Mother’s Day: A Digression

Because “digressions, incontestably, are the sunshine; – they are the life, the soul of reading” (Laurence Sterne). 

Living in Nicaragua has provided me with many interesting and fun experiences, but one thing that I have not talked about is what this year has taught me. I am twenty four years old, and several people have commented that I am confident, composed, and have a healthy ego and self-esteem for someone my age. I know what I am capable of, and I am not afraid to challenge myself. Being these things has helped me this year, and being here has made them stronger. As Mother’s Day approaches, I have truly begun to realise just how much I owe all of these strengths to my mother.

My mother is a strong, assured, confident woman who has been through her share of battles and upheavals (I should know, I caused some of them), and come through it all with pragmatism, selflessness, and a sense of humour. Many Canadian parents put their children through piano lessons, but my mother taught me herself, and didn’t let me stop learning even when the drama between us made her seem like the WORST MOM IN THE WORLD to ten year old me. When I sat down at my friend’s keyboard a few days ago and played a Chopin piece, I couldn’t help but feel grateful, and remember those days when I would dance on my rollerblades to my mom playing a grande waltz brillante. Even though being required to learn an instrument may have seemed like a terrible injustice, I was also being taught how happy music can make me. This is the root of so much self-discipline.

She, with my father, provided me with the greatest childhood a person could ask for. They’re adventurous, determined, and realistic parents, who made sure their children were exposed to many perspectives, experiences, and worldly subjects. My father is a scientist/teacher, and my mother is a musician/teacher. I grew up surrounded by literature, Gray’s Anatomy, musical instruments, microscopes, and real, interesting conversation. I cannot stress the importance of that last one enough. We traveled across Canada in a tent trailer and a van with no air conditioning in July, and trained across Europe, learning that quality luggage is worth the price when you’re rattling along cobblestone streets for three weeks. These things made me curious, and willing to try things for the sake of knowledge and self-improvement.

Some lessons are learned in gentle, story-book fashion, but the best lessons are the harder, simpler or decidedly not glamorous ones. She has taught me patience, persistence, and practicality (remember when we had to saw the padlock off the trailer in the pouring rain because we had put it on backwards? Or when we gleefully played Wizard on our open hands because we didn’t have a table on those long train rides?), personal and financial responsibility (don’t buy things on credit if you don’t have the cash, kids), and tolerance and inter-personal insight (teaching and talking about the experience is a great way to introduce a person to the wide variety of cultures, neuroses, and beliefs that are out there). I learned to try to take discomfort or inconvenience in stride or to see the fun in it. I learned the value or money and how to balance security and comfort. I learned about the many and often mystifying ways that people learn, and the way that children (and adults) view their world and the people around them.

I have had an incredibly privileged childhood (and young adulthood), and I am incredibly grateful for and awed by my mother’s strength, wisdom, support, and darn good parenting skills. I can only hope that someday I can be as inspiring a mom. No matter how bad things get, how challenging or pointless or slow or frustrating or confusing or bafflingly Nica a situation may feel, I know I can learn something from it, and become a better person from it, because that’s what my mom told me with her words, showed me with her strength, and taught me with her love and personality. I hope you are proud, mom, not of me, but of you, because you made me, and continue to make me, me.

Semana Santa, or The Final Installment (Part III)

We stayed in Granada most of the next day. We started with French toast and coffee at Art Cafe, then made our way down to the beach. A taxi took us as far as he could, and then we were on foot. It was exciting to be surrounded by so many happy, partying people. There were very, very few gringos. The beach was crawling with people just relaxing, cooking meals, playing soccer, and swimming. Ocassionally a couple cows would walk by us, or a horse. We were trying to find an economically suitable option for kayaking Las Isletas, after having turned down a tour option in town. It turned out that the tour was cheapest option we could find, so we never did end up kayaking. Instead, we took the less environmentally sound vehicle: a motorboat. This was my third time in Las Isletas, but it was still nice to relax and be away from the crowds.

The beach in Granada

Momobacho seen from las isletas

It is, essentially, a real estate tour. The guide told us who lived where and how wealthy they are, and which properties were for sale. We also saw an old 15th century Spanish fort that used to protect Granada from pirate raids. The highlight of the trip, however, is the monkeys. There is an island with some relocated spider monkeys on it. The island is tiny (it is, after all, an “isleta”), and the 4 monkeys have one tree in which to cavort and fail to maintain distance from tourists. It´s a little sad for the monkeys (so unatural), but awesome for the boaters. We got some great pictures. Kelly tried to feed a monkey some mango. It took it right out of her hand, but immediately threw it into the water upon finding out that it was mango and not some delicious junk food. According to our guide, the monkeys are notoriously spoiled.

