There is some mixup between the Weebly app and my phone, and computers are rare in my traveling life. Click here for its new location.
Also, here is a link to Puddle: A Tale for the Curious
Also, here is a link to Puddle: A Tale for the Curious
There is some mixup between the Weebly app and my phone, and computers are rare in my traveling life. Click here for its new location.
Also, here is a link to Puddle: A Tale for the Curious
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The Museum of Legends and Traditions in León, Nicaragua was built in an old prison, where those who spoke out against the Somoza regime were tortured in a not so distant past. Somoza was elected president after the revolution in the 1930's, who, one short year after becoming elected, killed Sandino and became a dictator. Side note, Somoza's final successor was removed from the country and then heavily killed. A grenade launcher was somewhere in the mix. Memories of pain and death roamed the cells and other rooms inside the museum, which were also physically filled with characters from legends. Many adjectives could describe these characters, except for ones like comforting, or heart-warming. We did not have a guide, so perhaps some of them were supposed to be comforting. Anything with a description was decidedly not, though. Perhaps these are the wolves of La Loba, who collects bones. When she has a full skeleton, she sits and thinks of a song. When the song comes, she sings it, and musles, sinews, and flesh form over the bones. I love love love Clarissa Pinkola Estés's rendition of the story in her brilliant book, Women Who Run with the Wolves. Treehuggers is a non-profit organization in Estelí, Nicaragua that connects local guides and tourists. We went on a six hour tour of Somoto Canyon, which was the absolute best $30 I ever spent. It included travel from the bus station in Somoto, the canyon tour with a guide, and a most excellent gomemade meal. The following photographs aren't even from the most beautiful sights because we were in the water too much to keep my phone camera safe. Our guide had a special backpack that kept it safe most of the time. Treehuggers is across the street from La Luna hostel, which is another non-profit. It's owned by a friendly woman from England, and they sell locally made jewelry and other crafts. We jumped from here. Later, there was a 20 meter (optional) jump, where we watched some local people fly through the air for ten seconds. We also passed some people enjoying the day on some rocks. What glory! We didn't hear traffic the whole trip, and the canyon was developed only by trees and non-people animals. My heart smiled the entire time. I absolutely love this organization. It's a non-profit whose volunteers are generally travellers who work a few weeks and move on to other towns. All the profits go to the local community. A lot of the money goes to schools for lunches, people to help fulfill their dreams, and alleviate difficult situations. While waiting there, I read about how they donated tables, chairs, and repainted the only school for people with disabilities in town. The organization has several options, mostly concerning volcanos. When we signed up to sled down Cerro Negro, we saw a sign for cancelling one of the options because the volcano had erupted. No people were hurt, but flying rocks had killed nine cows. The option for a two day hike around Cerro Negro, then volcano boarding was tempting, but we just did the boarding. It was about $30, with lunch and transportation provided. I felt the experience was well worth my money, as well as the bemefits to the community. I absolutely love this organization. It's a non-profit whose volunteers are generally travellers who work a few weeks and move on to other towns. All the profits go to the local community. A lot of the money goes to schools for lunches, people to help fulfill their dreams, and alleviate difficult situations. While waiting there, I read about how they donated tables, chairs, and repainted the only school for people with disabilities in town.
The organization has several options, mostly concerning volcanos. When we signed up to sled down Cerro Negro, we saw a sign for cancelling one of the options because the volcano had erupted. No people were hurt, but flying rocks had killed nine cows. The option for a two day hike around Cerro Negro, then volcano boarding was tempting, but we just did the boarding. It was about $30, with lunch and transportation provided. I felt the experience was well worth my money, as well as the bemefits to the community. Today is a lazy laundry day, and a day to remember some of the stories we have gathered since arriving in Elstelí. The lady who runs the lavanderiá in town travels around Nicaragua every Sunday. She loves her country. She loves to travel. She loves foreigners who speak Spanish for the mutual learning opportunity that becomes possible. She has no desire to visit the US because everyone who does returns with horror stories.
