Stuck or Living it up? {San Jose, Costa Rica}

Where you from? Where you been? Where you going? And, for how long? These are typical backpacker introductory questions, commonalities and social norms, per se.  It can get exhausting at times to make new friends all the time. But every now and again, it is well worth the endeavour...

I stand here in my swanky hostel in San Jose, on the rooftop lounge and restaurant, a common area for the guests, with internet stations, hammocks, a pool below us, and wide open air streaming through. However, at this time, rain has just started to pour and the wind chills my arms.

So, my sister is the one who taught me how to travel as a backpacker more than 10 years ago in the UK. I distinctly remember her once saying, "don't get stuck in one place Dean, always keep moving because you will never get to see all the places that you'd like to", as she pointed to this one girl who had been at the same hostel for 3 or more weeks.

Many people come to San Jose, Costa Rica's polluted and expensive capital city, only to pass through to their next adventure in Costa Rica's green environment.  As I have stated in my last post, I have made some friends here, and I have made a couple more now that I am actually IN San Jose.  Last night I reunited with Cesar and his buddies, and it was so nice to walk into a pub and join a large table and go around and greet everyone I knew with a hug.  Getting there, now that was a different story. Not having a cell phone can be problematic. I think it's fine when I'm hanging with other travelers because none of us have one, but when I've got plans with various people within this expansive city, where the roads really don't have any names, it can be difficult. I plan on buying a cell phone today actually, just a cheapie so I can text here and there.  It will be useful throughout Latin America I'm hoping.

So, my question is, am I stuck? Or, am I living it up?  I'm happy, I'm enjoying the company.  I am not going on the numerous, and very expensive mind you, volcano tours, bungee jumping excapades, hot spring swims, and every other nature tour there is around here, but I am having a blast nonetheless.  I am learning more and more, as I miss my friends and famiy back home at times, that adventures and journeys are not about where you necessarily are, but it is perhaps about the good people you meet along the way.  Do I make great friends and leave them behind so quickly with a yearning for more?  I will have fond memories therefore. I will always remember the cool times we had and will never get to the point in which we got fed up of one another, in which we discover each others' flaws and annoying habits. TV series often do the same thing, end them while they are ahead, rather than with a subtle, whimpering death.  However, friendships often grow stronger over time.

Last night, in Cesar's drunken, emotional birthday state, he told me that he was so happy to see me again and that there is one reason why he hates Couchsurfing, because great people come in and out of your lives with a bittersweetness.  I told him, that is just like traveling, as he already knows.  A nomadic lifestyle, always on the go, never planting roots.  FYI, for anyone thinking that Cesar and I have some kind of romantic relationship, you're wrong.

And now, my new travel buddy from San Jose, Califormia {ironic, isn't it} and I have decided to leave San Jose on Sunday morning.  We have already pushed it back by one day, to stay for a party on Saturday night.  I write this with a sense of anticipation... no that's not the right word.... with a sense of contemplation and doubt perhaps.  What's around the corner? More friends?

"Where you from? Where you been? Where you going? And, most importantly... for HOW LONG?"

Couch Surfing (Grecia, Costa Rica)

I only discovered what www.couchsurfing.org was all about a month ago. Essentially, it´s a website that has a tonne of profiles from people all over this great globe of ours, that are either traveling or hosting. It is a reciprocal process where a host will offer a free bed in their house for travelers, and the travelers will eventually return the favor in their own abode.

After 10 days, I have ended my first couchsurfing experience.  I was blessed to stay in Grecia, Costa Rica, about a one hour bus ride outside of the captial city of San Jose where I stayed with my gracious host, Cesar and his mother Celi. I am something like Cesar´s 35th couchsurfer to date. Needless to say, Cesar has done his fair share of backpacking and traveling himself, so that is definitley one thing we have in common. Another is that Cesar is also gay, I actually found his profile in the couchsurfing subgroup for queers, or perhaps I should say in the rainbow colored section of the website. So not only am I learning about the local Costa Rican or ´Tico´culture, but I am also learning about the gay culture here as well.  Gee, it took me years to figure it out in my home town.  

