I made the classic mistake of posting something on NicaLiving.com. It's usually a nice place to visit, get information, learn funny Nica phrases, stuff like that. I guess I was feeling a little full of myself so I posted a Forum topic asking for information about the "riots" at the U.S. Embassy. We received a Warden Notice (seriously, that's what they're called!) alerting recipients that some bad shit was going down in Managua. Living here is Paradise, free from newspapers and local news, we're usually blissfully unaware of what's going on in Managua. Who cares, anyway? People just go there for the airport, rent a car, and leave as soon as they can. Why stay there when there's so many other nicer places to go?! Anyway, here is what I posted and the 8 responses so far. The problem with all this is that, at the end, I was a little scared to say what I really thought. After all, my sign-in is Redwood Beach, which isn't too hard to find....the fear factor kicked in and I just shut up. So, for the record, here is what I WOULD have written if I had some anonymity, more moxy, big cahones, or actually thought that it would have made a difference:
So, I wrote:
U.S. Embassy Protests/Riots
Submitted by Redwood Beach on Thu, 2009/10/29 - 15:11.
Has anyone read the Warden News from the U.S. Embassy about protestors and riotors at the Embassy in Managua? Does anyone know what they are protesting?
Then I wrote:
Wow! The U.S. Embassy responds to one of my emails! Yowza!
Submitted by Redwood Beach on Thu, 2009/10/29 - 15:34.
I finally got the U.S. Embassy to respond to one of my emails, by stating that their ridiculously UN-informative Warden Messages should actually be, well, informative. Some nice person gave me the following links: This one is to the speech given by Callahan: http://nicaragua.usembassy.gov/sp_091028_amcham.html And this one is from today's paper which pretty much makes it clear that Ortega hired a bunch of goons, got them drunk, and bussed them to the Embassy: http://www.laprensa.com.ni/archivo/2009/octubre/29/noticias/ultimahora/3... We live far, far away from all of this. What's going on with our Nicaliving friends closer to the fire? Stacy
** Ok, so I was a little strong there, but the Orteguistas (Ortegas goons) use this method all the time - hiring masked thugs to spread fear, usually plying them with alcohol, and bussing them into an area. It's a common thing for the Sandinistas - they like to use it during elections. I don't think anyone would disagree with that....but then again, I did think that such a thing existed called "A protective layer of dirt."
Then, this rocket scientist posted:
It seems that things are going from bad to worse in Nicaragua this corrupt dictatorial government is destroying the economy and and creating more misery. I would advise anyone considering to move here to think twice....things will get a lot worse.
** OK, so I don't totally disagree, but I WOULD HAVE WRITTEN: Shut up and get out, you big complaining chicken little. I am implementing Stacy's Dictatorial Rule on Planet Stacy. You're out.
And then it gets interesting....
Because the interference of Callahan in the internal affairs of Nicaragua, Callahan gave declarations about the CSJ decision to pave the road to Ortega reelection.
This is the way work the left, in Honduras they want the marines come to overthrow the fact government, and ask for more actions and measures and everything...here they only want the dollars.
** Are you serious? Do you even know what you're talking about? If you think you're smart, your just another pseudo-politico. You're out too. Get out. Planet Stacy is kicking you out.
So, utilizing my infinite and omnipotent powers, I wrote...
I'n not sure I understand your response. It appears that Callahan spoke about an alteration to the Democratic governmental process. Protesting is one thing, and a right given to all citizens of a free country. I don't think trying to damage another government's embassy is included in that right. I'd like to hear your comments, though, so that I may learn more.
** Sucking up big time here. "so that I may learn more"....What a suck! If I had a tail, it would be firmly between my legs at that moment. Not the sign of the powerful, omnipotent Dictator of Planet Stacy.
Another rocket scientist chimes in - who KNEW there were so many here!
Like i said in other comment here, interference is used commonly by the diplomatic representatives around the world, in different levels.
Recently Obama gave a declarations where he call a hypocrisy, the request from some governments calling for a stronger intervention in Honduras, when all the time they criticized the same issue.
This provocation of Ortega, displaying a thugs to attack the embassy, is not more than a usual tactics of this kind of caudillos, he only is given a his thugs a chance to flex their muscle against the biggest enemy they have , is a injection of adrenaline to lift it off the mood of the masses "showing courage to the world".
They are right now in a deep crisis with all the opposition united against them, so what can be used better like a distraction, that a crisis with US ??