We learned of one such horror story from a warm-hearted, enthusiastic man who was working hard at his respectable job. He took a moment to share what happened when he tried to go to California to be a gardener. He was there three years when he was... mistaken.. for being a Coyote- which is slang for a smuggler from Mexico. The pronounciation of Coyote is more like coy-oh-tay. Side note in order to differentiate people from Mexico, and people smuggling: I worked for a little over a month at a farm last summer. The group I worked with were women from various parts of Mexico. I spoke as much Spanish as they did English, but we understood each other. They were some of the strongest, friendliest people I have ever met. They immediatly welcomed me, showed me pictures of their families, and shared their food. I have very fond memories of my time there. Back to the story. The man from Nicraragua was mistaken for a smuggler from Mexico, which are quite different countries in the first place. The police who arrested him accused him of speaking Spanish, being Coyote, planted a pistol on him, tied his arms to his sides, and his feet together, and shipped him to a prison in Mexico. Eventually, an amnesty organization helped him return to Nicaragua. He did not tell his story with hatred. He did not tell his story with resentment. His general demeaner was one of benevolance. He also is against the proposed canal that would go through Nicaragua, and destroy the beautiful freshwater lake around Ometepe Island, which is one of the places on the very top of my To Do list. I want to help with the permaculture project they have going on there, and do the ten days of silence retreat. I started to think about racism in places. I think it stems from trying to justify bad behavior, and a fear that if people being discriminated against get the proper rights and respect, the tables might turn, and those that have been racist might be the ones discriminated against. It's awful when it's obvious, but all too often, it's a sneaky thing. All too often discrimination is conducted by well-meaning people who have ideas that I'm not sure they're aware of. I know I've done some micro-aggresions to people, and felt awful after I realized. Maya Angelou's quote 'I did then what I knew. When I knew better, I did better' helped alleviate some of the guilt of doing shitty things. I spend a lot of time thinking about my thoughts, and learning. I'm excited for doing the ten days of silence because I think it will help me get deep in there and sort through things. I also hope that one day more people will feel comfortable visiting the US because there are heaps and heaps of beautiful things. There are scary things, too. Here's to more love in the world, and to accepting that we have assumptions, as well as understanding that they're assumptions. Here's to stretching our comfort zones in order to see a little more clearly, which is doing something to those assumptions. Here's to traveling, and the humbleness that comes with it. Cheers. The mural above is chronological. The people on the left are from the revoution of the 1930's in which the Nicaraguans successfully liberated themselves from the US. Augustus Cesar Sandino is on the top, in the hat. He would eventually become the figurehead of freedom and revolution in Nicaragua. His ideology is used by the Frente Sandinista de Liberaciòn Nacional (FSLN), which is currently in power. Ernesto Che Guevara is in the center. Che actually means The Dude, in colloquial terms. Che led his own revolution in Cuba in 1959, which opened the idea of the possibility of people achieving freedom from US imperialism. The people on the right established the FSLN government after the Nicaraguan revolution starting in 1979. The mural above depicts some of the first generals of the revolution of 1979. The Pepsi bottle in the center represents a photograph which brought global attention to the revolution. See that photo below. The mural above names people from León who died in the revolution. Below are various other photographs from the revolution. Our guide made the revolution real by speaking with such conviction and passion. He and many other people, mostly high school students between the ages of 16 and 20, fought for their freedom and the change they needed to see. Many gave up their lives in the same streets I have walked all week. They were taken in places I have seen walking around town, places that are now filled with people selling vegetables and meat, children playing, families doing family things. These same streets hold women selling the tastiest tortillas I have ever eaten, that they made at home. They also hold more difficult things, like people begging for money or food, and people stumbling around, intoxicated on substances to take away the hunger. Life is complicated. I want to understand more, and it will have to start with understanding Spanish better. This museum was inspiration in that way. The world is complex.
Here is a photo of Alejandro Cabrera, from León, Nicaraga. His art celebrates his love of his country, and the beauty within, and he uses techniques passed down through time. He has a dream to share this, and make and sell copies of his work, as aell as originals. His moonscapes are my favorite.
I sit beneaththe starfruit tree in the Tortuga Booluda hostel in León, Nicaragua with some trepidation. A fruit has just plumeted a foot and a half away. I think soon I will cut off the smashed part and enjoy the crunchy, tasty rest of it. Tropical birds and pigeons call in the morning air, and I think of the events of yesterday as the sun rises. The air is still cool, and I have to go get a light blanket. However, as soon as the sun peeks out, I know the heat will join it. The turtles living in the nearby bucket are crawling around. The one flailing its arms to get out will find the helpful rock momentarily. It always does.
We decided to go to the beach yesterday, after remembering all the museums and things would be closed on Sunday. Though we have met many wonderful people and done exciting walking-around-town things, I would consider yesterday our first adventure. The sunscreen turned out to be very expensive, and once we left the store, we turned down a side street on accident. I didn't think we'd be walking through the local neighborhoods this trip because we didn't really have any reason, and heedless wandering is not necessarily what respectful travelers do. But we found ourselves there by accident. The buildings were painted vibrant colors, someone was having a tasty-smelling cookout, a couple rode by on a bike quite romantically, a healthy but skinny looking dog sniffed for scraps. Eventually we realized we were on the wrong road, and asked a man who made eye contact for directions, who smiled and called us friend as he pointed our way back. We walked by a hostel, and asked if we could use their baño. They said no, and we figured they were tired of people trying to take advantage of hospitality. There was one by the bus station, and Chris and the guys chatted about tattoos while