of one piece of lettuce. I’m glad they brought bread.), and I fell into bed.
Sunday morning I got up to catch the 7:30 bus to Managua, Nicaragua. Now, one would think that with my bag being lost, my camera stolen, and the events just recounted that I ought to have exhausted my bad luck, but one would be mistaken. I got out of the taxi at about 7:10, pushed through the crowded station to the ticket counter, and was abruptly told that the bus to Managua was full. I had decided to take the 7:30 bus instead of taking the 6:00 to give myself a little extra sleep, assuming that there would be no problem. The next bus with that company went at 12:30 and didn’t get to Grenada until 9:00 pm, an hour after the school I was making for closed, so clearly this was an issue. I went over to a phone to try an call the school to tell them that I would be arriving late, but then realized that no one would be there yet, as it was before 8:00 am. As I was making my way back to the ticket counter to ask about any cancellations for the 7:30 bus, and/or about buying a ticket for the 12:30, a man with a TicaBus jacket asked if he could help me (I must have looked confused and worried, which I was…). He told me to try the other bus company, TransNica, whose station was just around the corner, and which had a bus that would be leaving at 9:00! Que suerte! I tramped over there and bought a ticket with no problem, and then sat down with my Nicaragua guide book to read about local history. I didn’t get very far when a gringo by the name of Mike asked if this was my first time in Central America. We chatted for a while—he had been traveling for about 5 weeks already, and had nothing but great things to say about Granada, which cheered me up plenty. I also found out that he was an accountant (in fact, head of international accounting) for American Apparel—a dirty bus station was definitely not the place I would have expected to find an accountant!! It’s always fun to see what kind of people you’ll meet while traveling (especially when gringos stand out so much here). On the bus, I made another travel friend, Maria Jose, who is from Managua, and is learning English. We chatted about all sorts of things, and when we got to the border (which Mike quite accurately described as a zoo) we stood in the various lines together.
Here’s how they do it: we drive up to one building, and everyone gets out to stand in line to have their passports stamped. While in line you get accosted by various guys with large wads of money saying “Cambio? Cambio?” These guys will change your dollars or colones for cordobas with probably the worst exchange rate in either Costa Rica or Nicaragua. After getting your stamp, everyone piles back into the bus, paying the exit tax ($1 for Nicaraguans or Costa Ricans, $8 for me, which is still cheaper than leaving by plane, where you have to pay $26) to the driver, who also held on to all of the immigration forms and the passports. This last detail made me feel pretty uncomfortable (given that I had just driven for an entire day to retrieve the thing), but nobody else seemed too worried about it, so I just decided that it was all out of my hands (which it was…). Then we drove over to another building, where everyone got out of the bus again, and made a swarming surge for the luggage compartment. Mike told me that he knew a guy who had someone slip a few ounces of coke into his bag at a stop like this, so I guess it’s important to get into all of that jostling to try to keep an eye on your bag. Crazy! I checked all of the pockets and crannies of my bag—no drugs. Then we all stood in line with our bags, for inspection and to hand the customs form to the single customs worker—never mind that there are whole families of unemployed people hanging around the border; you would think that they could staff the place pretty completely… but there was just the one guy. When it got to my turn, the guy took my form, gave me (and my pale, pale skin) one slightly comic look, and gestured me back towards the bus, without even glancing at my bag. Done, and done. The TransNica worker putting our bags back into the bus was asking for destinations, and I found that the bus did indeed stop in Granada on it’s way to Managua—excellent news, as this would save me about an hour of travel time (1/2 hr past Granada on the highway, and then ½ hr back tracking in what they call a minibus—small and cramped). At about 5:00 I was dropped off in Granada—the only person to disembark—and I hailed a cab to take me to the school. Bus Fare: $21 Cab Fare: $1. Finally finished traveling: priceless.