** Ok, so maybe he really is a rocket scientist. I have to re-read it 50 times to follow it. Maybe use my finger to follow along. Cliff notes, anyone? I think I might like him, though, he can stay. Not kicked out. Yet. I will put him on my double secret probation list.
Now, it gets a little sexy:
Interference!
Please don't give me the "First amendment" reply because it just does not cut it in this case. Callahan is not a private citizen but the official representative of the USA. He speaks for the government of that nation and is in fact the voice of the president of the United States of America in Nicaragua.
He made these (In my opinion) completely inappropriate remarks in a public forum. He chose the make them in front of reporters and not to a group of friends seated around a poker table. When will the US government representatives ever learn to curb their tongue and keep their opinions and hands out of another other nations business?
We can all guess what the answer to that question is likely to be: "NEVER".
Having said that, I also wish to point out that as far as i am concerned, the actions taken by the demonstrators matched the remarks of Callahan in unacceptability.
I am sure that some readers will feel they need to tell me how wrong my perspective of this incident is, and what a wonderful and patriotic servant of the US citizenry Mr. Callahan is.
This is not a question of being pro or anti Ortega. Pro or anti USA. This is just another case of a pompous diplomat sticking his nose where it does not belong. My reaction would be the same had the Swedish ambassador made these remarks.
** Ummmm, an ambassador from a Democracy speaks out against a secret Supreme Court decision to allow Ortego to seek a 3rd term..."pompous dictator..." Yes, you're definately out, if for no other reason that you are a total, blood-sucking night stalker who probably molests children.
OK, so that went a little far, but it's probably true.
OUT. Planet Stacy is better off with one less LUNATIC. The air feels cleaner already!
I write:
Thanks for your response. I understand your position a little better now.
** I think I just vomited in my mouth. Can you just FEEL the horror? The realization that people are actually reading this AND supporting the attack on a U.S. Embassy? There - I said it. I think that throwing rocks and molotov cocktails, spraypainting anti-U.S. sentiments on walls (while wearing masks and drinking "firewater") is a terror attack on U.S. soil. Cheese, being a powerful, omnipotent Dictator of Planet Stacy is a lot more work that I thought it would be. Fear not, I will struggle on...
Then...
If you look a all the speech and interventions of the ambassador of many countries in US, you will find that is a systematic custom gave declarations that fall in interference issue.
In Nicaragua we have a Venezuelan ambassador that is more like a proconsul and his rhetoric against the civil society is completely out of the diplomatics ways.
But we can go further and make comparisons between the speeches of Ortega, Chavez, and all ALBA team, with the US authorities , you will find a huge difference , between a academic diplomacy and a annoying speech.
And not is only with the US, in the last aftermath with the EU ambassadors, they received the same treatment...one ambassador was called Fly, other devil..
To me is not more that the normal way of a thug, he can say whatever he want, but you must Shut your mouth .
And we must be realistic the US is like a punching bag, every body is allowed to throw some punches.
** This guy stays, But only because he used the words Fly and Devil in one sentence. I like that in a subject.
So, there it is, my foray into Nicaraguan politics, cut tragically short by my incredible lameness - lest you forget the "so that I may learn more" faux pas.
I hereby declare Planet Stacy a closed society. Only Nan, my parents, Todd (because he came to visit twice), sometimes my other siblings, and the Fat Guy Who Delivers Beans is allowed in. Mike's out, because he told me, "Oh Shut Up Already." Outski.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Thing I have learned (and re-learned) in Nicaragua.
By Stacy J. Sabo
Beginning October 20, 2006
Revised October 7, 2009
Even half-starved, beaten, one-eyed dogs can be lovable.
I don’t know how to fish with a hook and a piece of string.
Eating lobster and fresh fruit every day makes me skinnier.
Cleaning fish is hard work, but it pays off.
I am spoiled.
I take food and fidelity for granted.
Never work from one to three in the afternoon.
Nothing goes on the ground.
Hormigas bite.
If you pull a coconut tree’s palm down and to the right, it comes right off, even if it is really big.
If you touch Nicaraguan children on the head, they melt in your hand.
Sunsets are special and make me cry sometimes.
All dogs hate baths.
I can make stuff out of stuff around.
Pictures drawn in the sand make things clearer.
If a child can make it to 5 years old, they’ll probably make it to old age.
Three years of school is really enough.
I can be alone for long periods of time and still have fun.
Anything picked from a tree is good if there are half-eaten ones on the ground.
Hobbes was wrong. People are generally good-hearted.
Hammocks can induce temporary comas.
Country slang for a gecko is “perro sans popo”, or dog without a butt.
