images from Utah

Utah: an adventure after all!

I haven't written in quite awhile. I've been home, living in my parents house, for almost three months now and I am rapidly approaching my next Latin American adventure. I leave in a week and a half for New York, to see Haley and the BIG APPLE, and then Nicaragua a week after that. After buying my tickets the other day the upcoming change felt like a brick in my stomach... one that will take some time to digest. The weird thing is, the whole time I've been in Utah I've acted like it was a chore... a place to come to, rest for a bit, work and save money... not a place to really have fun in or live in.... and certainly not a place to forge new experiences. It turns out that I was immensely wrong. Utah is an amazing place. Between the desert in southern Utah and the high alpine Wasatch Mountains, the geography is diverse, gripping, and immeasurably soul cleansing. The dry crisp air fills me with hope, energy, and enthusiasm, and the friends that I still have here are of the most incredible stock. I've filled my days with working in a genetics lab run by David, a crazy hippie who celebrates and supports all people's lifestyles, my karate master of molecular biology Kazuzuyki, teaching me 'his way' in a wax on wax off fashion of pipetting, and rockclimbing with my tough as nails and inspiring as shit mountain friends. I feel warm and healthy from three months of good meals at home with my parents, and I feel rejuvenated from my emotional windstorm of a breakup with Izzy. My time here has been phenomenal, and it is with a taste of sadness that I prepare to leave, once again, on another adventure. More blogs are sure to come soon!

I'm home?

Back in the United States. Feelings? Queer. I feel both a stranger and at home here. I feel guilty, as though I have sinned by traveling and living abroad. The way that I think about the United States of Americ has changed during my travels. My patriotism has, in fact, crumbled. I've read books and had many conversations with Americans, Europeans, Latin Americas, etc, where it became blaringly obvious that the United States government, specifically the CIA, has performed atrocious acts and has become increasingly imperialistic. For example, during the Sandanista revolution the Reagan administration, declaring the Sanadnistas as communists, destroyed Nicaragua's oil mines and enacted a trade embargo, thus obliterating all monetary hopes of the new Nicaraguan goverment for economic sovereignty from the US. The Nicaraguan government, led at that time by the Sandanistas, were about to begin a national literacy program. Thousands of literate city dwellers attacked the rural villages wielding books, pencils, and paper. After about a year or two the money lost from the oil mines and trade embargo caused the Nicaraguans to withdraw all funds from the literacy program, and today approximately half the nation exists illiterate. Now, as I set foot upon American ground, I feel strange. I have been to a place where I no longer loved America, and I am struggling to reconcile my place as a citizen of the country with my place as a citizen of the world. With whom do my loyalties lie, I have been asking myself. And how can I live in the United States now?

Granada

large, this time. Volcano Mombacho is the background 

Ines' pottery project with the kids from Quinta los Chavales 

The lake cleanup project at Quinta Los Chavales, september 09

Nicaragua – The Barrios of Granada

Dirt roads twist out from the center of Granada creating a labyrinth of connected neighborhoods, or barrios. These neighborhoods are just like Forest Gump’s box of chocolates: from the outside most appear the same, while inside the differences are astonishing. Some of these homes are filled with dark wood interior, grand clocks and women lying on overstuffed armchairs reminiscent of colonial times, while other homes contain little other than a roof made of tin, a couple of walls, and a mixture of cement and hard packed dirt floor depending on the room. Not to say that all of the former are any better off; indeed, often just behind the first room of chairs the cement rooms begin, the walls plain and bare, the hanging laundry the only decoration.

But inside the people are all very similar. Toothless old ladies welcome me in to their homes and patiently speak slowly enough for me to understand and respond, mothers cuddle their children and offer me typical Nicaraguan food: rice, beans, chicken, and plantains being the main ingredients. Children tickle me and play with my hair, asking me questions about where I am from, how long I will be here, etc, bemoaning when I say I need to return to the United States in the coming weeks. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandchildren are constantly dropping in and out of family homes. They enter with information and smiles and receive warm welcomes all around.

Family is paramount in Nicaragua, truly in all of Latin America. In one house you can find three or four generations all living together peacefully (to my eyes, at least). The grandparents are respected and given places of honor in the household, while the daughters and mothers of the children are the daycare, the cooks, and the cleaners of the house. The men presumably work during the day at various jobs and seem to be the sole suppliers of income to many homes. Gender roles are rigid, although the younger generation (as usual) seems to have a slightly different outlook than the older. Many of the younger women want to work and/ or go to the university and speak passionately about their dreams for the future.