At the school, I met some of the boys who were brought up there (I can’t remember their names right now, but I’m sure I’ll catch them again later) and the director, Roger. We spoke in English and Spanish for a while, waiting for the person from my homestay to come and pick me up—it felt a bit like he was testing me to see what level I was, but I’m not sure if he was or not. It seems that at the school they treat pretty much every conversations as a teaching/learning opportunity, so I’m sure that I’ll be able to improve my speaking abilities a ton while I’m here. After a little while, Katya (sp?), my homestay host, came to get me. She’s young, maybe late 20’s early 30’s, and she has a 10 year old son. I’m not sure where his father is, but he doesn’t live here. When we arrived at her house, I met her brother (whose name I forgot! Again, I’ll try to catch it tonight….I’m so bad with names!) who talked my ear off, but was very cheerful, and took me out to the local pizza joint (I had mini calzones with mozzarella and spinach, which were actually really good!) and drove me around pointing stuff out. He really is a talker. He’s (I think) got two kids who now live with their mother, and he’s a photographer. I had fun talking (mostly listening) to him, but I was relieved to get back home and go to bed.
This morning I was woken up at about 6:15 by the two little dogs who life in the little courtyard outside of my room. I like dogs, but man! These ones are shrill, and since the courtyard is enclosed, their barks echo. I hope that doesn’t happen every morning!!! It wasn’t so early, in the end, because I wanted to leave for the school a little early so that I could go to the ATM. I was also excited to get to walk around Granada a little. It’s a beautiful city; all the houses (and the churches!) are painted bright colors, and everyone sits out on their porches from the time they get home from work until they got to bed I think. It has a very strong sense of colonialism that has gone to seed—grand buildings with peeling paint squashed up against smaller, more modern buildings—but it is also pulsing with music and culture. I am really excited to get to know more about it, and to explore the streets and the numerous churches.
My classes this morning were good, but I’m pretty tired now. I like the system they have set up at my school—in my four hours, I have four different teachers, beginning with vocabulary, then grammar, then conversation, then exercises (basically working on pronunciation and anything that I find difficult). I liked all four of my teachers—Eric (?), Olga, Helen and Alejandro (??), and I got to talk a lot, although I had to repeat things like where I’m from and what I do, and what I want to study, and if I have siblings or a boyfriend four times. By the end of the four hours I couldn’t remember what I had told to whom. In terms of actual exercises, we did some pretty basic stuff, but that was great for the first day. I think it will round out to a nice combination of review and new material for me, along with a lot of practice speaking.
After classes I met three other students—I think there are only maybe 5 other people taking classes at the school, and one of the people I met said that there are more people this week than there were before. No one I met is staying as long as I am, so I’m sure I’ll get to meet some other people in future weeks. There’s so much to do around here! And it sounds like a lot of it is possible in the afternoons, or on weekend day trips. I think that later this week I’m going to try to do a zip line canopy tour, and maybe this weekend I’ll go climb one of the 6 active volcanoes they have here in Nicaragua—apparently you can climb all of them (if you have the time and want to travel around a lot).