If someone’s family is bad/mean/vindictive, chances are they are too.
A good machete can do just about anything.
There are albino Nicaraguans.
For at least one person in Managua, a pick-up bed full of recently slaughtered, headless pigs makes for a comfy bed.
Hobbes was right. People are generally self-centered, self-serving, and dangerous if there aren’t any rules.
Change is easy. It’s changing that is difficult.
Managing a staff is hard work. It takes more time than I would have ever imagined.
ALWAYS look at your food and in your glass before eating or drinking.
Buddha does not live in Mechapa.
A pig will lose control of his legs and fall down if you rub his stomach.
If you live on the beach you probably will not swim in the ocean 1/10th as much as you think you would.
Cows only have teeth on top.
I can learn how to fish with a hook and a piece of string.
I have a lot of regrets.
Chickens have feelings.
People with “dietary restrictions” piss me off.
I can go 3 weeks and 5 days without ever stepping foot in a car.
Just looking out into the Pacific Ocean is considered “doing something.”
Never buy a nocturnal animal.
By Stacy J. Sabo
Beginning October 20, 2006
Revised October 7, 2009
Even half-starved, beaten, one-eyed dogs can be lovable.
I don’t know how to fish with a hook and a piece of string.
Eating lobster and fresh fruit every day makes me skinnier.
Cleaning fish is hard work, but it pays off.
I am spoiled.
I take food and fidelity for granted.
Never work from one to three in the afternoon.
Nothing goes on the ground.
Hormigas bite.
If you pull a coconut tree’s palm down and to the right, it comes right off, even if it is really big.
If you touch Nicaraguan children on the head, they melt in your hand.
Sunsets are special and make me cry sometimes.
All dogs hate baths.
I can make stuff out of stuff around.
Pictures drawn in the sand make things clearer.
If a child can make it to 5 years old, they’ll probably make it to old age.
Three years of school is really enough.
I can be alone for long periods of time and still have fun.
Anything picked from a tree is good if there are half-eaten ones on the ground.
Hobbes was wrong. People are generally good-hearted.
Hammocks can induce temporary comas.
Country slang for a gecko is “perro sans popo”, or dog without a butt.
If someone’s family is bad/mean/vindictive, chances are they are too.
A good machete can do just about anything.
There are albino Nicaraguans.
For at least one person in Managua, a pick-up bed full of recently slaughtered, headless pigs makes for a comfy bed.
Hobbes was right. People are generally self-centered, self-serving, and dangerous if there aren’t any rules.
Change is easy. It’s changing that is difficult.
Managing a staff is hard work. It takes more time than I would have ever imagined.
ALWAYS look at your food and in your glass before eating or drinking.
Buddha does not live in Mechapa.
A pig will lose control of his legs and fall down if you rub his stomach.
If you live on the beach you probably will not swim in the ocean 1/10th as much as you think you would.
Cows only have teeth on top.
I can learn how to fish with a hook and a piece of string.
I have a lot of regrets.
Chickens have feelings.
People with “dietary restrictions” piss me off.
I can go 3 weeks and 5 days without ever stepping foot in a car.
Just looking out into the Pacific Ocean is considered “doing something.”
Never buy a nocturnal animal.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Stacy vs. The Volcano
Remember the movie "Joe versus The Volcano" with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan when Tom was diangosed with a Brain Cloud and shipped off to jump into a volcano? If not, you should rent it - it's funny....
....Anyway....
I went up Volcano Cosiguina with Mom and Dad in January of 2007. We took Luis Rafael's UniMog and hiked a short distance up to the top. No biggie - it was sort of easy! So, when a group of Canadian Volcanologists (yes, they were volcanologists - I checked their ears - pointy!) came to the hotel and were heading up I said to myself, "Sure! Why not! It'll be FUN!" They make me take 3 liters of water which weighed about 300 pounds (I would have taken only 2, which would have weighed only about 1 pound, but that extra liter adds a LOT.) So we pile into their little clown car (imagine 4 big people with big shoes and 900 pounds of water in a little car) and drive the one hour to the base of the volcano. I swear, these are the WORST roads, worse than the Worse Roads Known to Humankind.) I really shouldn't even call it a road, it's more like a cow path with overgrown trees, zero visibility, vicious blood-sucking trees, mosquitos the size of your head and buzzing pterodactyl-sized bees. Add hidden rocks, pointy tire-piercing thingies and your mental image is developing along nicely. Bumpy bump along - one hour - and then hike the 2 hours up a volcano. Just another day in Paradise! Everything is going pretty smoothly, craving a cigarette and a vodka smoothie, but realize I would probably just spill all over myself (I used to jog but the ice kept falling out of my glass...now I only run when chased.) So, we get to the top, nice view, yadda yadda. Eat some Doritos (they brought DORITOS! It took every ounce of energy for me not to grab the big bag and run down the volcano giggling like a maniac and shoving those salty triangles into my face - they'd find me at the bottom with orange fingers, drooling and begging for my 299 pounds of water....) So, I just sit quietly and look intently into the green water down inside the crator in a somber and thinky way sucking dorito sludge out of my finger nails. Strangely satisfying.
