September 19, 2007

We succeeded in returning to Nicaragua without a single dramatic event, thus effectively—and, we hope, permanently—breaking the trend of our first round trip. Edwin was to pick us up and we'd head straight back to Buenos Aires that same night, but he was running a bit late, and in fact it was his older brother Reinaldo's truck that pulled up to Arrivals roughly 45 minutes later. We elected to spend the night with them in Managua, which was fine, and ended up being rather interesting once we all piled back into the pickup and headed out to eat. They took us back to a place they'd brought Pat on the weekend he went up with Edwin to do some repair work at Edwin's cousin Mario's 'guaron' plant (the non-distilled cane alcohol so beloved here, not the least due to its ludicrous affordability: $.50 gets you around 8oz of mind-numbing pleasure), but I had not yet had the experience. So picture this (you'll have to; I left my camera back at the family house): a large round-a-bout, or traffic circle, ringed roughly 240° by an assortment of fried chicken joints, variously named "Tip Top Chicken", "Super Chicken", "KFC", and "Chicken Campero" . These are all set back a bit from the circle, and up off the sidewalk. In front of them stand dozens of Mariachi bands. And don't think that all Mariachi bands are identical, oh no no. There are of course the traditional señores in their too-snug quasi-tuxes, over-sized sombreros, and guitars ranging from extrememly tiny to super-sized, but there are also the younger dudes dressed like extras from a 'Men in Black' film, and integrating a much wider range of instruments into their repertoire, including tenor sax, assorted horns, and drums of all kinds. After dining inside at Tip Top (where they were happy to serve us well-chilled beer), we went to sit at the outside tables to listen to one of these more modern variations strut their stuff. At first, they were playing for a table of young men, all dressed in new jeans, pressed plaid button down shirts, and, dismayingly, shiny new Walmart baseball caps. The guys kept handing over wads of crumpled, sweaty bills, so we got to hear a substantial selection before they turned their attention to us and the leader, who would be played by the love child of Ed Harris and William Burroughs in the film version, negotiated a per-song price with Reinaldo. Reinaldo leaned over and told me the first song would be a classic from Santana, so it actually took me a few seconds before I realized it was in fact a modern-mariachi rendition of "Whiter Shade of Pale". Once that was established, I leaned back against the railing to enjoy it but was instead immediately accosted by hungry children peddling small animals made from straw, and a drunk woman who wanted the empty beer cans she was convinced I was hiding. Dogs with ribs I could count from 50 yards circled nervously, hoping something more substantial than aromas would waft out from the restaurants, while hip young Nicas casually cruised by in souped-up SUV's, their Latino hiphop all but drowning out the local musicians. I looked up and noticed the final "p" in "Tip Top" had burned out, then looked through the glass to see a well-fed, well-dressed couple hand feeding their very well-padded seven or eight year old offspring choice tidbits of deep-fried heaven. I turned back to the music to see Christofer, Edwin's 14 y.o. nephew, pick up an instrument that resembled a large cheese grater and a wooden stick, and begin a near flawless rhythmic accompaniment to the music. I learned later that he longs to play the drums, but even here a drumset runs in the hundreds, and it's just not in the family's budget this year. Back at home he put on his favorite CD, "Californication" by The Red Hot Chilipeppers, and was overjoyed when I (thanks in no small part to it having been played frequently all summer, every summer, at my fish place) knew most of the lyrics.

We crawled into the narrow bed that night, draped the mosquito net over the endposts, and slept for hours, woken only by the hourly rooster alarms. It felt very good to be back in Nicaragua.

The next morning we loaded up Edwin's truck and set out to find the Chiltepe Brick Factory, located somewhere off the new highway to Leon. After a few wrong turns and miles on a dirt back road, we pulled up to their gates, only to be met by a sole security guard who informed us the factory was closed for another week or two or three for renovations. We asked if we could just peek inside, see an example or two, but he very politely told us this was not an option. Then Pat or Edwin spotted a pile of tiles lying off in the weeds, just inside the gate, and we convinced the guard to let us at least look at those. He must have deemed us mostly harmless because he then pointed us in the direction of what looked like a half-finished, very neglected block house, but which upon closer inspection turned out to be their showroom. We could see examples of tiles and bricks in all shapes and sizes, and Pat got very excited at the quality, which he declared superior to its counterpart in the States (most of which comes from Mexico). We slipped the guard a few dollars for his trouble, and will follow-up by calling the place in a couple weeks.