Post-Isletas, we walked back along the beach and went to Terraza La Playa for some guapote (a fish from Lake Nicaragua). It is one of my favourite meals in Nicaragua. Guapote and churrasco probably tie for first place, for Nica food. I will miss these foods when I return to Canada. Anyway, Kelly fell in love with the guapote, as I predicted. A quick wiki search reveals that guapote is a cichlid, it is native to Central America, and is named after Managua (Parachromis managuensis)! It is tough, predatory fish: it likes eutrophic, hot, alkaline waters, and will eat anything. They are delicious, and traditionally eaten with rice, tomato, onion, lime, and a salad. I posted a picture of this dish on my Ometepe post.

Fish demolished, we checked out of Granada and stopped at Laguna de Apoyo on the way home. The laguna was very brown and hazy, in contrast to the green, cloud shrouded hills that greeted us the first time I was there in August (or September?). The bus dropped us off at the road leading to Apoyo, and we got a taxi to take us the rest of the way, to Monkey Hut. Monkey Hut is probably the most popular hotel on the Laguna, and they offer a day pass, which includes the use of their kayaks. One of my favourite things about Monket Hut was that they run a tab for you, and you just pay when you leave. We went for a swim, then nabbed a couple kayaks as soon as we could. It was very busy, and the kayaks were popular, so we were lucky to get a chance. We paddled around until we couldn´t handle the pressure of knowing we hadn´t sunscreened in several hours. We returned to the shade, got some Toñas, and read for a while, before we went out to the road to get a bus.

Ah, buses. This was my first experience with one of the cattle-transporter type trucks. We crammed onto the back of a large truck that was carrying lots of Semana Santa partyers. A good number of them were drunk. One was so drunk he was passed out at my feet and threw up all over himself. I maintained my distance as much as possible and remained unsullied. We had been told that we would be dropped off at the road. That didn´t happen. They told us to get off and that we would have to walk a little ways to the highway. We paid the exorbitant sum of C$20 and disembarked. We started walking. It was nice, the sun was setting, but we were also tired. We kept walking. Eventually we asked someone about the distance, and were told it was 4km. Agh. We got on the next bus that went by – another very happy bus – and they took us to the highway. On the highway, we waited for a bus to Managua with a couple of boys, one of whom spoke English. we chatted for a while, until we realised that every bus that was going by was packed and not going to stop. We waited hopefully for almost an hour, getting increasingly worried. The sun was rapidly disappearing, and I did NOT want to be stranded on the side of Carratera a Masaya in the dark. Kelly and I resolved to try for a taxi to Masaya, and try to get a bus in Masaya to Managua. Eventually we got one, and he offered to take us all the way to Managua for C$100 each! Wooo! Relief all around. We left the boys waiting for a bus, and I hope they made out okay.

After a short detour in Masaya (not sure what we were doing there), we went home. On the way into Managua, Momotombo was brilliantly silhouetted against the setting sun. When the taxi dropped us off, he told us that he was actually the mayor. I was a little confused for a moment. Then he pulled out his ID, which clearly stated “mayor”, but I didn´t catch the city name. I´m still confused. Was he moonlighting as a taxi driver for fun? Is that why he charged so little? We got some food at a Casa del Cafe, and walked the rest of the way home. It felt great to be home after that particular adventure.

The next morning, we took a taxi to Mercado Mayoreo, where we got a bus to Esteli. When we arrived, we immediately took a taxi (C$20) to Luz y Luna Hostel. We got a GREAT room in behind Cafe Luz (US$25/night). It was huge and cool, with two beds, private bathroom, fans, and cozy blankets. It felt great to appreciate the presence of blankets once again. Similarly, every once in a while I miss the feel of carpet beneath my feet. Even putting on socks is sometimes nice. Anyway, we got some food at the Cafe, then inquired about the Salto Estanzuela (the waterfall that we failed to find the last time we hiked through Tisey).

We were instructed to take a bus, which was leaving in 30 minutes, so that is exactly what we did.

The bus through Tisey Reserve

We made sure the bus driver knew where we were going so we wouldn´t miss it. After a pleasant but very bumpy 45 minute ride (ish), we were dropped off. The bus goes off the main highway right beside the hospital in Esteli, then continues on that road for about 5 kilometers. So, one could ostensibly walk to the salto. We had to walk a little bit further to get to the waterfall anyway, from where the bus dropped us. The waterfall itself was beautiful.