"We want to go around the perimeter and analyze ash deposits, maybe we'll find some carbonized wood that will shed light on volcanic activity prior to 1835" says Volcan No. 1. I nod knowingly, imagining him as a big vodka smoothie with crunched up bits of Dorito mixed in. So we head off toward Research Site No. 2. As if my mental state wasn't deterioriating by the minute, upon arriving at R.S.No.2, I decide to pick a pretty little plant tucked in just a few inches from the ledge of the volcano...for my mom, for her birthday. So, I scudge close to the rim on my belly, put both my hands on the rim and CRASH! Both arms fall through, my back legs kick up, and I am slipping into the volcano. I am serious here, kids, I almost fell into the volcano. Both knees bleeding, elbows totally filled with ash, I'm having flashbacks to the 4th of July at the rocks, imagining just how bad this could have been. I get pulled up, and the report was that I had a look on my face like, "I didn't do it! I didn't break the volcano rim!" But what I was really thinking was whether or not the Dorito sludge stuck in my fingernails would still be as tasty if it was mixed with volcanic ash and pebbles. Volcan No. 2 wants to go to Research Point No. 3, the tippy tip of the volcanic ridge, and I just know my head will explode, so I put my pack on the ground and try to take a nap. That's not really working. You know when your dog or cat has a little wound and those creepy little black bugs flit all over the cut....well, that happens to humans, too. So now I'm really creeped out, I'm alone at R.P.No. 2 while the Volcans are off doing whatever Volcans do at the top of a Volcano. Upon returning, I smile sweetly, now imagining each of them as a different colored smoothie, and we head down. Low and behold, it starts raining when we get back on the road, and it is incredible how fast this water can move! Here, we don't really have roads, but rather rivers that only flow when it rains, making it LOOK like a road, but it's really a dried river bed. Until it rains. And then it's a river....like it is while we're driving back, in the clown car, and my battered knees and elbows singing to me in a quiet but persistent way. At least I made it to the top!
BTW, 1 week later, I did the same trip with 2 clients from NYC (great time, guys!) and I'm sure that they can vouch for 1. the roads, 2. the evidence of me breaking through the ridge and 3. my love of Doritos. I think I'll name my next piglet Dorito. Choncho Dorito. Nice.
....Anyway....
I went up Volcano Cosiguina with Mom and Dad in January of 2007. We took Luis Rafael's UniMog and hiked a short distance up to the top. No biggie - it was sort of easy! So, when a group of Canadian Volcanologists (yes, they were volcanologists - I checked their ears - pointy!) came to the hotel and were heading up I said to myself, "Sure! Why not! It'll be FUN!" They make me take 3 liters of water which weighed about 300 pounds (I would have taken only 2, which would have weighed only about 1 pound, but that extra liter adds a LOT.) So we pile into their little clown car (imagine 4 big people with big shoes and 900 pounds of water in a little car) and drive the one hour to the base of the volcano. I swear, these are the WORST roads, worse than the Worse Roads Known to Humankind.) I really shouldn't even call it a road, it's more like a cow path with overgrown trees, zero visibility, vicious blood-sucking trees, mosquitos the size of your head and buzzing pterodactyl-sized bees. Add hidden rocks, pointy tire-piercing thingies and your mental image is developing along nicely. Bumpy bump along - one hour - and then hike the 2 hours up a volcano. Just another day in Paradise! Everything is going pretty smoothly, craving a cigarette and a vodka smoothie, but realize I would probably just spill all over myself (I used to jog but the ice kept falling out of my glass...now I only run when chased.) So, we get to the top, nice view, yadda yadda. Eat some Doritos (they brought DORITOS! It took every ounce of energy for me not to grab the big bag and run down the volcano giggling like a maniac and shoving those salty triangles into my face - they'd find me at the bottom with orange fingers, drooling and begging for my 299 pounds of water....) So, I just sit quietly and look intently into the green water down inside the crator in a somber and thinky way sucking dorito sludge out of my finger nails. Strangely satisfying.