Cesar and I have done a lot of cool things together. Nothing crazy out of the ordinary stuff, that many people would be expecting me to be doing on my so-called adventure,  but more of the day to day kinds of things that people would do. So, I have been hanging out with Cesar´s friends, shopping, going for coffee at various cafes, drinking at the local pub, singing karaoke, chatting with his mom in my broken spanish, etc.  One day just Cesar and myself took a small daytrip to San Jose and went clubbing at a place that is much larger than any gay club in my hometown of Calgary. It was on a Sunday at 5pm (early start due to Monday being the start of a new work week), but we arrived before the doors opened and had to stand in a line up around the corner. This is only one gay bar of like 10 or more in the city. Calgary has like 4. The bar played a wide array of music: cumbia, reggaeton, US top 40, dance/electronic, and salsa.  It was cool to see so many gay couples dance to salsa. Cesar was asked to dance and didn´t enjoy the experience because he´s used to be the one who leads, haha.  

This past weekend we went on a 3 day party filled trip out to a beach 2 hours away, called Jaco, with his new boyfriend and a few of his other buddies.  I gotta tell ya, it was tonnes of fun, but hanging out with a 5 other Ticos that all speak spanish, exchange jokes in their slang, tell in-depth stories, etc. was pretty hard for beginner spanish speaker Dean.  Not to mention that I was the oldest one in the group, trying to keep up with 20 somethings is challenging. Gladly, a couple of them speak English and would explain stuff to me everynow and again. It was best when we´d play games in the pool or in the hotel room, just actions, no words.... kind of.

It is so interesting to hang out with locals that know what they´re doing. I don´t have to be confused and lost the whole time, I can just go with the flow. Nor do I need to be scared of being robbed or whatnot (not that I always am). But for example, we hardly ever locked our hotel door and they all left their cell phones and cameras in their many times.

As well, it´s is nice to know that so many things (culture wise), once translated into English, is really just the same or very similar to what life is like for me in Canada. For example, Cesar and I spent a lot of time talking about relationships with friends and partners, we would gossip about this person or that, and talk about experience a, b, and c, and it was just like hanging out with my best friends in Calgary.

When traveling, I find it always so comforting to find a friend that I can chat with about our lives, and know about who each other is talking about. It takes a while to get the new friendship going, but Cesar was very inviting and I got to know his other friends and all about Cesar´s life, and vice versa.  I told him this morning at his house before I left, that my favorite times were when it was just the two of us sitting at the counter in his kitchen, eating our typical, delicious Costa Rican meals that his mother always so deligently cooked for us, chatting about life. Cesar is a beautiful human being, with a big soul, open minded and curious about culture, life, humanity, and love, just like myself.  Thus his reason for hosting couchsurfers.

Today he told me the significance of the tattoo he has on his back of a tree and a falling leaf, and how it reminds him of his travels in Europe where he first experienced the changing of seasons, and how magnificent it was to witness leaves fall and then come to life again in the spring. Just like life, he said, it is full of new beginnings, and when one leaf leaves this world, it leaves with happiness because it knows it will come back again.

Another thing he told me last week was about his Chinese friend he met while he was once backpacking. They were eating and she was given a fork to eat with and then went into her bag and pulled out her own chopsticks. When asked why she didn´t just eat with the fork, she said, I don´t know how to use a fork, I have eaten with chopsticks my entire life.  What a profound thought.  Life is filled with always more than one side, more than one perspective, more than one worldview.  It reminds me of the song I have come to embrace these last 4 months by Joni Mitchell, ´Both Sides Now´, in which she so eloquently expresses that life is full of two sides, and we never really know what life and love is about. Life can change so quickly, but there is always another side to it.

So here I am, on my own again. I wasn´t asked to leave nor did I really want to go, but I didn´t want to impose and overstay my welcome at the house. I am now in San Jose, going to explore the big city, and maybe meet some other backpackers once again, in my new fancy hostel.  With that said, Cesar is only an hour away and he is celebrating his birthday here in San Jose on Thursday, so we will party it up once more! 