El Salto Estanzuela

It was bigger than I though it would be, and dropped into a gorgeous pool where a few people were swimming. You could stand right under the falling water. Kelly and I dipped out feet in from the rocks and fiercely entertained the temptation to jump in sans bathing suits, since we hadn´t brought them. We didn´t though. Rather, we lived vicariously through the boys that were swimming in front of us. We relaxed, took pictures, walked around a bit, then went back up to the main road. The bus had left Esteli at 1:30pm, and would pass by the salto at 4pm, going back. By this time it was about 3:30, so we decided to walk back toward the town and enjoy the views. I´m so glad we did, because the views were pretty spectacular. The road was very rocky, and I did not have appropriate footwear, so my feet got a bit sore after a while. I was a little disappointed when the bus passed us and didn´t wait to see if we wanted a ride, and then very relieved when we made it to the road. Still worth it though.

Walking back into town

Post-showers, we went food hunting. We wanted steak. Pullasos Ole is a fancy-looking place, but I wasn´t very impressed with their menu, so we went to another place (I can´t remember the name of the place!). If you´re looking for good Nicaraguan churrasco, I recommend El Zaguan, in Granada, Porterhouse (Managua), or the best and most expensive: Los Ranchos (Managua). We spent an hour or so afterwards trying to find a place that would serve a macua (national Nicaraguan drink), to no avail.

Kelly decided she didn´t want to go to the canyon, we we just toured Esteli the next day. We checked out some murals, did some shopping, looked at leather boots, graded some papers (it never ends), drank a LOT of coffee (it´s unlimited if you stay at Luna), and finally had some Nica food at El Zaguan de Doña Milagros: salpicon de carne with semilla de jicaro! Salpicon is a shredded meat affair with lime juice, and semilla (translation, seed) de jicaro is a drink made with ground jicaro (a fruit) seeds in milk. It´s like a milkshake, but with a very unique but not unpleasant taste and texture. We headed back to Managua and Kelly packed up to leave the next day. I called one of my taxi friends to pick her up at 5am. Thus ended my Semana Santa. It was a hectic, not very relaxing week, and although I loved having Kelly around, I was also glad to get back to my routine.

With only a couple months left, I´ve started my countdown in earnest. I have a few weekend trips left, including a return, hopefully, to Miraflor.

Semana Santa, or Bussing Around Nicaragua Like Crazy (Part II)

Kelly (my other Canadian friend, passport intact) and I arrived in Granada. We checked into a cute little new hostel called Entre Amigos, then explored Granada. We also got some drinks at an interesting cafe called Sonrisas, where a large proportion of the staff are deaf. It took me a while to figure this out, embarrassingly, and there were helpful sign language signs all over the place. We did the city tour, including a climb up one of the cathedrals, where we got some nice pictures.

We walked down to the water, got a coconut from the people with the two parakeets, and walked back, where we scouted out a dinner place. Since I had missed celebrating St. Patrick’s Day (climbing Momotombo), Kelly and I went to an Irish restaurant in Granada called O’Shea’s, where we ate shepherd’s pie (with cheese on top!!), stew, and Guiness. It was a good night, with a beautiful sunset.

I witnessed a fascinating Semana Santa ritual that night – a procession of Jesus and the Virgin Mary through the streets. It was very strange to my Canadian eyes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4wqVV87avxk&feature=youtu.be

The next day, we left early. The plan was to go home quickly to drop Kelly’s delicious cacao liquor from Granada’s chocolate museum off at my house, then catch a bus from UCA to Leon. It was a crazy day. We left Granada, arrived in Managua, got to my house, dropped off dirty clothes and alcohol, then went right back out the door after 5 minutes and went to Leon. We had to wait at UCA for a while because (Semana Santa) so many people were travelling. We got to Leon in good time though; just enough time to revisit Pan y Paz and get to Tierra Tours for our trip to Cerror Negro. That’s right, I finally did it. Kelly convinced me to go volcano boarding. With Tierra, we were only a group of about 8 people, all foreigners. The climb up only took about 45 minutes, but the wind was insane, and we were carrying boards, which kept getting caught in the wind. If we weren’t careful, we could have been blown off the side of the volcano. It looked a lot like Momotombo – black and suphury.

Cerro Negro

At the top, we took lots of pictures and tried to stay on our feet. Then we suited up (full body suits with knee pads, elbow pads, and goggles). I happened to be closest to the edge, so I went first. I put my board down, sat on it, and… nothing happened. I had to really push to get going, and even then, I must have been doing something wrong because I made my way slowly down that volcano. It was cool though. When I got to the bottom, I watched everyone else come down – much faster than I had. Apparently it’s all about how you angle the front of the board. Some of the people coming down clocked in at 70kph! I think I maybe managed 25.

That same day, we went all the way back to Managua in a shuttle from Tierra. Pricey (about $20 each, I think), but a great way to get home. It’s money that we would have spent on a hostel, anyway. We were dropped off at Galerias, the local swanky mall, where we got some food (Rosti Pollos), and a VIP movie (G.I. Joe), which entertained me far more than I had anticipated.

