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. 

The Life of a Chosen Few (Leon, Nicaragua)

So, it has been officially over two weeks now. I am still adjusting to many things. First off, living out of a backpack with only 4 tanktops, 4 t-shirts, a few shorts, and 7 pairs of underwear is tough. I washed a bunch of my laundry yesterday, as I was down to my last pair of underwear, when I returned to the hostel at 5pm they were all still very wet because of a huge downpour that occured, they are still drying as we speak. I am wearing the same underwear I wore yesterday. Manually washing your clothes is not an easy job, it was a bit of a spectacle for one of the cleaning ladies at the hostel. She was so kind to me and taught me the most efficient way to do things, however I wasnt able to understand half of what she was saying in Spanish. I stare, smile, nod, and then carry on. She then corrects me again, until I get it right. I tell her in my broken language and shabby grammar that she has a hard job! This is similar to everything else I do here, a fish out of water, as I would normally say in my cultural diversity workshops. I dont understand the language, the culture, the bus systems, the traffic, the way of living.

The humid heat sometimes is unbearable, it slows me down, makes me tired, makes me lazy, and it makes me sweaty and eventually dehydrated.

Living in dorm rooms with shared washrooms is also a challenge, not knowing who you will be sleeping with, not knowing how disgusting and damp the showers and toilets will be, having people disturb you in the middle of the night (although, I am normally the only that snores), not knowing if you will wake up with bed bug bites all over your body, and the list goes on.

As well, living life on a tight budget can be difficult as well. Manuela and I have only been eating full meals in restaurants once a day and then just having street food or simple breakfasts in the meantime. Thank god for Manuela, she speaks almost fluent spanish, plans everything, and bargains like a stubborn bull. She has saved a load of cash thus far!

So.... the other day on the beach there was a sign at this one hotel that said something like "You are living the life of a chosen few". Hmmm... it makes me think and ponder about things. It is so easy for me to sit here and complain about this lifestyle, that I have chosen to do on my own will by the way. And then I look around and see where I am and who I am surrounded by. Back in Granada I met this one guy (Kenny) who was only on a 2 week vacation, he was from the states and working at a bank. He told me that Nicaragua was so eye-opening for him and he now know why people travel so much. He said he used to roll his eyes when he would meet the cliche "travelling has changed my life" kind of person. It is so true though, travelling is a privilege for me as so many others never get the chance. I was chatting with this Nicaraguan guy last night from the Atlantic coast of Nica, he is black and a minority over here on the mainland, going to school to become a pharmacist. He told me all these beautiful things about his culture and how he hopes one day to explore the world as well. Two days ago, a young child with a disfigured face came to me begging for coins, and I suddenly had flashbacks of my travels through other impoverished countries, like India and Cambodia, that have made me want to become a social worker in the first place. I am blessed to have had a mother who struggled as an immigrant in Canada to raise her three children and still support her family back in the Philippines. I will never forget this.

So, despite all my moaning about wet damp clothes, irritable skin, and dodgy dorms, I am so glad to be doing what I love to do. Living on a "tight budget" put into perspective is ironic. Kenny pays $75 per month to go to university here. And dorms, by the way, are the best ways to meet other people from around the globe. I have been hanging out with this guy Greg, or G for short, who grew up in the ghettos of Philly, telling me his stories in life, telling me his perspectives on politics, and his aha moments here in Nicaragua. Just yesterday he said, "Can you imagine if people in the states had to hand wash their clothes? Shit, they´d go ballistic!"

Despite it all, I was able to get a nice haircut.

Back to the Mainland (Leon, Nicaragua)

Sights in Little Corn

After a full week on Little and Big Corn Island, a flight back to the mainland, and a bus ride to the colonial college town of Leon, I feel as though I am back to reality, whatever that may be for me. The last day I spent in Little Corn kinda felt a little isolating. Manuela and I joked about being on Castaway and we even found a little lost coconut standed on the shore that we nicknamed Wilson. We didn´t end up going to Big Corn as we had planned originally, but went a day later and was still able to partake in the Emancipation of Slavery festivities. Therefore, the day prior Little Corn was stranded, and all I had were my ruminating thoughts of this and that. It is amazing how a gorgeous island can turn into a desolate land ready to haunt your mind with craziness.

 
I am looking forward to Leon, it seems like a tranquilo kind of place with a variety of things to do. Seems very eco friendly here with a lot of nature hikes and organic restaurants. I might try my hand at Volcano Surfing... essentially, I would hike up a volcano and then take a sled or a surfboard down the mountain side. Don´t worry Mom, it is safe!

By the way, my foot is healing nicely! I would say it is at about 60% recovered. Phew.

Tough Life (Little Corn Island, Nicargua)

Here I am, day 3 on this small, isolated island of 700 inhabitants. It doesn't feel like Nicaragua, more like a tropical Caribbean island, with a mixture of races, languages and accents. 

The water is so clear you can see the bottom for a good 500 meters out, and so warm you feel like you're in a jacuzzi that was turned off only an hour prior. The sand is so fine, it's as if you can use it as brown sugar. 