Gin (Grecia, CR)

Note to self: Gin in Costa Rica does not mean Gin the alcohol, it is short for Gingerale. Next time I go to a bar during happy hour offering free drinks, I will not order five glasses of Gingerale and then wonder why I'm not drunk. I will order Ginebra!

Cockfightin´Gallos (Grecia, Costa Rica)

I left Nicaragua yesterday morning and arrived in Grecia, Costa Rica around 7pm last night, where I will be "couchsurfing" for the next while... that is another post though.

Let me first say this... I eat chicken on a regular basis... I write this post with some hesitation, but also without judgement I suppose... 

3 days ago Silvio, my spanish teacher, took me out on an all day field trip to Rivas and San Jorge. It was him, his brother and myself.  The day started at 10am, in which we took a taxi to Rivas which only cost each of us 40 cordobas (less than 2 bucks each), whereas when I first arrived in San Juan two weeks prior, the gringo price was $10.  Anyway, Silvio took me to the Ticabus office so I could purchase my ticket to San Jose. He forced me to speak to the lady to practice my english, and then made sure that I understood everything she said and even walked me to where I would catch the bus exactly in two days time.  Sometimes I wonder how I am able to travel by myself, but I always manage. I guess it´s because of good people like him. 

Anyhow, we then proceeded to walk through the city, there was lots of festivities going on because of their independence day. Silvio and I both agreed that the fesitivities were a little boring. We then took another taxi to San Jorge to have lunch on the lake which oversees various islands and volcanos.  We chatted over lunch and exchanged stories about... stuff... in english and spanish. I made Silvio practice his english and made sure to correct every grammatical mistake he made, just as he does to me. It makes me feel better when he talks in English because then I don´t feel so lost and uncapable.  

The three of us then headed off to the cockfights... when we first pulled up I thought we were dropping off another lady who was sharing the taxi with us. The place looked like a large house having a family party, with tables set up and music playing, in my head I thought, oh what a nice family function on independence day.  Then, Silvio opens the door and gets out of the car, and I´m like, oh this is the cockfight? 

We each pay 50 cordobas at the entrance and enter a very innocent looking place. Men are gathered around tables chatting, laid back, tranquilo. A few women linger around and chat as well. In the corner lays a few vendors selling beers, sodas, and some typical foods. In the background plays loud old school Mexican country music, the kind you would normally slap your lap with, as men in sombreros do-si-do, with accordians and guitars overtaking the lyrics.  

Once we walk past the crowds, Silvio points out all the roosters (gallos) that are lined up in blue cages.  I ask him where his is, but he says that his friends are bringing his two fighting roosters in a bit.  As we browse the potential winners, others follow suit. We bump into one of Silvio´s friends and he introduces us, but as what often happens, many people are afraid to speak to the guy who is learning to speak spanish. The man asks questions about me via Silvio, and Silvio prompts the guy to ask me directly. I answer as best I can. 

A bit of time passes while we all wait in anticipation for the first match.  I pull out my SLR camera which Silvio had advised me was safe to take with me because I am with him, my local protector. I take some shots of the , silent, empty, hollow ring. Imagine a blue octagon shaped arena with white lines on the ground to mark the centre and initial fighting stances, all surrounded by scaffolds of wooden benches for the on-lookers, the gamblers, the playa´s. 

Before the first match, I see two roosters getting weighed in by their attendees, their coaches, so to speak. As well, Silvio takes me behind the arena to see one rooster getting his fighting blade stapped onto his foot where one of his claws once was, but has now been shaved down for this specific purpose.  Quickly thereafter, I see the crowd all head into the arena... we rush in. There appears to be no more room, but of course, there is always more room. Silvio spots a some free wood too stand on the top bench, he grabs the beer out of my hand and a stranger 8 or 9 feet above me grabs my hand as I climb up. 

There we are, all standing, hovered over one another, reaching in to see the first match. The referee (a well dressed, light skinned Latino man from Costa Rica, tall and buff) holds a clanging bell in his hand, along with a wooden board to seperate the roosters on their assigned marks. Prior to this, the two coaches must decide on an alotted time for the match, maybe 5 minutes, maybe 10 or even 15.  The match is not until death, but until the end of this time.  As well, each rooster is antagonized with another rooster that is swatted in front of their faces a few times to get them riled up, ready to go at it with a vengeance! 