The next morning we went back to Granada and relatively promptly caught a shuttle to Poste Rojo – a treehouse hostel on the side of Mombacho. We really did spend a lot of time in buses…

Note on the shuttle: it was a truck with a cage over the bed so it could carry 20 20-somethings up a volcano.

Note on my friend Kelly: a 5’9”-ish blonde Dutch woman who makes me look like a local. Sometimes Kelly felt uncomfortable with how much she stood out. On one of the buses there were two young boys sitting in front of us who would occasionally turn around to stare at our freakish chela faces. It was a little disconcerting, but also a little cute.

Poste Rojo is remote, quaint, and relaxing. There are more hammocks than chairs. People are there to party because there’s not much else to do there, so Kelly and I only stayed one night. While there, we managed to find the canopy tour zip line ($27 per person, but it consists of several kilometers of cable, and we had fun with the guides who got us to zip along with our arms outstretched – it feels like flying – and upside down – it feels really uncomfortable). We also saw howler monkeys in a tree when we got back to the bottom. The walk there from Poste Rojo was a couple kilometers, but it was a nice walk, and on the way back we a group of locals playing football in a very dusty field.

The first thing Kelly and I did was find the canopy tour zip line. It was a couple kilometers´walk down the main road. It was pricey ($27 per person) but so much fun. There were several kilometers worth of cable, and the guides got us to go upside down (not wonderful), and with our arms outstretched like we were flying (it felt amazing). Finally, we ended the outing with a howler monkey viewing (too far to get good pictures).

Also staying at Poste Rojo was a group of young expats who live in Leon. We chatted that night, and collectively decided that we wanted to find this place called Aguas Agrias the next day. It took all morning to figure that one out. The hostel advertised it, but nobody seemed to know anything about it. We ended up asking the guard, who arranged for a couple of caponera drivers to take the 8 of us. We got cozy, 4 to a caponera, and took off. It took about an hour to get there, on rough dirt roads, but with great views of Mombacho along the way.

The Aguas Agrias itself was gorgeous. We were so glad we had put the effort into getting there. It’s clearly not a tourist hotspot, but it was crawling with locals. Since it was Semana Santa, I would guess that it’s not normally as crowded as it was that day. It’s a spring-fed little river at the base of Mombacho that’s an oasis of green in the middle of the dry season in Nicaragua. It was lush and watery and very paradisiacal. We swam, read, walked around, and took pictures.

 

We rallied our caponera drivers and headed back towards Poste Rojo. Because it was Semana Santa, the buses weren´t running as frequently, as to get back to Granada, Kelly and I had resloved to hitch a ride or hope for a bus. Instead, our caponera took as all the way. We were probably sitting in that thing for about an hour and a half. When we got to Granada, we had difficulty finding a hostel. Semana Santa strikes again. We checked out about 4 different hostels before we finally found one that only had two beds available. We snatched them up but quickly offered one of the beds to another girl who arrived minutes after we did. That night we got pizza and went straight to bed. The hostel we stayed at was called Casita, and despite being lucky to have a bed, I wouldn´t stay there again. Every hostel hosts the occasional inappropriately aged hostel visitor, but this one had more than its fair share, and it´s not a comfortable atmosphere. We only stayed one night so it was okay.

TBC

 

Semana Santa or, How to Replace a Stolen Passport (Part I)

It was a travel-ful Easter week here in Nicaragua. With a whole week off and friends visiting from Canada, we took off for the tourist hotspots and found some less touristy things along the way. The first stop was Selva Negra again, which was just as lovely as the first time I went, but we didn’t get lost in the woods, so we did manage to get a horseride in.

Horses in Selva Negra

Me, climbing a tree (Ficus tree?) in Selva Negra

On the way from Selva Negra to Leon, one of my companions had her pack sanctity violated. Her passport, bank cards, and $200 cash was stolen. We discovered this when we arrived at our hostel in Leon (Via Via, which was nice enough, but rather tainted by our unfortunate discovery). We arrived in Leon as the sun was setting, and we took a bike-propelled caponera to Pan y Paz, the greatest bakery in Nicaragua. We enjoyed croissants and fresh juice before we checked into the hostel. So, passport stolen and only a few days before my friend’s scheduled departure, we got down to the unpleasant business of Getting Important Documents. First, we cancelled cards. Second, we went to the police station to get an official police report that would help us get a new passport.

