Wednesday, December 31, 2008

San Isidro

I've emerged from a nice sabbatical in Aimee's hometown-away-from-hometown.

After the fracas that was the Nicaraguan border post, the rest of the bus ride went rather smoothly. The roads were (mostly) paved, and I even saw some encouraging electricity-generating windmill construction along the countryside. And behind them was either a mountain with a cloud hanging over it, or a steaming volcano (which isn't as ridiculous as it sounds). Nicaragua is pretty seismically active, and has several volcanoes that have been teetering on the brink of eruption for decades, if not longer.

(In fact, seismic instability ranked just below political instability as the reason that engineers bypassed Nicaragua to build a canal in Panama. Some say that--other than these two admittedly serious reasons--the conditions are actually better in this country.)

The bus ride ended in the late afternoon with a nice reunion with Aimee in the Managua bus terminal. We didn't stay in the capital for long, though, since Managua is widely considered to be the ugliest city in the world. There was a pretty serious earthquake in the 70's, and, until recently, there hasn't been the political will or financial resources to clean up. So the city just stayed in a perpetual state of disaster. These days, you won't see too many collapsed buildings, but it still feels pretty run down.

We hopped on the next bus to San Isidro, where we arrived after dinner on the 30th. This was the town that Aimee spent most of her two years in. It's a quaint pueblo of 7000 people that we would call a bedroom community if there were actually jobs for people to commute to.


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A view of the city from one of the surrounding hills:



Each family seems to have one or two wage earners that support the rest of the family, including any unmarried grown children. There are a few jobs in the surrounding rice fields, as well as some in the local offices of a national cell phone carrier, but most people bus to the larger surrounding cities to work. Those that remain at home live la vida tranquilla, and help run the family store that many people (including our hosts) have in the front rooms of their houses.

Speaking of hosts, we're staying with the wonderful family that housed Aimee during her stay here. They have a clothing-focused general store in the front of their house, and are clearly one of the better-off families in town.

The store:



The courtyard in the center of the house:



Like I mentioned, this is one of the nicer homes in town. Most are brick or cement walled structures that are--by North American standards--very unfinished. Almost all of the homes have bare concrete walls, large gaps at the roof junctions, and Aimee tells me that many just have bare dirt floors. Kind of puts our recession in perspective, doesn't it?

And a few photos of the neighborhood:







The last one isn't actually of San Isidro, but rather of La Trinidad, a nearby city that feels pretty similar.

If you click the first photo to expand it, you can see one of the many horseback-riding locals. If I had to guess, I'd bet that for every car you see going down the road here, you'd also see a horse, three motorcycles, ten bicycles, and twenty five pedestrians. It's actually pretty nice. And not too surprising, since hardly any of the roads are paved.

All in all, it's a great community where the locals are friendly, and everyone greats you from their front porch as you walk down the street. But that just could be because Aimee's a bit of a local celebrity. On more than one occasion, we've been walking down the street, and a car will drive by, honk it's horn, and one of the passengers will yell out, "Hola! Aimee!" She's clearly a hit around here. I'm just arm candy.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Lest I forget...

My passport was returned after the Nigaraguan border crossing, by the way. An immigrations agent carried a huge stack of passports to the bus, and called out our names. We then collected our passports as we boarded the bus. Only here. I love it.



And a quick note on the quality of the border photos. I know that they're not great, but taking photos of international borders is generally very illegal, and I really didn't want to find out Costa Rica or Nicaragua's thoughts on the subject. So I was forced to hide my camera in the folds of my backpack or shirt to snap a few pics. It's better than jail.

Madness

I've been through a lot of border crossings, but I've never seen anything like the chaos that I witnessed today.

About 5 hours into my Costa Rica-Nicaragua bus ride, I noticed that our bus was slowing down. We coasted past dozens of idling semi trucks, and I assumed that we were coming up to the border. When I saw the other passengers start fiddling with their passports, I knew that they thought the same.

We pulled up next to the type of 1984 dictator-chic type of building that could only be a Latin American border post. But I was still guessing at this point, since the building was unmarked, and we hadn't heard so much as a syllable of instruction from our driver. But as soon as the bus doors swung open, everyone bounded from their seats, and I assumed that I should do the same.

Immediately after exiting the bus, I had a huge stack of cash shoved in my face. "Cambio? Cambio?" Alright. This is definitely the border.



I walked into the building, and I went straight for the "Entrada" line. But it didn't take me long to realize that I was waiting in line to enter Costa Rica. I needed to be in the "Salida (exit)" line. I had forgotten that this region's governments were just as concerned about their locals fleeing as they were about tourists entering. I was in the Costa Rican border building, and I had to "check out" with them before I set foot in Nicaragua.