So the bell rings, the gate lifts and the two cocks encounter one another, already pissed off, the crowd starts to cheer, shouting out words I do not understand, at times perhaps it is simply a rooster´s name that they want to win.  The roosters start attacking each other, at times they will stare each other down with a look that says I will effin´kill you, as their manes stand up straight on edge, tense and threatening.  One jumps in and starts pecking away at the other, as the other retorts. Wings fly up and down, legs and the attached blades go in and out.  The referree will stop the fight every now and again and give the roosters a break, or if they have gone astray, the referree will get the two coaches to step in and align them again for another round. As we wait for the break to end, the referree takes his bell and counts down... clang.... clang... clang... clang.... In the meanwhile, the two coaches, the men that are essentially the assigned directors for the roosters nurse their rooster back to health. At times they will suck the blood out of their rooster and then spit it out to the ground, or they will take a cloth and wipe the blood away, or adjust the blade so that it is still effective.  Clang.... clang... clang... round two... round three...eventually the match ends, one rooster has no more fight in him, he can barely attack or move, the time is up and the referree walks away and the crowd is content.

The referee never really clarifies who the actual winner is, and the crowd always just seems to know who has won. For me, I was sometimes confused as to who won.  At one point, during a break, the coach walks out of the ring, after giving the referree a signal. I look to Silvio´s brother in confusion, and he simply signals with his one finger sliding accross his neck that the rooster is basically dead.  

As time goes on, I wait and wait for Silvio´s rooster to take the stage. A few beers pass, and the sun sets. Between matches, I go outside and take a break from the large crowds, the sweaty pushers and yellers, and grab some fresh air and stand by Silvio´s other friends who, once again, are shy to speak to me, and vice versa. Nevertheless, there is a sense of solidarity amongst us. At one point, Silvio´s friend tries to explain to me that I am his amigo simply because I am connected with Silvio.  I suppose Silvio was being a little over protective of me, at one point in the arena, he gets his brother to stand on one side of me, and another friend on the other side, and tells me that I have two policemen on guard for me. Haha, I think he may have been worried because of my camera, but I had no fear about it whatsoever. 

Eventually, around 7:30 or 8:00 Silvio comes into the arena and stands by us, and I see a dark black gallo in the ring... it´s Silvio´s. Prior to this, Silvio had been busy with a little piece of paper he kept in his pocket that he would pull out every now and again and he would be surrounded by gamblers. He would scribble names and bet amounts down, crumple the paper up and put it back into his pocket, only to pull it out again 3 minutes later. Some would bet 50, 100, 300 cordobas at a time.  

As the fight goes on, I watch, at this point confused and tired as to what was exactly happening. Camera away, trying to concentrate.  Next thing I know, the match is over, and Silvio signals to me to come outside. He tells me in spanish, I have no luck tonight, and only then do I conclude that his gallo had lost.  A sense of empathy comes over me. 

We, Silvio, his brother, his group of amigos, and a bunch of men I had seen throughout the day, all jump into the back of a truck with a large flatbed. We wait until departure, as the guys all discuss the day, most of which I tune out because of the language barrier.  The ride back is somewhat drunken and rowdy, and also  somewhat sad and sombre. Silvio tells me that he had a good time even though he lost, he asks how my day was, concerned that I was bored and I tell him how cool the experience truly was.  We talk in English amongst the crowd of Latinos and no one seems take notice.  The ride, about 45 minutes or longer in length, was accompanied by a lightning storm which I have written so fondly about previously. Eventually, we encounter wind and rain! Those in the front duck down behind the truck´s cab, and the rest of us all duck down onto one another for some kind of shelter. At one point I ask Silvio what is in his large white bag made of plastic twine, and he says it is his dying rooster. I was going to use it for shelter, but decided, no thanks!