Now that I’m settled, I hope that I’ll be able to write a bit more frequently, and won’t have to type out these tomes for you all to read! Hasta Luego!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Travel and Oxen
6-23-08
So, we have arrived here in
How great to see Antonia waiting outside for me! We caught a cab to the bus station, and pretty quickly realized that there wasn’t an ATM there either. Luckily Antonia was a lot more prepared than me! She bought our bus tickets, and then we had about an hour and a half to wait until the bus left, at 3:30. Our first bus was pretty plush—air conditioned and with nice seats—and we were on it for about 4 ½ hours to a town called Jicaral where, though we were already on a bus to Bejuco, we had to change to a different bus which did not have air conditioning and had much worse seats for the bumpiest part of the ride. We felt very adventurous, but also a bit like we were in a commercial for those diodes that jiggle your muscles while you sit and watch TV…. After some stops and false alarms, we arrived at Rhodeside at about 11:00. Uncle Ed met us at the bottom of the driveway, and showed us to our rooms. We were pretty beat! Thankfully, Uncle Ed was planning to go in to
When we woke up the next day Uncle Ed was already gone on his way, so we were left to our own devices. We decided to walk down to the local store and get some food of our own, and on the way we saw a sign for Playa Bejuco (
When we got back to the house there was a note from Uncle Ed’s neighbor Pat, saying that she would come by later, and shortly she did, offering to take us to Playa San Miguel. We went, and it was the beach paradise we had been hoping for at Playa Bejuco! The water was like bath water, and we had the beach to ourselves since the summer—the rainy season—is the off season here. We had a lovely swim, which relieved the heat, and then headed back up to the house. For dinner we tried to make beans and rice along with some stir-fried veggies—the veggies came out great, but the beans were not canned, and therefore didn’t cook as expected. Hence, al dente beans and rice. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds…. That evening Uncle Ed came back by the same bus we had taken, and brought with him my backpack! All was intact, but someone in the customs office had stolen my camera… that’ll teach me to not take it in my carry-on! I’m pretty bummed about that one, but I’m going to try to get a disposable camera when we go back to
Sunday morning I had an ATV lesson, and we thus increased our mobility ten-fold. Driving the ATV is actually a lot of fun, and since Antonia doesn’t have any interest in learning how, I get to drive everywhere! After a much more productive trip to the store, Uncle Ed took us down to a beach “resort” (it seems no longer to be in use as a resort, though maybe it’s just closed for the summer… It consists of a single, open bungalow style building with a bar downstairs and a living space in the loft) at Playa San Miguel where we were able to check email, and I could tell Conor that I was still alive! Post our reconnection with the outside world, Uncle Ed went back to Rhodeside and we headed down to El Escorpion Volador (The Flying Scorpion) for lunch, and then back out to the beach for another swim. It was a great day, topped off by having barbecued beef for dinner, a la Edmund. Very tasty! I figure that since it came from Uncle Ed’s friend’s farm over the mountain, the meat’s about as local and organic as you can get.
This morning we got up early for lattes from the Rhodeside coffee bar—WAY better than Starbucks! The coffee bar, in the lower kitchen, is right next to where Uncle Ed is building his new house, so we got to watch his workers pouring cement and digging the foundation over breakfast. It sounds like it’s going to be great addition to this already GORGEOUS property! After breakfast, we hopped in Pat’s truck with Uncle Ed and went to Carmona, a nearby town. To get there we drove over some beautiful mountains and past a whole parade of ox carts—the locals were driving their oxen from Carmona and Jicaral to Pueblo Nuevo for some kind of festival that involved lots of drinking. The carts are all beautifully decorated, and you get an idea of how incredibly powerful oxen are. Hooray for local color! In Carmona we tried to use the ATM, but it was out of commission—something about not being able to communicate with the central computer. So, we finished up in Carmona (a trip to what Uncle Ed calls the “horsey store” and ice cream that we bought partly so that we could use the baño, but also partly because it was delicious) and drove down the road to Jicaral, where we had changed busses on Friday. The ATM there didn’t work either, and the other bank in town didn’t service MasterCard, so we had to actually go in to the bank and have them run my bank card. The banks here are set up a little like the DMV in the States, and by all accounts it can take you as long in the bank as any DMV back home. Luckily, we got in without too much of a wait, but we certainly spent our fair share of time waiting for the clerk to do all the paperwork associated with the desired transaction! I feel much better now though, having some cash. There’s not really anything to buy in Pueblo Nuevo except food, but I’m still happier now after the day’s events!
It’s now raining the most it has since we got here. The last couple of nights we’ve seen some very exciting thunder and lightening, but it wasn’t really raining until last night. Today it drizzled a bunch, but now (when we’re thinking about going back down to El Escorpion Volador for “Pizza Night”) it is, of course, pouring. We’re hopping it’ll let up enough to get down there dry; then we can come home in whatever weather and change.
That’s all for the first installment—I promise the others will be shorter! I felt it necessary to recount the adventure in full though. More soon!
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