My Spanish teacher Jessica’s dream is to live in another country where she can make and save money, and send money back home to her mother. I asked her what country and she shrugged, saying: “I need to learn English first”. I presume the United States is near the top of her list of countries. My friend Suyen from Futbol Sin Fronteras will soon have a college education from the university in Managua, and dreams of landing a PR internship in Spain.  These two women have shown me that the future might contain change. With more women educating themselves through school, work, and travel, the economic future in Nicaragua might not be as bleak as the past. Vamos a ver. 

of words that can illuminate

Land as slim as a whip,

hot as torture,

your step in Honduras, your blood

in Santo Domingo, at night, 

your eyes in Nicaragua

touch me, call me, grip me,

and throughout American lands

I knock on doors to speak,

I tap on tongues that are tied,

I raise curtains, I plunge

my hands into blood:

O, sorrows

of my land, O death-rattle

of the great established silence,

O, long-suffering peoples,

O, slender waist of tears. 

-Neruda, Centro America 

Vientos del pueblo me llevan

Vientos del pueblo me arrastran 

Me esparcen mi corazon

Y me aventan la garganta 

(People's breaths, like wind, sweep me along

They scatter my heart, 

They fill my throat with voices)

-Miguel Hernandez 

And a poem that I came across, not for the first time, in the amazing Gioconda Belli's autobiography

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time

-T.S. Eliot

Estoy aprendiendo

I just finished perhaps the best book that I have ever read. Called 'The Country Under My Skin' by Gioconda Belli, I've been blown away, time and time again, in 380 pages. An autobiography about the Sandinista revolution in Nicaragua, this book clings to the very idealism that burns so deep in my own heart. The ideal that each and every person, when working in a community for a community, truly can change the world. The lust, passion and lyrical depictions found in this book have painted a picture of a revolutionary Nicaragua that teems of dust, sweat, tears, and blood... all to end a 50 year old tyranny in the hopes of a brighter future. 

Something peculiar is happening to me here in Nicaragua. When I first arrived I could barely stand the sight of this place. Everything either irritated me or depressed me. The macho whistling on the street, the trash lining the roads, the trash in the lake, the smell of the lake... all of it created a distinct taste that lurked in my mouth, as if I had tried something incredible disgusting and could not rid myself of the aftertaste. I had panic attacks here daily, and cried to my parents on skype frequently. I made an escape plan for myself. I would leave in a month and go back and work in the States. I would apply for graduate school. I would pretend that I had never left. I would pretend like this was all a bad dream and scurry back to my First World excessive comforts. No one would be the wiser, and indeed, no one would question me. 

During the weekends I started traveling all around the country, mostly to escape from Granada for a few precious days. I saw the colorful squares of Leon, and screamed in terror as a man hurled firecrackers into the crown during an annual celebration of a devastating volcanic eruption. I donned an orange jumpsuit and slid on a board down Cerro Negro, an imposing black volcano that still smoldered in its caldera. I flirted with the fierce tides of the Pacific Ocean and as I  breathed in the salty breeze that smelled to sweet but stung my eyes, I imagined that I was far, far away from Nicaragua. I dreamed that I was back in Hawaii or Oregon on pristine beachs where seven year old boys scrounding for food or selling shody crafts could not be found.  I lamented  the poverty I witnessed in Nicaragua, and I felt overwhelmed by it, confused how my own country could have so much money and this country have so little.  

One weekend I traveled to San Juan del Sur and basked in the sun during the day, and partied with travel buddies from Europe, South Africa, and the States in the evening. Another weekend I did the same with Ometepe, an island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua (also called Lago de Colibolca). During the weeks I was trudging through teaching Biology. My spanish was such that while I loved the kids I could not understand them when they asked questions, which pains me immensly because for me questions are the most important part of learning. My in inadequacies burned inside me, I felt trapped, frustrated, helpless. "What have I gotten myself into?" I was constantly wondering. 