We finally arrive back to San Juan del Sur, it´s been a long day it seems. Silvio jumps out and I follow, along with this guy from Costa Rica. The Costa Rican guy takes me into a cab, because Silvio is too concerned (once again) that it is not safe for me to walk home alone, and I get home in minutes.  My clothes are covered in dust and grit, I wash my hands and the sink fills with brown water. I eventually go out into the twon and grab a bite to eat before going to bed, my head still swirling from the day´s events. 

Independence Day

Sept. 14 & 15 are national holidays here in Nicaragua. For the past weeks I've heard and seen young school children practicing music for a large parade in the streets for the two days. It all comes down to today!

Since the town will be filled with outside visitors from around the country, along with drums, bells, vendors, colorful fabrics, shouts and screams, and a large array of other things I am guessing, my one on one Spanish class is going on a field trip!

Sylvio, my teacher is taking me to Rivas, a much larger town about 30 minutes away, where we will grab lunch, shop, etc. as a way for me to practice my Spanish. As well, Sylvio own roosters that he trains for cock fights. So, today he will be taking me to one of his "galleras", where he will be competing! I think I'll be the only gringo there, but in good hands. He told me not to wear my usual tank top, shorts, and flip flops. I gotta fit in. His face when I asked him if I could wear my regular clothes was a very polite, squirmish... "um.... sure". Haha, ok, ok, I'll wear shoes and an actual t-shirt!

Happy Independence Day!

The Lightning Dance (San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua)

So it is the start of rainy season here in Nicaragua. Somedays it rains for 15 minutes in the morning and sometimes for another 15 in the evening. However, the cool part thus far, is the lightning storms that occur in the darkness.

Because I am on the Pacific Coast, we often get to see lightning on the ocean's horizon far off in the distance. At times it is like a laser show, with distinct and unique bolts of electricity stinging the waters. The amount of lightning makes you feel as though you are in a dancehall, but with no steady rhythm. Interestingly enough, there is no thunder to act as an accompaniment. Perhaps there is, but it is too far off in the distance for our ears to be graced with. This gorgeous act of nature, truly lights up the crisp darkened skies and the navy like luminous clouds.

So on Saturday evening I went dancing a two storied bar, overlooking the beach, the great pacific. As we danced, we were in the presence of something strong, something fierce, something spiritual! Lightning.

Okay, no pictures of lightning, but check out this awesome sunset in San Juan del Sur. Majestic.

On the Edge or... In the Edge (San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua)

Normally at this time, as per my daily routine for the last few days, I would be sitting on the rooftop patio of my hostel either in a hammock or at a desk, doing my spanish homework. Today I thought I would have a bit a of break so to speak, so here I am writing a post.

As I have said before, I work with immigrants, I volunteer closely with refugee families, I have tutored english, I have taught English as a second language, I have traveled to various countries of different languages, I educate Canadians about the struggles that newcomers experience while in a new country, and I have studied spanish as a second lanuage before; however, I am only now realizing how bloody difficult it is to be in this situation of knowing and not knowing.

I often say that language does not define a culture. I get offended when people tell me that just because I do not speak tagalog (filipino) that I am therefore not a 'true Filipino', whatever that may mean. Language is only on the "tip of the iceberg" when analyzed by many scholars who write about what culture truly is, and I often convey this same message in my intercultural communication workshops. But, and this is a big but, I believe that language is definitley a doorway or a gateway into another culture. I guess I am speaking about a huge difference here. Language does not define a culture, but yet it is the gateway into it. Again, using the iceberg analysis, you must get past the tip of the iceberg in order to get to the bottom of it I suppose.

So, I have been taking intensive one on one spanish classes through the "Latin American Spanish School of Nicaragua", a fancy title for a small school with six teachers (and no a/c or electric fans mind you) that sits above a small shop on the corner of an undescript street here in the town of San Juan. It has only been three days since I started, but I feel like I have been swamped with information, 4 hours each day. Some stuff sticks, and some stuff does not.