(Editor's Note: Most Latin Americans are no longer living in the extreme fear and poverty that they were during the 70s and 80s, and aren't really interested in fleeing anymore. However, the strict exit requirements seem to have stuck around.)

So I moved over to the Salida line, and got my exit stamp from Costa Rica. But I wasn't sure about where to head next (or about any step in this process, for that matter).

(Well, what do we have here! As I'm sitting on the bus, writing about the Costa Rica stop in my journal, the driver just passed through the bus, asking for everybody's passports. As you know, relinquishing control of your passport is international travel taboo number 1, but I don't appear to have much of a choice. I hear a local woman arguing with the driver in the back of the bus, and another one just got escorted off, so they obviously aren't messing around. Ok, I just passed it off; if I never make it back, you know why.)

Where was I?

(Pause number 2: The driver just announced some instructions. Wow, that's some fast español, but I think I got it!)

Alright, back in Costa Rica, I surreptitiously attached myself to someone that I recognized from the bus, and made it back in one piece.

We drove a few hundred yards, and the bus slowed down again. This is when the bus driver did his whole passport seizure and unintelligible instructions bit, so we're all caught up with the story.

Now, for a bit of background. I never, ever, ever check bags. Especially when I know that I'll be crossing borders. I can just grab my backpack and breeze through customs while everyone else is retrieving their bags. However, I really needed to sleep, and I thought that the extra legroom would be nice. Besides, I hardly have anything with me on this trip. (Aimee's already questioned if I even brought a change of clothes.) So after a pretty lengthy inner monologue at the bus station, I checked my bag. But I shouldn't have.

As soon as we pulled into the Nicaraguan border station, everyone went to the side of the bus and began digging through the bags to find theirs. I didn't joint the fray, but I did use my height to make sure that there weren't any unwelcome additions or subtractions from my bag.



As the crowd started to clear out, I didn't see my bag, and I got a little nervous. As it turned out, my bag was wedged in the support beams under the bus, and never made it out into the luggage pile. Of course.

By the point that I crawled out of the bus' undercarriage (after my brief backpack search), most people were already in the customs line, and I had to wait at the back. It did give me a chance to look around and get my bearings, though.



Everyone was waiting in line to approach a single table that had a border agent and a miniature stop light. As each person approached the table, they would press a button on the table, and the light would turn either red or green. Red means that you'll be subjected to a full on, open bag customs inspection, and green means that you'll walk.



When it was my turn to face destiny, the customs agent performed one of my favorite travel idiosyncrasies: the mixed-language instructions. He looked at me, took my customs declaration (which said where I'm from), and said in English, "push".

AHHH!!!!! If I've even survived up until this point, I speak Spanish!!!

But maybe after 6 hours of holding down my vomit (rough night + early wake up + bumpy roads)--and stumbling my way though two hours of international border crossings--I'm just a bit cranky. It was a nice gesture, I suppose...

The light turned green, by the way.

Carnival

This is a quick post, but there are a couple more coming soon.

I just wanted to show a photo of our last night in Costa Rica. We went to a huge carnival outside of San Jose. The featured event was a "bull fight" that was really more of a comedy show. The central theme was that a bull was let loose in a large arena, with a balloon tied on its back. Then the doors were opened, and the carnival-goers were released into the ring. Whoever was agile (or or drunk) enough to get close to the bull and grab the baloon was declared the winner, assuming that he or she was still alive.

(Un)fortunately, this event was sold out a long time ago, so I couldn't get in to snap some pics. Or get slaughtered by a bull. But we were able to to get into the carnival part, and I did get a picture of the front entrance.



Monday, December 29, 2008

Pura Vida!

Alright. I'm sitting in a hotel room in Costa Rica, and I'm here with a friend of a friend's wedding party. We're staying just outside of San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica.


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Things had already been going on for a few days before I arrived, so I was planning on meeting them at their hotel. I had the name of the place, and I knew the general vicinity. But I didn't have directions, and I didn't even know the name of the couple being married. So, as soon as I arrived, I headed to the airport information counter and asked for directions. But unfortunately, he didn't know the hotel, and couldn't find it in his database. Of course.

But just as I had resigned myself to venturing off on my own, he found the hotel and gave me the "address". Here's what he wrote:

"50 mts sur de la Iglesia Catolica de la Immaculada Heredia".

I was clearly going to need a cab.

Addresses in Central America are an insider's game. You have to know where certain landmarks are (like the Catholic Church, in this case). And what's especially fun is when you're given directions that refer to a place that no longer exists ("It's two blocks from where the Pepsi factory used to be"). Great. The whole number-and-street-name theme really hasn't caught on here.