"We want to go around the perimeter and analyze ash deposits, maybe we'll find some carbonized wood that will shed light on volcanic activity prior to 1835" says Volcan No. 1. I nod knowingly, imagining him as a big vodka smoothie with crunched up bits of Dorito mixed in. So we head off toward Research Site No. 2. As if my mental state wasn't deterioriating by the minute, upon arriving at R.S.No.2, I decide to pick a pretty little plant tucked in just a few inches from the ledge of the volcano...for my mom, for her birthday. So, I scudge close to the rim on my belly, put both my hands on the rim and CRASH! Both arms fall through, my back legs kick up, and I am slipping into the volcano. I am serious here, kids, I almost fell into the volcano. Both knees bleeding, elbows totally filled with ash, I'm having flashbacks to the 4th of July at the rocks, imagining just how bad this could have been. I get pulled up, and the report was that I had a look on my face like, "I didn't do it! I didn't break the volcano rim!" But what I was really thinking was whether or not the Dorito sludge stuck in my fingernails would still be as tasty if it was mixed with volcanic ash and pebbles. Volcan No. 2 wants to go to Research Point No. 3, the tippy tip of the volcanic ridge, and I just know my head will explode, so I put my pack on the ground and try to take a nap. That's not really working. You know when your dog or cat has a little wound and those creepy little black bugs flit all over the cut....well, that happens to humans, too. So now I'm really creeped out, I'm alone at R.P.No. 2 while the Volcans are off doing whatever Volcans do at the top of a Volcano. Upon returning, I smile sweetly, now imagining each of them as a different colored smoothie, and we head down. Low and behold, it starts raining when we get back on the road, and it is incredible how fast this water can move! Here, we don't really have roads, but rather rivers that only flow when it rains, making it LOOK like a road, but it's really a dried river bed. Until it rains. And then it's a river....like it is while we're driving back, in the clown car, and my battered knees and elbows singing to me in a quiet but persistent way. At least I made it to the top!
BTW, 1 week later, I did the same trip with 2 clients from NYC (great time, guys!) and I'm sure that they can vouch for 1. the roads, 2. the evidence of me breaking through the ridge and 3. my love of Doritos. I think I'll name my next piglet Dorito. Choncho Dorito. Nice.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Updates at Redwood Beach Resort!
1. Curt and Wes called last night from Mundelein! What a great surprise! When in Illinois, we had such a great group of friends, but lost touch with most of them. The only two exceptions are Tony Skaronea and Mariana Grinzafi, who I email every once in a while. We found out that the house we lived in on Prospect was totally demolished after the fire. We knew about the fire there, but not its' ultimate fate. I still feel bad about it...considering it the house that Mike and I "grew up in." I guess the ties are finally broken to Illinois in that way, but it was great hearing from our two good friends. Strangely, they mentioned that they saw Chip about a year ago and he said that he was mad at Mike for not keeping in touch. Whatta tool. He definately has long-term memory loss. What's important, though, is that we are back in touch with friends.
2. Princessa, who finally received her "much cooler and funnier name" Spinner (given her propensity to stand up, walk a couple of feet and then completely lose it and fall down.) After trying really hard, we had to return her to Nino, who said that I signed "the death warrant" - OUCH. Turns out, her time at rehabilitation here paid off and she's living comfortably at Nino's house. Yey!
3. These feet were made for walking: Yet again, I needed to do a hideous amount of walking (see first blog post.) This time, it was from Tom's house near the point of the estuary. Part of it was my fault, I forgot to call Dennis to tell him to start the boat on its' way to pick up 2 clients. Tim was with me, and returning from a beer run, decided to take his dirt bike instead of the Land Cruiser back to where we were. I made the decision that, given the circumstances of riding on soft sand with Tim on a motorcycle, or walking 10 miles at noon in the tropical heat with no water, was a no-brainer. I made it in good time and chalked it up to "experience." I plan on becoming less experienced in the future. God willin'.
4. Jon is lightening up. I also saw a bunch of his pictures which are outstanding. His "alleged wife" though is still in the box, having never seen a picture of him and her together.
5. Corn Project: Meeting today with Nino at the field to inspect the plowed land and discuss "plaga." I plan on taking the donkey up to the site because it's pretty high in the hills up a rocky road. Pics to follow of me and my mule. Hold your breath.