The police station in Leon was an experience. We had to ask for directions several times, and even when we were standing right in front of it, we weren’t completely sure about where it was. It’s set back from the street with very little signage, and generally elicits feelings of discomfort for those lucky enough to need the place. Nevertheless, we were appropriately and efficiently directed to an officer who actually helped us. This is less surprising once I mention that there were only about three people visibly present at this office, but it felt like a triumph. We explained the situation to the officer, who promptly pulled out a typewriter. If I had been less distracted at the time, I would have asked if I could take a picture of the contraption. Despite some awkward language barrier moments, we got the police report (and we didn’t have to pay anyone!!) and headed back to Managua.

We relaxed that evening, and took a taxi the next morning to the consulate in Barrio Bolonia, very close to the Ticabus terminal. We received about 10 forms to fill out for an emergency passport application, and thankfully my friend had a copy of her passport, so it was easy to fill out most of the forms. Note to travellers: photocopy your passport and keep it somewhere safe. The one major hurdle we had was finding guarantors. This involved multiple phone calls and emails. My friend’s mom scanned and emailed copies of other pieces of ID from home. We went to a photo place a few blocks away to get passport photos taken. She needed to pay for all of this, so she borrowed money from me; but we needed cash, so we went on an ATM-finding mission. It was a walking-intensive operation and took from 9:00am to about 1:30pm.

Huellas (footprints) of Acauhalinca

That afternoon, we checked out the footprints in Acahualinca, near the lake. These footprints are 6000 years old. It was kind of cool to see, and reminded me of the body casts from Pompeii. Post-footprints, we went shopping at Plaza Inter, walked to a Pali supermarket for Gatorade and toilet paper, and went home.

At home, we discovered that the consulate had been trying to contact us all afternoon. Apparently, they needed a letter explaining that, even though she was flying into the US, she would be quickly thereafter cross the border into Canada. We spent a while writing the letter, taking a picture of it, and converting the JPG into a PDF file. This was not the end of the saga, however.

The next morning, we dropped our departing friend off at Managua Hills to relax before her flight the next morning. We could only hope that the consulate would pull through in time. My other friend and I went to Granada. On the way there, I received a call from the consulate saying that she would need to go to immigration to get a visa for her new passport. This meant that she would have to pick up her passport (which was ready) and get to immigration before 3pm (a new closing time – used to be noon). Everything went relatively smoothly, passport and visa were obtained, and my friend made it home safe but not in love with Nicaragua.

Weekends with Visitors!

Wow, it has been amazing to have people visit us here in sleepy Managua. Amy had two friends visit, and I have one friend here now, and another arriving tomorrow. We have returned to several favourite haunts, and a couple new ones too. We finally made it to another beach, at Las Peñitas, which is just outside of Leon. I liked it better than Pochomil. We stayed at a hostel called The Lazy Turtle, run by a lovely Canadian couple. They made some great cocktails (Val’s Sunset!) and Mexican food. It was great to just hang out, play games (Cards Against Humanity), lounge on the beach with a bottle of Flor de Caña, and tour Isla Juan Venado. We also spent a morning in Leon and went up to the top of the cathedral to see the view and take pictures. We also returned to that hallowed ground, Cafe Pan y Paz. It’s a French bakery in Leon that makes the most wonderful sandwiches. I had a salami and veggie on a fresh croissant.

Las Penitas

 

 

 

 

The top of the cathedral in Leon

 

The next weekend, we hit up San Juan del Sur for some partying, and checked out another beach – Playa Marsella. It was great to relax for a few hours on the beach doing absolutely nothing, and I explored the rocks a bit and saw lots of crabs, barnacles, snails, and anemones (?).

Sunset on the beach at SJDS

Anemones (?) at Playa Marsella

 

Mundane Managua

Today was a long, tiring, but normal day. As I was walking from one job to another, I realised that I should probably say something here about daily life in Managua.

Work

After I left my first school, my job search allowed me to explore the world of private education in Managua. Within a couple of weeks of unemployment, I had distributed my resume to several prominent schools (Notre Dame – an IB school, Lincoln Academy, Saint Dominic, Marie et Pierre Curie, Montessori). By the power of Managua’s insane social interconnectedness, I ended up with an interview for a tutoring centre. One hour later, I was tutoring. I loved tutoring. These kids were in grades 1 to 8, and they were much better for me to tutor than high school students were for me to teach in a classroom. There were several students there that were interested in learning, and we would get distracted from the actual homework they had to do, and would talk about origami, particle physics, and lizards that shoot blood out of their eyes. We would have a great time, and I like to think that we all learned something. Unfortunately, it was only part time, so I was constantly on the lookout for a more practical situation.

I met a teacher at another elementary-high school at a social function, and once again, quickly ended up with an interview and a job as a substitute teacher. Unfortunately, it was only a one-time thing, so I was sent out into the job-hunt world once more. Another tutor at the tutoring centre was a student at a university and mentioned to me that her school was looking for a new English teacher. So I dropped off my resume there, and also to a few other universities. Finally, I managed to hook a real job teaching English. The university has been pretty great. I love it because the students are somewhat more mature, no parents are involved, and I only have to teach my classes, then I can leave. It doesn’t pay very much (about $10 an hour), but it also doesn’t cost much to live here.