My teacher's name is Silvio, a young guy who I am getting to know since a chunk of our time is spent together in "conversation". Nevertheless, the conversation is genuine. Today I was amazed that I was able to have a full on talk about stuff I normally talk about in my workshops, diversity. We got into a big discussion about homosexualilty, religion, and equality here in Nicaragua and in Canada. Of course I was not able to be as articulate as I normally would be in english, but I was still able to get my point accross and understand his viewpoints as well. I am glad that we did not get into a debate and have opposing views, that would have been difficult for me in spanish.

Anyway, Silvio has an interesting life, so he tells me. He is 24 years old, divorced (married at 20, divorced at 22 with no kids), has 9 siblings, lives on a 45 acre farm with a few other family members, goes to school on Saturdays in the capital city to study animal biology and chemistry, castrates bulls by cutting off their testicles, gives birth to baby calves and reaches into the cows' wombs elbow high, and teaches spanish on the side when he can't find other work in primary schools. Once he is done school here in Nicaragua he hopes to go onto university in Mexico and eventually become a university profesor in animal biology. Ahhh... all this information I was able to comprehend in Spanish!

One thing that I find interesting about Silvo, as a native born Nicaraguan, is that whenever he gives me time to copy what's on the board, he stands by the window hoping for a breeze, tongue out like an exhausted dog, with a piece of paper that he waves in his face, as he tell me how hot it is. It makes me laugh imagining him do it. And yet, I don't understand why there are no fans in the concrete room. Trying to save money I suppose.

Anyway, back to my original point, trying to learn a new language, and a new culture for that matter, is so frustrating and overwhelming. I often feel like there are hidden codes to the norms here, esoteric rituals that the gringos are not aware of, and cryptic hand signals that will only be passed on once I learn the "way". I feel like language truly is my gateway, my key, into this world called Nicaragua, Central America, Latin America.

I look at other backpackers that speak spanish and I become quite envious. I have been hanging out with this French guy the last couple of days, Cami. Cami speaks almost fluent spanish, he has sailed accross oceans in the last year from continent to continent, and has now purchased a bicycle here in Central America and will ride across various countries with it, stopping in petite, unbeaten communities where the locals are more than welcoming to have a stranger stay in their house for an evening. That's a pretty exciting experience, I look at it and say to myself, 'gee, I gotta learn me some spanish'. Obviously, I would also need the guts to buy a bike and travel for hundreds of kms in the hot sun as well, but that's another post perhaps.

On a lesser level, Cami and I hung out at the lounge in our hostel last night and we sat at the bar wtih Andres, the bartender. Normally when I am in a restaurant or a bar, my exchanges with the local staff are minimal with pleases, thank-yous, and "una cerveza por favors". But with Cami, we were able to joke around, swap stories, and actually get to know the guy.

So, with all this said, I am learning more and more. I feel like I am close to the 'edge'of knowing something. At the end of class today Silvio told me that I should just go out and practice, don't be nervous or shy about, just do it. So, for the last few days, another one of my dorm mates is from Argentina, Mikayla is her name. I have only spoken to her in english, up until a couple of hours ago when she asked me how my classes were going. I then invited her out to have lunch and she said, sure but only if we speak in spanish. So that's exactly what we did! For close to 90 minutes I had a full on conversation in spanish, with a bit of Spanglish every now and again for clarification. I didn't understand every single thing that Mikayla said to me, but I got the gist of most parts.

However, I feel like I am still very, very, very far away from knowing. I am on my way, but have much more to go, much, much, much more! I am in this constant flux of translating things in my head, slowly. Half of the time I am searching for words to which I am certain I do not know the translation for, but I search anyway. Sometimes I am able to find a way around a specific word and use alternative words or phrases instead. No one has once laughed at my spanish, in the end, that what all the fear is about; embarassment.

So here I am, on the 'edge' of something. I hope I tip over soon. I remember when I lost a bunch of weight a couple years ago, everybody knew that I was dieting and on weight watchers and I would get a few compliments here and there. Then one day, I tipped. I was over the edge. All I would hear for the next few months was how skinny I had become, and how I had lost so much weight.