6. General Staging Facts: super high tides the past few days. The water is warm and beautiful, though, and the waves are HUGE! We had an amazing lightening storm the other night, and Jon and I agreed that we haven't been that scared since we were both around 4 years old. I categorized it as a Level 8 Tempesta: Very scary, but nothing got hit by lightening (Level 9) and nothing caught on fire and burned everything down (Level 10.)
Discovered Pandora.com on the internet (thanks Colleen and Oscar!) and I am having fun adding diversity to my music channels. Check it out. It's GREAT.
7. The Sweets: Having a hard time navigating the terrain here scouring for grubs, but King and Coquetta keep chasing them back to their corral. This morning, they both did their "gang routine" and George Clooney got the worst of it. George is a little fatter and slower than Brad Pitt and Tyra Banks, so he keeps getting ganged up on. Christie Brinkley just lays around and poses in the corral, so she's fine. Thank goodness.
8. The Ponies: Yesterday morning, unscripted, I asked Ramone to saddle up Davidson. During the excitement, I decided to give Sunset and Harley and "hair cut." Turns out I'm pretty good at cutting horse hair manes! Ramone said I could make "mucho pesos." Also cleaned out Nicaraguan ear mites (yuck) and cut ear hair. Mucho, mucho pesos.
9. The Montero (a.k.a. The Monterrible): The Montero is still in Managua, despite much expense and heartache. Fucker. (sorry mom.)
10. New friends: Skyler in Managua. Cool American guy living here for 12.5 years. Like him.
11. Newest food experiment: Mango, Plantains, honey, lime, red pepper, scallion. Rated 8.2 on the soon-to-be-patented Sabo-scale of Food Edibility and Lookiness.
Chao. For Now.
2. Princessa, who finally received her "much cooler and funnier name" Spinner (given her propensity to stand up, walk a couple of feet and then completely lose it and fall down.) After trying really hard, we had to return her to Nino, who said that I signed "the death warrant" - OUCH. Turns out, her time at rehabilitation here paid off and she's living comfortably at Nino's house. Yey!
3. These feet were made for walking: Yet again, I needed to do a hideous amount of walking (see first blog post.) This time, it was from Tom's house near the point of the estuary. Part of it was my fault, I forgot to call Dennis to tell him to start the boat on its' way to pick up 2 clients. Tim was with me, and returning from a beer run, decided to take his dirt bike instead of the Land Cruiser back to where we were. I made the decision that, given the circumstances of riding on soft sand with Tim on a motorcycle, or walking 10 miles at noon in the tropical heat with no water, was a no-brainer. I made it in good time and chalked it up to "experience." I plan on becoming less experienced in the future. God willin'.
4. Jon is lightening up. I also saw a bunch of his pictures which are outstanding. His "alleged wife" though is still in the box, having never seen a picture of him and her together.
5. Corn Project: Meeting today with Nino at the field to inspect the plowed land and discuss "plaga." I plan on taking the donkey up to the site because it's pretty high in the hills up a rocky road. Pics to follow of me and my mule. Hold your breath.
6. General Staging Facts: super high tides the past few days. The water is warm and beautiful, though, and the waves are HUGE! We had an amazing lightening storm the other night, and Jon and I agreed that we haven't been that scared since we were both around 4 years old. I categorized it as a Level 8 Tempesta: Very scary, but nothing got hit by lightening (Level 9) and nothing caught on fire and burned everything down (Level 10.)
Discovered Pandora.com on the internet (thanks Colleen and Oscar!) and I am having fun adding diversity to my music channels. Check it out. It's GREAT.
7. The Sweets: Having a hard time navigating the terrain here scouring for grubs, but King and Coquetta keep chasing them back to their corral. This morning, they both did their "gang routine" and George Clooney got the worst of it. George is a little fatter and slower than Brad Pitt and Tyra Banks, so he keeps getting ganged up on. Christie Brinkley just lays around and poses in the corral, so she's fine. Thank goodness.
8. The Ponies: Yesterday morning, unscripted, I asked Ramone to saddle up Davidson. During the excitement, I decided to give Sunset and Harley and "hair cut." Turns out I'm pretty good at cutting horse hair manes! Ramone said I could make "mucho pesos." Also cleaned out Nicaraguan ear mites (yuck) and cut ear hair. Mucho, mucho pesos.
9. The Montero (a.k.a. The Monterrible): The Montero is still in Managua, despite much expense and heartache. Fucker. (sorry mom.)
10. New friends: Skyler in Managua. Cool American guy living here for 12.5 years. Like him.
11. Newest food experiment: Mango, Plantains, honey, lime, red pepper, scallion. Rated 8.2 on the soon-to-be-patented Sabo-scale of Food Edibility and Lookiness.