Food

Speaking of the cost of living, food doesn’t have to cost too much, but it can also be more expensive than it is in Canada. It really depends on where and what you buy. The multitudes of people selling fruit on the side of the roads sell cheap. I can buy a watermelon, a bag of mangoes, or a large bunch of bananas for about a dollar. There are also conveniently abundant fritangas: street-side fire-in -a-can setups with delicious fried foods sizzling above the flames. These are cheap but tremendously unhealthy. The Nicaraguan people love their fried tortillas with enough cheese and salt to satisfy the recommended daily intake and then some. These lovely foods include buñuelos (yucca and cheese fried with sugar and soaked in honey syrup – amazing), quesillo (tortilla with cheese, runny sour cream, and fried onions – not my thing, but go to Nagarote or La Paz Centro for the best), various meats, and gallo pinto.

However, the supermarkets are different. Big bags of beans and rice to make gallo pinto are cheap. The prospect of soaking and cooking and frying beans and rice every day does not appeal to me though. And as a Canadian, there are certain foods that I would just rather eat. Such as apples, cereal, yogurt, chicken, salads, and mac and cheese. I learned a hard lesson my first few forays into La Colonia: if it’s not sold on the street and produced within a 4 hour drive, it’s going to be expensive. Apples are about a dollar a piece, and imported cheese (i.e. not the dry, tasteless but of course very salty cuajada or queso seco) costs even more than it does in Ontario. Grapes are also very expensive, and berries just don’t happen here, unless they’re frozen (and US$10 a bag). Ah, what I wouldn’t give for a nice, fresh peach, too. Or plum, nectarine, Florida orange, honeydew, or cherries! Even though the papaya, watermelon, and pineapples are ubiquitous, I can only eat so much. Even the mangoes and jocote are only available when they’re in season. They’re in season now, and I have to avoid stepping on the fallen mangoes at school. Nicaraguans make wonderful juices out of their fruit – even the fruits that aren’t so great to eat on their own. I’ve had juice made with tamarind, orange, pineapple, passionfruit (maracuya or calala), dragonfruit (pitaya), starfruit (melocoton), oatmeal, rice, mango, watermelon, and hibiscus and I’m probably missing lots.

Banking

This is probably not very interesting to people just visiting. Although I will say, Visa is accepted pretty much everywhere, and you can withdraw US dollars or Cordobas from ATMs. I’m used to banks that are rarely visited. I go to the bank in Canada if I have to get a new debit card or open a new account. That’s about it – special occasions only. Here, I have to go to the bank to pay rent and deposit cheques. This wouldn’t be such a terrible thing if going to the bank only took 2 minutes like it does in Canada. I generally budget about an hour to deposit a cheque from work, as I did today. Everyone is paid on the same day, so everyone flocks to the bank on the same day too. Even on a non-payday, the line is huge and slow. Everything takes longer in Nicaragua, I get that, and I have accepted it in almost every way. The bank ordeal is still a difficult one for me.

Transportation

Amy caved, as I mentioned before, and is currently renting a car. It’s certainly not cheap, but the convenience is probably worth it. I, on the other hand, can’t afford such a luxury. I use taxis and buses and caponeras. I’ve had good luck with all three, in that I haven’t been harmed or robbed, and it’s marvellously inexpensive. To get from my house to school, I walk to the main highway, catch a bus part way(C$5), and get a taxi the rest of the way (C$45). On the way home, I walk back to the bus stop (I have more time after work for walking, though less energy), catch a bus (C$5), and then take a caponera (because I am exhausted by this point, and probably carrying groceries) to my house (C$20). The caponeras are tiny little three-wheeled taxis with no doors, most of them are red, and they will take me places for far less money than a taxi will accept. They also love to blast reggaeton from speakers so considerately placed directly behind my head. They’re feisty drivers that annoy the full-sized vehicle drivers, but they’re very appreciated by the people who hire them. 

Day Trip to the Beach at Pochomil

Tito’s, in Pochomil. Owned by a French Canadian couple. While I was there, there was a family from Quebec staying there. They had driven from Quebec, across Canada, and down the west coast of the US and Mexico into Central America in a renovated school bus. They had sold their house to take a 1 year trip through the Americas. Very cool family. They have a blog at exploraventure.com (French language).