I'm not sure when things changed, but I am sure that it had to do with my Spanish lessons. Donna, my supervisor here found an excellent discount for me for one on one tutoring lessons. Every morning for 11 days now I've gone at 9 in the morning for two hours of grammar, excersizes, and pronunciation. I've made two Nica friends, my teachers, and have started to get an insight into Nicaragua from a local perspective. One of my teachers asked me for english lessons. About my same age, it was a delight to meet secretly (students and teachers are not supposed to hang out outside of class) and mountain bike through long twisting barrios to her house.  

I've also become involved in Soccer without Borders, or Futbol sin Frontires. I helped teach english one night, and afterward a group of kids went into the street and we played pick up soccer late into the night. That night, in 90 degree weather, the sweat trickled down my skin, forging paths amid the thick Nicaraguan dust that has permanently settled upon my body. 

More updates to come, im sure!  overandout

the mosquitos sure do love my legs

Ive been here almost two weeks, without a single blog post. I figure it's time. 

Granada. A city of color. Vibrantly painted buildings line the streets: the greens, blues, canary yellows and reds shout out across the street to anyone who will listen. They crowd together, almost atop one another, competing for who can be the loudest, who can be the brightest, and whose very brilliance can intimidate mosquitoes the best. Mango trees tower overhead, slowly dropping heavy orange fruit to the earth, while birds, hundreds of varieties of birds, screech, yes, screech away any chance for peaceful silence. Nearby latino music is always blaring from a half broken sound system, the crackles and pops as much a part of the music as the guitars. 

Every house here has an open center to it, a garden where green folliage explodes from the earth and soaks up the torrential rain every afternoon. The tops of palm trees and ferns tickle and begin to explore the red brick rooftops, poking their ears up to listen for a breeze to join in chorus with. In some houses a tv whispers out more latino music, and the streets are lined with idle kids throwing baseballs and riding bicycles.  

The way to ride a bicycle is different here. Hardly anyone is on a bicycle alone, and the combinations are endless. Two friends will ride with one sitting on the bar and the other on the seat pedaling and steering. A man will ride with his wife or girlfriend on the bar, and it is common to see a baby bouncing along in front of her. The streets here are mostly cobblestone, with the occasional paved experiment. Potholes riddle the streets like a bad tooth, and driving, or riding a bike, is certainly an obstacle course game. 

The smell of burning trash drifts over into my guesthouse from time to time, mosquitos hum in my ears and pierce my skin, and the overall state of my body is hot and sweaty. Its about 85-95 degrees here, always, and the humidity is on the side of a sauna. It is August in Central America, and that means the rainy season. When it rains here the dirt roads that line and explode out from the city forming the barrios, or ghettos, become muddy rivers, and animals take cover under shack housing. The sky thunders down, literally shaking the earth, and tourists are advised to never go outside during the downfall. Gangs see a travelor on a deserted street as easy prey for robbing. 

The school that I am working at is adorable. In Granada there are too many kids and not enough teachers or school buildings, so each child is in class for half of each day, either in the morning or the afternoon. The organization that I'm working for has created two small schools, or escuelitas, where children can come during the other half of the day that they are not in public school and get help with their homework, or study new topics. I'm the biology teacher, and will be teaching whatever biology I can during the afternoons at one of the schools. My first lesson was about animals, both those in Granada and those exiticos, or outside Granada and Nicaragua. My spanish needs some help, so I am dedicating myself to the language in the mornings.  So far, I'm loving it here, and am excited about the future lessons and the approaching comprehension of the spanish language. 

Hitting the red dirt hill, mile 11, the beginning of the kalalau valley!

the flight in

to continue on my last post... 

After years of wanting a grand adventure, I stepped on a plane headed to Hawaii. Jenna and I were meeting a friend of ours, Lennon, who lives on Oahu. As the great expanse of blue green Pacific ocean rolled underneath my plane, I began to think of change... of the ending of my life in Portland, to new beginnings all over the world. My tendency to reminisce passed over me like a storm cloud, hovering for a moment, then wisping by, leaving only anticipation and wide eyed eagerness for the new places and people that I would inevitably see and meet. After 5 hours of flight from LAX, an eruption of impressive mountains tumbled out of the ocean, reaching up to the sky and beyond, defining 8 large islands, all with a style of their own.  As we swung down low over Pearl Harbor, the captain shouted out "aloha and welcome to Oahu", and thus my adventures began. 

part one: Hawaii

After packing up my life in Portland, Oregon, I moved it all to Utah (thanks Mom!) and then set out for the great Hawaiian Islands!