I found relief. His Mayan one got a lot of street cred. We chatted with a couple while the bus, an old school bus from US, arrived. The woman's nickname in Spain was Conch, like the shell. There, it is a beautiful name. Here, it carries sexual inuendos. It reminded me of the name of our hostel. Here, it translates to the Lazy Turtle. Everywhere else in Central America, it translates to the Asshole Turtle. So, uh, learning cultures and languages is really useful. The bus came, and I was getting hungry. People selling food and drinks walked up and down the aisle with great timing. We bought a couple cheese empanadas, which we learned the people selling them tend to make many many many and sell them over a few days. They were delicious, and a little graham-crackery. We bought one for the man sitting next to us, who asked and who seemed quite friendly. Soon, though, we learned our folley. He made lewed comments about the woman who was standing right there, and treatened to stab anyone who talked crap about his country. We thought he was on some sort of pain killers because his foot was wrapped up, but the ride was disconcerting. We were glad when he got off the bus before our stop. Everything was ok again when we carefully walked across the black, volcanic sand, and leaped into the warm and wonderful Pacific. The waves curled with majesty, and they did not care one bit. The ocean was going to be the ocean, and smash whoever got in its way. Respect. Or else. Another starfruit fell. We played and played and one extra big wave went through me like a netti pot. We decided it was french fry time, and went to find a treat. We wandered into a hacienda, where a couple of green parakeets hung around by the bags of chips. The people who owned the place greeted us with warmth that the ocean lacked (except in temperature) and we sat, and sipped soda, and watched some chickens wandering around. One of the owners came up to us with a magic trick math game. We wrote five numbers in a row, he guessed what the final sum would be, we wrote five more numbers, he wrote five numbers, we did five, and he did a final five. We added them up, and found that he had guessed the correct answer. We laughed and were amazed. I was especially glad to have added the numbers correctly because they sometimes float around too much. I've added a row of the same numbers several times before and gotten several different answers, with a calculator. So, careful with numbers. The family had never left their ocean-side home, and were quite happily living thwir lives. They were unaware of the big controversy of the proposed canal, which would cut across all of Nicaragua, and completely destroy the freshwater lake that I am wildly excited to visit within the next few months. We went back out to watch the waves. On the way, a local made fun of me for taking a picture through the wall because there was a pile of droppings right there, and joked that I was taking a picture of shit. I felt a bit touristy, and we laughed about it, and I ended up with a pretty picture of some jungley town. We watched kids roll down the sand, then bury each other. They were set on getting wonderfully dirty, and suceeded with pure joy. Then, before we felt ready, we wandered to catch the bus because it was Sunday and we wanted to get back to town in case the busses stopped early. I was looking out the windew and said that I would absolutely love to stay in the town we paused in. Then we realized we were in León. Right on. On our way back to the hostel, we picked up a few lychee at the market, and ate them on the way. We saw a group of about fifty girls choreographing a dance for a celebration, and bought some delicious not-quite-ice-creams. We decided on burrito concoctions for dinner and stopped at a tiny shop selling fruits and veggies. The owner's name was Alejandro Cabrera. He had some of the most beautiful paintings I had ever seen. Apparently he had been chosen by a university in the US to come teach local Nicaraguan ways of painting that have been passed down through generations. His personal original art was for sale, and his dream is to be able to make prints of his art to sell, in order to share his view of his country. He captured beauty that I also saw, but in such an intricate way. He captured the meaning of the moon, and all her magic. Then he directed us down the street to get some totillas being sold on the corner by a couple of smiling women. Our meal was absolutley amazing. Its memory is making me salivate right now. I cannot put into words how tasty the locally grown food is, and how flavorful the perfect-textured tortillas made by the women who sold them were. All I can do is wish that experience upon anyone who might be hesitant to come here. At the same time, I am Know what's really easy? When someone tells you what to do and how to think and where to go and what to learn and where to live and HOW to live. There are a lot of conflicting shoulds in the world. There are even more options, ones that all those shoulds haven't even touched.
I've finished deciding what to do for the rest of my life. That concept is to itchy to consider. I love ancient rocks, huge old trees, and oceans that seem to have existed forever. That's the thing, though. They have changed many times over, and will keep constantly changing. My projected lifespan is much shorter, and I am feeling the need to fit more change in that time allotted to me while I live Since this was so well received last weekend (I hope not just because I was with family) and is a very forgiving recipe, I wanted to share it out. It is filling, but not heavy, so you get a lot of energy right away. I don't usually measure, so the spices would be a few shakes, and the oil is enough to coat the onion well, and then some. The eggplant and zucchini keep a lot of their texture this way, too. (roughly 10 minutes prep, 40-60 minutes bake) Ingredients 1 onion, chopped 2 or so Tbsp olive oil 1 zucchini, sliced in wheels 1 eggplant, cubed 1-2 tomato/es, chopped cheese (I've used mozzarella and parmesan already to good effect) real salt (with the flecks of minerals), or other salt various spices (options I've tried include turmeric, oregano, black pepper, a little cayenne, fennel seed, basil, sumac, and a bay leaf that you take out after boiling) Put It Together Saute onions in oil until they're clear in a small sauce pan. Add maybe a cup or two of water, a few pinches of salt, and shake in a combination of savory spices. I've also added red wine and a dash of molasses. Boil a few minutes to infuse the spices with the liquid. To save time while the onions saute, I cut up the zucchini, eggplant, and tomatoes, and mix them together in a 9" glass baking dish, because that's what I had. Pour the onion boil over the vegetables (that are technically fruits), top with cheese, cover with foil, and bake 40-60 minutes. I usually put it in and forget about it until I can smell it. |
AuthorThe best place by the fire was kept for the Storyteller. Archives
December 2015
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