Chao. For Now.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Being Rich
An interesting weekend, to say the least! Tim is still here...working hard and having discovered the spiritual virtues of beer and vodka, is that much closer to God. We have a new addition to the Redwood Beach Halfway House of People Hangin out - Jon Goering. He is a photographer (haven't seen any photos yet but he has some bomb cameras). He is here for about a month and paying our discounted monthly rate. So far, I've made it clear to him that "it isn't always this much fun.... sometimes it's FUNNER." which I think gets him to giggle on the inside (he's sort of a serious guy....) He spent 2 hours on the beach yesterday at sunset photographing horses and dogs. Running the entire time (ahhh, to be young again.) Colleen and Oscar from Chicago came back after their trip last year. I'm pretty impressed because of a couple of reasons: first, they've never returned to the same vacation spot, and second, Oscar almost got airlifted out on a MediVac last time because of God-Only-Knows-What. This time, he decided (involuntarily) to get violently ill the first night, so we got that out of the way. We set him up with a cooler last night to soak his legs in. Mike brought out a ladle and we considered adding some vegetables, but the Rum and Sangria flowed, so we just ate MORE lobster instead. Not sure why, but 3 people have "suffered the Mechapa Blues" here - Rob, Chip, and Oscar. We told Oscar that only the tough people can handle being here, so he said it was time to "Man-Up" - which I think includes Benadryl, lots of booze, a cooler filled with ice water and a ladle (who would have thought that a ladle would be considered a medical intervention?!) They all woke up this morning, downed a couple of Bloody Mary's and hit the boat for an early fishing trip with Enrique Gasteazoro. Enrique bought the biggest bottle of Olive Oil I've ever seen and a tube of ground beef (among other things - like Grey Goose Vodka....) This is a vacation weekend for Nicaragua, celebrating the 30th anniversary of Independence - or the Sandinista War - which to us is sort of like celebrating the Civil War saying, "Yes! This is the day our country really started to fall apart! Let's Party!" I guess it's just a good excuse to have a long weekend. So, I've got 4 cabanas going....listening to Pandora Radio....Boys just pulled in on the boat - Head count.....all here. Gots to go! I feel Rich!!!!
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Home Is Where The Hard Is.
I figured that since it was the 4th of July, I'd bug Mike to do something. Jackie-O needs to get off the compound. I'd like to have a nice, easy, tranquil day. Maybe do an arts-and-crafts thing. Take a nap later. Crank the a/c. It's pretty early, so I wake him up saying, "C'mon, let's do something! It'll be fun! Let's go for a motorcycle ride. C'mon, it'll be FUN!" For whatever reason (probably just to shut me up) he says yes. So we gas up the motorcycle and head up the beach to an area called the Farrallones (the cliffs). It is incredibly beautiful, no one is ever there and there are a lot of pretty shells stuck in the rocks from high tide. Quick zip and we're there. That was easy! I'm walking around on the rocks and whooops, I fall on a slippery rock. One leg goes right, the other left and I'm on my butt on top of the rock with my leg stuck in between a crevice (the proverbial "stuck between a rock and a hard place," I guess.) Ok, this could be bad. I'm bleeding and my ankle is already turning an interesting color. Pain level, 3. Worse yet, the Dolce & Gabana sunglasses Susan left me last time she was here flew off my head and are now being claimed by the waves crashing all around me. All I could think of was, "God, I'm gonna miss those sunglasses" and then "I could die out here if Mike doesn't find me" and then "God, I'm really gonna miss those sunglasses." A woman of substance knows how to analyze a situation and focus on the important stuff.
A couple of minutes go by, so I figure it's time to assess the damage. Twisted ankle, for sure, twisted knee, possibly, millions of flesh-eating bacteria entering my wound, definately. I scoot my way out of the rocks and limp into the water on the other side of the beach - the secluded-er side. I figure a little salt water might help, so I wade in a little deeper with visions of sharks and carniverous fish dancing in my head Dr. Seuss style. They're the cute kind so I'm not too worried. I finally see Mike down the beach and give him the Taxi Whistle (perfected in Pennsylvania, it works for taxis, dogs and boyfriends with equal effectiveness.) I'm desperately missing my sunglasses (essential for the Jackie-O personna) but then I see a cropping of really nice shells. Again, priorities people, priorities. During this whole ordeal, I managed not to drop my big red bucket, so I have that going for me. I think I'll mail these shells back home to NY if I live. Pain level, 4.5.