The rest of the ride back to Buenos Aires was uneventful, but as soon as we pulled up in front of the house, we went right across the street to see The Duck, aka Einstein. He has changed considerably in three months, his feathers now a mottled black and white, his eyes, curiously, light blue (an attribute his caretakers are sure came from me.) While he didn't exactly waddle up to us quacking "Mommy! Daddy!", he also didn't run at us and peck wildly at our feet and ankles as we were told he did with just about everyone else who entered Doña Juana's failing gate. He let us hold him and pet him, and seemed to accept our presence as normal—but he didn't respond to his name (this may in part be due to the fact Doña Juana couldn't pronounce 'Einstein' and renamed him Patricio, after his owner), or follow us anywhere. We stayed with him for a while, then headed home to unpack, and eventually, take a nap. I awoke first, and when I opened my eyes, they fell on Dog, the scrawny mongrel we'd spoiled and fattened up before leaving in June. When he saw me looking at him, he raised his head and wagged his tail—and when he stood up, I saw how impossibly thin he'd gotten; as close to transparent as a dog can get. In the days since we've returned, he's eaten very well, and this morning I noted that his ribs were slightly less conspicuous. It will be a process. We've named him "Dogui", after the only brand of dogfood we can find, and in keeping with the local tradiotion of naming one's pets after commercial brands (remember Edwin's dog, Scott…)

Since mid-June, it has rained consistently, rendering the landscape in rich, luscious shades of green. Many of the roads are sheltered by thick canopies, providing much needed shade during the hours of intense sunlight. On our property, all is lush, to the point that Julio, our now four-months-sober caretaker, had to do some serious clearing. And one of our new orange trees, planted just a year and a half ago, has produced its first fruit. The house looks more or less as we left it, marred only by a preponderance of wasp nests here and there on the ceiling and walls. Apparently these are not particularly aggressive wasps, but I think we will fumigate all the same.

One significant—and most welcome—change to our little barrio is the sudden appearance of 25 tiny colorful prefab houses nestled in up and down the road. I think I mentioned months ago that this was in the works, and although the original number was closer to 125, this was the end result. Seemingly anyone living in a palm leaf shack was a candidate, as well as two families inhabiting corrugated tin shanties. We had the chance to tour one of these wee gems when we stopped by to visit Walter's family (he's the young fisherman and uncle of Donald) a couple days ago. Donald had already told us that it would be Walter, his "mujer", and their two young children who got the new digs, while the rest of the family (two other uncles, two young aunts, Donald, and his grandmother) continued to share the original dwelling. But when we entered the prefab, it was totally empty, and hot as hell. All (three of) the windows were open, as was the door, but the metal roof and poor feng shui of the place, coupled with the absence of any sort of fan, effectively turned the place into a three room oven. Walter told us that many people are unhappy with their new homes, and a number have reconstructed their original shacks, claiming they are much more appropriate for the climate. Walter also told us that there was still plenty of room for our project, as many who did not receive a prefab are still in need of drastically improved housing. We'll learn as much as we can over the next couple months, and evaluate where and how we can assist the community.

It was absolutely amazing to see all our beach kids again, and judging from their faces—even before we whipped out the gifts of knives (only a Scotsman would present knives to a handful of 10 year olds), "wanker" lights (those battery-free flashlights activated by a few rapid up and down wrist movements), and clothing. They immediately began asking when we planned to start up work on the house again, offering their invaluable services, and promising there'd be no more incidents of small paint-handprints adorning the walls.

And we are no longer the sole Alaskans in the area. Just before leaving, we exchanged phone calls with a couple from Kasilof (a small town about 75 miles north of Homer), Grant and Linda, with whom we share a mutual friend. It turned out that they were headed down here one day after us, for a three week stay to finalize a land deal over on Omotepe Island. We met up at a sidewalk café in Rivas, and have spent many enjoyable hours with them since, introducing them to the people and places that comprise our life down here. They also don't go in for all that high-fallutin' froo-froo tourist nonsense, and took immediately to Edwin & Reyna's simple but unparalleled establishment, and are already talking about hiring Edwin to help them build their resort on the island. If all goes well, they'll be down here more or less fulltime in a year or so, and we anticipate regular trips across to escape the insanity of Tolasmaidas.

Finally, a plug for a cool little nonprofit. Our friend Don Darnell over in Halibut Cove introduced us to the Bogo Light. This is a very durable, bright orange, solar-powered flashlight, designed by some aid workers in Africa for use in villages without electricity, relying on non-renewable resources for light. One light, when charged, lasts for hours, and can be hung from the ceiling of a small dwelling to produce sufficient light for evening activities. Each light costs $25, but for every light someone buys, a second is donated to a charity somewhere in the world (selected from a long list.) We brought down two, one for us, one for Edwin's family, but plan on investing in several more next time around for the community. Google "Bogo" and they come right up. I may see if we can add our community to the list of potential recipients; with almost daily planned power outages now, they are a very useful commodity.

So that brings us more or less up to date. Tomorrow we head to Ometepe to see Grant & Linda's property, then it's off to the glorious north county of Matagalpa along with Edwin's clan, on their bi-annual trek to visit Reyna's family. Stay tuned.