 

Estelí and Tisey

Amy’s Tegucigalpa brother, Luke, came to visit us in Managua for a long weekend, so Luke, Christine, Amy, and I decided to go to Estelí. We drove in Amy’s new rental car, and stayed at the same hostel we stayed at the first time we went to Somoto: Luna. We listened to Sugarland the whole way, to Luke and Christine’s dismay, while I tried to grade papers. We stopped in Sebaco for cokes. We had lunch at Cafe Luz, then spent the day walking around the city taking pictures of the famous murals. Amy bought some leather boots.

We went back for a late afternoon siesta (we were tired and it was surprisingly hot for the city), then went to a great Cuban restaurant for dinner called Los Cubanitos. Best mojitos ever. From there, we took a taxi out to one of Estelí’s dance clubs, Semáforo. The other one is called Cigar Zone, but Semáforo is an older crowd, and a little less flashy. More our kind of scene. We got some Toñas and listened to the live music and tried to shout out conversations across the table. A lot of people were dancing, but we weren’t feeling it, so we left pretty early and stood on the side of the highway to catch a taxi.

 

At Semaforo

The next day we had a slow start: a leisurely breakfast with our Kindles. (Nothing says post-college and over it like 4 people at a table looking at 4 identical Kindles.) My favourite kind of morning. We packed up our bags and started back in the direction of Managua, but pulled off a side road pretty quickly because we wanted to go for a hike in Reserva Tisey. The road got quite rough quickly, and we didn’t want to have to change a tire, so that was our signal to start walking. We wanted to find the Estanzuela waterfall. We walked and walked and relieved ourselves on the side of the road and walked and walked and draped ourselves with towels and shirts to keep the sun off our delicate chela skin. And walked and walked. We eventually realised that we had a problem. There were no signs for the waterfall, and we had been walking too long. It was like a dry, slightly shorter, less painful and exhausting lost-in-Selva Negra experience. Later, we guessed that we had probably taken the wrong entrance into the park. But it really didn’t matter, because it was a beautiful walk, and since it was the dry season, the waterfall probably wasn’t that wonderful anyway. We got some great pictures.

 

Tisey view

Before we decided to walk back to the car, we turned off the main road to go up to a little farm that served lunch. It was very quiet when we got there and the restaurant not well marked, but it turned out to be an excellent decision. We had platos tipicos with tortilla (Amy loved them so much she took the tortillas our neighbours didn’t eat), chicken, rice, and beer. Then we walked back. And drove all the way home. It was an excellent weekend, and further solidified my love for Estelí and the north.

Reserva Natural de Miraflor

I highly recommend a trip to Miraflor if you like remote, untouristy paradises. It’s about an hour outside of Estelí, and it’s Estelí’s answer to Matagalpa’s Selva Negra. Selva Negra is a German cloud forest resort that now puts Amy and I in mind of the resort in Dirty Dancing. It’s a family-friendly, service-centred establishment (except for the atrocious trail markings). Miraflor feels more Nicaraguan, the views are more spectacular, and it’s not congested with tourist families and backpackers. Rather, it’s a rural region that accommodates farms and more than one place for visitors to stay. Amy, Christine, and I went in January. We knew that it would be cooler than Managua, but we were not prepared for the mighty temperature plunge that happened at night.

We drove in Christine’s truck to Estelí (stopped at La Casita for lunch) and drove the extra hour on rough dirt roads up into Miraflor. We passed through some of the strangest landscape I’ve ever seen, I was waiting to see the lush green of a cloud forest, but for most of the hour we drove through arid dusty farmland with huge cacti and skeletal trees covered in ghostly gray mosses.

The road to Miraflor

Suddenly: cloud forest, and our hotel, Finca Neblina del Bosque. Like so many other places I’ve stayed, we warmly greeted by the owner and his dog, and were seated at a table with fresh hot coffee. We stayed in the cutest little bamboo cabin that, in some inexplicable way, reminded me very much of my grandmother’s house in Canada. The entire reserve felt more Canadian than any other place in Nicaragua. Its Canadian-ness was largely provided by the cold.

Finca Neblina del Bosque

View from the porch

Miraflor got chilly. And I’m pretty sure I don’t say this with a pansy acclimatized attitude. We could see our breath. Our extremities were cold to the touch. We relished the change. The cold means that the vegetation felt more familiar too. There were hydrangeas everywhere, as well as sunflowers and pine trees. Also bananas, but I’ll take what I can get. We had a little porch on our cabin with a bamboo swing, a great view, and a hummingbird feeder that attracted and fueled the most obnoxious little birds. They seemed to have no fear of us and would whip by our heads with alarming speed and proximity.

Hummingbirds on the porch

We walked to a picturesque waterfall the first day, and when the sun was out it actually felt hot. The people we saw along the way were very friendly, and one little girl led us off the road to the waterfall. To get there, we crossed a little stream on some planks of wood, with a rope stretched across above it to help us balance, On the other side (and walking along underneath the bridge), was the biggest procession of leaf cutter ants I’ve seen outside of the Montreal botanical garden. They’re everywhere in Nicaragua, but not in such orderly numbers.