The first day the waves gently whispered my name, slowly and seductively. My foot wound stopped me from the temptations of entering. They say, salt water is good, however luke warm sea water is full of bacteria. So each day I have been very careful, only going in for 5 minutes at a time, and sometimes raising my foot above the water so my wound is untouched. 

The rest of my days are spent with my travel buddy from Austria, Manuela. We hang, we take pics, ww share secrets, we eat, we drink, we sleep, we sun bathe, we swap travel stories, we are pretty much besties. It always amazes me the solidarity between backpackers. She even trimmed my armpit hair the other day!! 

Two more nights, then we are off to BIG corn island, to party it up and celebrate the end of slavery! 

The Little Green Man (Granada, Nicaragua)

Another interesting day here in Granada. I spent the day at Lago De Apoyo, a gorgeous secluded lake surrounded by luscious greenery and small private resorts and local properties. The hostel that I stayed at for just the day provided kayaks, cabana chairs,hammocks, and a cute little floating wooden paradise in about 20 meters out from the shore. So I sun bathed for the first time since I've arrived, swam, kayaked (flipped over twice!) and just relaxed on the lake side with my book and iPod. It was nice to go on my own so I could chat it up with some others if I wanted or just get the solitude I needed as well.

This evening, Lina and Manuela cooked a few of us homemade spaghetti with homemade sangria. Yummy. We then played cards and drank some rum. I introduced Bonjour Madame, which evetually turned into Hola Chica, and the "Little Green Man" was introduced as a stipulation to drinking when losing a round. It then rained, and then it poured. As I type, it still pours!! So this is what rainy season is like. Silly me, thought I'd throw out the idea of frolicking in the hostel's open roofed courtyard, right beside our card playing area. Two goofs decided to just throw me in unwillingly, and here I am now with an scraped foot. Ouch. All is well in the land of fun.

The Beginning (Granada, Nicaragua)

Grenada

Well, it´s now been three days since I left Calgary and it already feels like an eternity since I´ve been gone. It amazes me how time goes so much slower when you´re not doing your daily routine of work and living.

So, here I am in Nicaragua... pollution, the smell of burning garbage, over populated streets, blazing hot sun, humid air, sweaty clothes with beads of perspiration dripping down my face... I love it!! Ahhhh, it´s so nice to be traveling once again in developing and tropical countries. I´ve missed it.

It hasn´t taken me very long to adjust to the backpacker lifestyle. Gone are my days of naivety when I was all bright eyed and cluesless of how to survive. My very first night I was a little nervous about getting to my first hostel, but a simple taxi ride, shared with some guy from the states made it easy. I´m no longer afraid to ask just anyone if I can join them, or share a cab with them, or ask for directions.

My first day in the big capital city was quite boring actually, it consisted of me walking around aimlessly by myself for a few hours and then the first sight of two white guys sitting down at a restaurant, I asked if I could join them. We ended up doing more walking around aimlessly in what they said was the more boring place they had seen in their, so far, 8 months of traveling through Latin America. Great. The highlight of the day was to watch a bunch of teen-aged school kids watch a soccer game in a food court, man can they cheer and holler over the excitement! That night as I returned to my hostel, I basically got kicked out because I supposedly had only booked one night and there was no room for me. Oh well, I once again hopped into a taxi at 6:15pm and went to the bus station and headed for Granada. This is where I am now. A very quaint, touristic, colonial town. It reminds me a lot of Antigua, Guatemala where Jeremy and I had visited a couple years earlier. The second I passed through the town in the bus, flashbacks of Jeremy and I traveling together touched my nostalgic heart and mind. But only for a second.

Anyhow, here in Granada, I´ve connected with some great travelers from a huge array of countries from around the world, all with the same goal to explore and have fun. This is waht I love about backpacking, you learn not only about the local culture, but also about so many other foreign lands.

My new friends (name?, Manuela, Lina)

I´m gone for 7 months, and others have already been gone for 8 or months and still have 4 or more to go! Gee, I´ve been trumped and have a feeling I´m going to want to stay longer if possible. It´s amazing how flexible I am, someone has suggested I no longer go north and then backtrack south. It makes sense, I´m going to skip a couple countries I had originally thought of visiting.

As well, I´ve noticed that times have changed since my last big trip. There´s wifi everywhere, and everyone has their own laptop or iphone with them. Sure makes communicating a lot easier! I´m feeling a little old, but lo and behold, I´m not alone. There´s definitley some others in their 30s or older. Nice.

For so long, many of my friends, family and co-workers asked, ¨Dean, are you excited to go?¨ and I never was really able to say yes. But now that I´m here and in full swing, I´m so excited to be here and am trying to enjoy every minute. This time around, I´m going to try and relax a lot more, no rushing, no over planning, no stressing about this nomadic lifestyle. I´ve been wearing the same outfit for a couple days now, meh...

One last comment, I am so grateful to have spent my last weeks in Calgary surrounded by my friends and family that truly love me. Knowing that I wouldn´t see everyone for an extended time, allowed me to fully appreciate everyone and live each day to the fullest in Calgary. If you´re reading this, THANK YOU.

August 14th, 2011