This One Time, A Cow Almost Ran me into the Lake...

After two weekends in a row of random international trips, I decided to stay in the country this week. Here in Managua, the latest news is that the rainy season is coming to an end, mangoes are almost back in season, and our house just got painted yellow (a tone-down from the previous brilliant orange).

While I may have stayed in the country, I still found my way out of the city. Gabriel, Anna and I went to the nearby town of Granada, on the shore of the gigantic Lake of Nicaragua which takes up about a third of the country’s area. I enjoy that town because it is much smaller, safer, and easier to get around there than in Managua (but what place isn’t?!). I have to say that one of my favorite places there was a real live, actual, Seattle-style coffee shop. This was a big deal because they are hard to come by in Managua. Even though I could care less about coffee, the fresh scent, comfortable chairs, organic menu and colorful gelato assortment were almost too much for me to contain my excitement. I’ve been homesick for reminders of Seattle as of late, and this was a good remedy.

We also went to visit Gabriel’s mom, who still lives in the house he grew up in. This entailed an hour-long bike ride right along the beautiful lake on a road that was sometimes paved, sometimes falling into the lake, and sometimes blocked by cows. I hadn’t ridden a bike in months and I really enjoyed it, when I wasn’t nearly falling off the bike because my tire hit a piece of trash or stopped abruptly in a patch of sand. Riding along the lake, with the views of the green volcanoes across the water, reminded me a little bit of being on Whidbey Island in the summer and looking onward to green mountains. His mom lives in a simple concrete house right on the lake, so we splashed around a bit and ate a delicious lunch of fried fish (a Nicaraguan waterfront favorite), fried plantains (classic), rice, and beans (even more classic).

Back on the home front, I think my host mom and I have started to enjoy each other’s company more and are getting along well. And my host grandpa (her brother, so maybe my uncle?) is just as old and cute, but strange, as ever. I think if I ever write a novel I have some good characters already sketched out. He refers to everything I eat as “chompipe” (turkey), every potential thief as a “pirata,” (pirate), and everyday he tells the dog “No mereces mi cariño!” (You don’t deserve my affection!). In general, our conversations consist of him going on about how dangerous this or that is (“muy peligroso”), or about how natural disasters are the will of God, while I try to casually hint that I’m trying to do homework. Conversely, when I have a free hour I occasionally dare to initiate a conversation and he asks me to repeat myself five times before proceeding to answer a completely unrelated question. You never know quite what you’re going to get, so it’s always an adventure!

When I’m not arguing with old men about whether or not cold water is bad to drink when you’re sick, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting about the reality of Nicaraguan society as I prepare to write my final papers. Recently it has begun to weigh on me just how serious Nicaragua’s economic problems are. I could have told you that before coming here, but it has started to strike me in a more personal, emotional way. As much as I am frustrated by constantly being the target of crime (I am up to 2 successful robberies and 2 attempts!), I see that there are simply no jobs here. Students at school are getting degrees without knowing if they will ever use them. It goes to show that education alone is not the key to development, if there is nothing to do with that education once you’ve graduated. As much as I am always happy to see the men pushing the Eskimo ice cream carts up and down the streets, I wonder how a 40-year old man who probably has several kids feels to be spending his life on a rather mundane, unskilled task. I suppose I take it for granted that I’ve always assumed I’ll dedicate my life to a job that both makes a difference in the world and is personally satisfying and challenging, not to mention that pays enough to live decently. I just about went crazy after two years at Jamba Juice. While I suppose the people juggling fire in the streets or wearing clown costumes around the mall are probably grateful to have an income, I wonder if it gives them dignity or satisfaction, or if they ever thought they would do something more.

As a final note, I’m trying to decide what to be for Halloween, and how to procure a costume. While it’s not officially celebrated here, there are enough foreigners in town to put on an event or two, and there is enough American influence that Nicaraguans are curious about how we dress up, what pumpkin carving is all about, and why the heck we let our kids accept candy from strangers.

What’s everyone dressing up as for Halloween?