Bridge to the waterfall

Leaf-cutter ants!

Me and our little pink guide at top right

When we got back, I took a blessedly warm shower. It was starting to get cool. We sat down for some homemade dinner and a bottle of wine that Christine had brought along with her from Managua. We were feeling colder by the minute, and I estimate the temperature got down somewhere around 12˚C. But we were drinking, happy, exhilarated, and after dinner, we sang along to 80s pop music. We were probably audible for a long distance, but we didn’t care.

We went to bed at 8:00pm, after commandeering extra blankets from another cabin. By this time the clouds had rolled in, and I could barely see the main building from our cabin. The next morning we were up early, and the clouds were still heavy all around us. We had breakfast, then hopped into some saddles to explore further afield. When we asked to go riding, I had assumed it would be about an hour, maybe an hour and a half. But no, our guide asked us if we wanted 3 hours or 4 hours. Not thinking too much about it, but panicking slightly, we asked to be back in 3 hours. Off we went. I braced myself for soreness. Sure enough, walking was a bit of an ordeal for several hours after we got back, but it was totally worth it. We didn’t leave the main road much, but it was nice to be with animals and just enjoy the country. And get some great photos.

When we got back, we packed up, ate some lunch, and started our trip back home. The drive between Managua and Estelí is starting to feel familiar. We stopped for some Eskimo in Estelí on the way, and the rest of the trip was quiet and uneventful. I did manage to get a blurry shot of the Rotunda la Virgen in Managua though.

 

Rotunda la Virgen, Managua

 

Braving Immigration for a New Visa

When I first arrived in Nicaragua, I applied for a 1 year residency visa. This involved some serious resource and time investments. In Canada, I had to have a police check, birth certificate, and health check notarized, and then authenticated in Washington DC at the Nicaragua Consulate. Everything needed pre-paid, express postage, of course.

I arrive. Everything gets submitted to the unknown bureaucratic miasma of Nicaragua, and 3 months later, voila! It has been declined because I ¨have a natural right to live in Nicaragua¨ as the daughter of a Nicaraguan. This means a whole new level of bureaucracy that involves the need for my own birth certificate (notarized), my father´s birth certificate (notarized), some witness confirming that I am indeed his daughter, all of these documents translated, and then they are fit to be processed. Whether I actually did this or not was a moot point at this time because I had no way of getting these documents. So I needed to renew my tourist visa after 3 months.

Tl;dr: I couldn´t get a 1 year visa, so I had to get my tourist visa renewed.

To the hallowed grounds of migracion I taxied.

Having no way of knowing when this office would be open, I went around 2:30pm, during the week. This was a 200 Cordoba taxi ride which, although it is only $9, is NOT cheap in Managua. Migracion closes at noon, evidently. Because that´s just how we roll in Nicaragua.

The next day I can go, I do arrive when it is open. Progress! My hopes are high. I enter the open building, there are people everywhere, and there is one clear sign: foreigners here, locals there. Got it. Now that I´ve narrowed it down to half the building, there are about 6 different windows to which I can present myself, all of them ambiguously labelled. I choose one semi-randomly, and spend the next 20 minutes being shunted from window to window, gradually collecting forms. One window tells me I need photocopies of my documents. I ask where I can do this. She points in the general direction of the front door, which I find a dubious sign. I move uncertainly in that direction, and ask again about the photocopier. Yep. It´s outside. Not only is it outside the building, it is on the side of the road, plugged into an extension cord that terminates who knows where. It could be a direct feed into the electricity pole. It could be a pile of fruit with some alligator clips stuck into it somewhere.

The photocopies cost 3 Cordobas. Finally some insanity in the preferred integer direction.

I return triumphant to migracion, and I am promptly handed a bill for about 2000 Cordobas. I am not expecting such a big number, particularly after that lovely ¨tres¨response I got when I asked how much the photocopies would be. I am simply not prepared to process this at the moment, and I retreat, resolved to return with some language-equipped reinforcements in the future.

When I returned to migracion, I came with a veritable army of Spanish speaking family members who, when presented with the exorbitant visa fee, asked to talk to their superior. It did not take long for the number to drop to a much more reasonable level. Then, my passport was taken upstairs, and a ¨ten minute¨wait turned into 40 (of course), but my visa appeared in my passport, official and good for another 3 months.

I think next time, I´m just going to visit Costa Rica for a long weekend and get a new visa when I cross over the border. Note to prospective ex-pats: going to Honduras, El Salvador, or Guatemala will not renew your visa; they don´t require a visa to travel between them.