And so I am once again at the beginning of  a different journey to reconfigure myself, with a new language. I hope that in a few months people will say, "Wow Dean, you can really speak spanish!" I will be at the point where I will be sitting in a restaurant or walking down the street and locals will be having a conversation and I will be able to say in my head, 'haha, that's a funny joke', or 'I can't believe that guy just said that', or 'I totally disagree with what that woman thinks'.

Then I will know...

Entonces, necesito ir a mi hostal y estudio mas. Poco a poco...

Pop the Clutch! (San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua)

So here I am in another beach town, this time on the Pacific coast rather than the Carribean side. I just arrived after three buses, two taxis and one bicycle caddy ride. The first bus from Leon to Managua made me chuckle. I was one of the last ones to board this mini bus, which normally holds 15 people, but because of my big ass backpack which I kept in between my legs in front of me, the folding chair which goes in front of me couldn´t really open all the way. I heard the driver mutter something like "no one can sit here now". So, we left the bus terminal with one empy seat. About 35 minutes later, the driver stops on the side of the highway to pick up a passenger who has flagged us down, so I figure now I don´t have to feel so bad because the seat will be taken and paid for.

However, when the driver stopped the bus, the engine shut down, no biggie at first. Then, as the passenger sat down he closed the sliding door beside him (it is more like a van, rather than a bus), but the door wouldn´t close properly, so the driver had to come over, as I am sure he has done a hundred times and try to fix the door. After a few slams and kicks here and there, there door was still slightly ajar, the driver tried to open it and since it wouldn´t open he figured, no worries.

He then gets back into the driver´s seat and turns the key. All of hear the sound of "chug, chug", like the dying cough of an old man. Silence comes over the passengers. Once again, "chug, chug... chuggg, chuggg" as the driver tried a little harder. Then a few of us moan and groan to ourselves, like, oh shit we´re in trouble now. And then once more time... "chug, chug, chug..." and the van is not cooperating. Eventually, the driver gets out of the car and starts to push the van backwards by himself, just from the opening of his drivers side; we roll back a couple of feet. The driver jumps in and tries to pop the clutch. Halt. And... nothing. He tries again, and again. All the while, all of the passengers are silent. Eventually, the man beside me says something in spanish, and I only understand the word "push" or "empujar". I think to myself that I am hot and sweaty, and I got my big ass backpack stuck between my legs, I do not want to push! After the man speaks, the driver says nothing, nor does anyone else for that matter.

The driver then pushes the van more and more, luckily we are on a slant, but going backwards onto oncoming traffic though. Finally he gets some momentum, and I am in my seat kind of bouncing up and down as if my movements will help with the momentum. He then jumps back into his seat and once again, pops the clutch... and presto... the engine turns over!! A loud sigh of relief overwhelms us all, and once again the man beside is the first to make a noise. He looks at me and he starts to laugh, and then I start to laugh as well along with some others. I then make a really loud, rolling of the floor crying kind of laugh for a few moments and then realized that I should stop, so that I don´t make a fool of myself. Silly gringo they´d think. But then for the next 15 minutes I couldn´t stop thinking about how funny the whole situation was and kept giggling to myself in my seat like a school girl. Oh... how I´m easily amused.

This is only one example of how slow and underdeveloped things can be here in Nicaragua. Again, it puts our western lives into perspective. For example, many people still use a horse and carriage as a form of transportation, last night in the city of Leon, we were out of electricity from 4:30pm to about 2:00am. I had to navigate through the streets with a flashlight and eat some street food with my two new dorm roomies since we wouldn´t be able to find a restaurant with electricity to cook us food.

Anyway, I am now here in San Juan, alone. Manuela left me yesterday morning. She went north and I went south this morning. I´m going to miss her, but eventually I have to learn to fly on my own. I told her she was like a crutch for me, doing everything. Man, I could´ve used her today while trying to navigate my way to San Juan, but I managed just fine. I may have paid a few extra cordobas here and there, but still managed. I gotta learn me some spanish! That´s what I´m gonna do here, settle down maybe for two weeks and take some classes...

I'm grateful for my friendship with Manuela. That's us with Kenny. 

Sledding down a volcano in Leon - that was fun.