I did eventually make it to the hotel, and I met the motley group of people that were brought together by this couple's wedding. We went out for a quick drink at one of the local bars.



There's nothing new about a local bar--or about me drinking at one--but I do want to point out how clean the city is. This is the capital city of a third world country, and the sidewalks are almost litter-less, I never once felt unsafe, and there aren't many people living on the streets. I was pleasantly surprised. This observation was reaffirmed this morning when we woke up (quite early) to meet our bus to the rafting trip.



It's easy to forget that you're not at home.



Unfortunately, I don't have any rafting trip photos, since my camera is not much of a swimmer. You'll just have to take my word that the place was beautiful.

We moseyed our way through a beautiful tropical jungle, occasionally bobbing through Class 4 rapids (Class 6 is the highest). It was one of those experiences where you can struggle just to take it all in.

Ok. After a full day in the sun, I'm completely exhausted. Plus, I'm excited to go meet Aimee in Nicaragua tomorrow, so I'm going to go to bed now. I'll check back in from Nicaragua.

Salud.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

Sandinistas vs. Contras vs. Pandemic Diarrhea

I'm an easy sell for any travel. Always. But I'm especially excited about tomorrow's trip. I'll be heading to Nicaragua with my girlfriend, Aimee, for her long-awaited Peace Corps homecoming.

She volunteered from January 2005 to April 2007 in San Isidro, a small town in the center of the country.


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I'm sure that Aimee's parents will be following along, so now I've got two mothers to worry about upsetting. And my own mom still hasn't recovered from the Fiji stories. But then again, neither has my liver.

I've already had to field a lot of questions around the office. "Didn't you just get back from...where was it, Fuji?" Apparently, two extended trips abroad within three months is not the norm around here. Who knew?

I'm reading a great book on Nicaragua that Aimee recommended to me, called "Blood Brothers". It's written by Stephen Kinzer, who was the NY Times correspondent that first discovered the Contra camps in Honduras.

Some of you may remember the 1980s Nicaraguan Contra scandal, but even if you can't find Nicaragua on a map of Nicaragua, you'll love this book. It's a well written account of the country's fascinating recent history. I can't put it down.

But as good as the book is, I'm still getting most of my travel information first hand. Aimee wrote a travel blog during her time in Nicaragua (there's a reason that we're together), and I've been having a good time going through it. Without question, my favorite quote comes from a posting that she wrote to describe some local hand gestures.

Everyone here gets diarrhea, so when you want to refer to your diarrhea: Make a fist and bend and extend your arm out to the side of your body, starting at chest level and angling slightly downward. Give your arm a few quick jerks back and forth. If you want to say how bad or how long your diarrhea is, do it for awhile.

I'm hoping that this is just spot-on dead pan comedy. Because if she's serious, I'm in for a long three weeks.

By the way, if you'd like to see the rest, it's here

A quick rundown of the current news makes me think that this trip is going to be more about the Contra scandal than it will be about uncontrollable bowel movements (at least I hope so). Nicaragua is under some pretty heavy political stress that has its roots in the era of Carter and Reagan (or from a Nicaraguan perspective, the Somozas and the Sandinistas).

The Somozas were an extremely powerful political family that churned out a series of dictators during the first half of the 20th Century. They were violently overthrown (to say the least) by the Sandinistas, a group of populist fighters with a lot of good intentions, but not much governing experience.

The unfortunate truth about many People's Revolutions is that they often degenerate into the same type of totalitarian regime that they sought to overthrow. [See: China, Zimbabwe] But in their defense, I can't imagine that it's easy to form a truly democratic government when 1) you're extremely (and justifiably) paranoid about the exiled party returning the rebellious favor, and 2) the only example government that you've ever known was run by a tyrannical dictator.

And we thought that electronic voting machines were the biggest threat to democracy.

This pattern seems to be repeating itself with the current Nicaraguan Leadership. The president, Daniel Ortega, was a prominent Sandinista leader that played a huge role in overthrowing the Somozas. However, his current vision of governing may include stacking the deck to make sure that he stays in power. Along the way, Ortega has alienated a lot of former Sandinistas, and now seems to be running a party of one. But it is a powerful party, and one that doesn't appear to to be losing any clout. But then again, neither did the Somozas.

US Air doesn't fly to Nicaragua, so I'll be making a quick stop in Costa Rica. I'll spend a day visiting a Tucson friend who happens to be there for a wedding at the same time. Then I'll hop on a bus, and meet Aimee in Managua, the earthquake-destroyed capital city. Can't wait.

M