I limp my way back over the rocks, toward the motorcycle and wait for Mike. Normally, he's the one telling me we have to go, so I'm a little surprised that he's still walking around. He says later that he found a couple of lots that people had said they bought last year. I am serious, folks, these lots are in between 2 big rock formations and completely inaccessible. The beach is pretty, but there's no way to get to there! It amazes me what people pay for. Pain level, 3.5, because I'm getting annoyed at why I can't sell more property here.
Moving along, we finally get back to the compound and I clean myself up. Pain level, 6. Anger can only sustain me for so long.
So now I'm in my living room, a little mad at myself for ruining my only chance to get out, and the Eskimo Ice-Cream Delivery Guy comes. Here they say "Es - KEE-mo" not "ES-kimo" which always makes me giggle. Remember where we are, though, so if you're thinking a guy in a white truck with a sharp white hat and music being pumped out of speakers, think again. The Eskimo Guy is about 40, very few teeth, and carries a beat-up styrofoam cooler filled with newspaper for added insulation. It's covered in bungees and pieces of string tied together. The ice-cream is usually half-melted, but it's ice-cream and he's a nice guy, so I usually buy a lot. This time, however, the Eskimo Guy is actually yelling at me. It seems that 2 weeks ago when I asked the Fat Guy Who Delivers Beans if he saw the Eskimo Guy, things got twisted around that I was mad. Small Town + Big Mouths + Extreme Boredom = Ridiculous Gossip. or T+M+B=G for short. I think I straighten it out but deep down inside I'm filled with fear that the Eskimo Guy will never come back. It's possible. They hold grudges here like there's no tomorrow. Later, when the Fat Guy Who Delivers Beans comes, I say "What was up with the Eskimo Guy?" and he says "He's just bravo, ignore him." Now I know I'm in big trouble. No ice-cream for you....ever. But then the Fat Guy Who Delivers Beans says that he'll take over the Eskimo Guy position if I want him to. I really don't care which scary man brings me my ice-cream, just give it to me dammit!! Pain level, 6.5 and rising. Blood loss, about a cup as far as I can tell.
I go back on the computer, why isn't anyone emailing me? Where are all my clients? I could DIE out here.
And then Nino comes. Nino is a young guy who lives about 5 minutes away with his very cool family. He is also the Jeep Meat Man on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He wakes up at 2 a.m. the day before, slaughters the cow, puts the cuts in different buckets and then drives around in his Jeep selling the Meat. If you ever want to see the cow before it's slaughtered, just drive by his house the day before. It'll be tied to the mango tree next to the road right out front. Nino checked in on Rob's Montero which has been in Managua for almost 3 months. It's getting slowly taken apart by theives, and we need $1,000 to put in a new transmission. That is not going to happen. Then Nino says, "I have your dog, by the way." I say, "Oh great. What dog?" He says, "The dog that fell out of the 2 story house and broke it's back. The one that you said you would take care of." I say, "I was just joking about that." He says, "No you weren't." I say, "Yes, I was." He says, "Well either way, I have your dog." Darn, beaten by the master AGAIN. Never try to argue with your butcher. Pain level, 7 and rising. Mike is furious. "I better not set eyes on that animal once. It better be tied up in the back of the property for the rest of it's miserable life." Naturally I agree, smile sweetly and gimp on over to the Jeep to see what I've gotten myself into this time. She's pretty, a typical Nica dog, not unlike Coquetta, but she's got a huge hole in her hip and just sort of drags herself around. She's only 6 months old. Oy vey. To top it off, she keeps growling at me. Not helpful at all, Princessa (that's her silly name, remind me to change it to something funnier.) So I grab an extra collar and some rope and have Nino carry her over to the Ranchos in the back. She starts howling and crying the moment we leave. Super oy vey. Pain level, 9 (from walking.) I decide to start a serious self-medication plan with the bottle(s) of wine that the Fat Guy Who Delivers Beans brought me (he's a real jack of all trades, aint he!) Pain level, 6.5 after 2 glasses.
Relaxing upstairs again. I reflect on my day and chalk this one up to the "best made plans" category. Pain level, 4 after an equal number of glasses of wine. Better stop while I'm ahead. It seems that Jackie-O will live to see another day, minus the bomb eyewear. Maybe July 5th will be my day, after all.
p.s. I'm writing this the next morning, watching Princessa drag herself around the property. Super, duper oy vey. Looks like I might have to shoot for the 6th of July being "my day."
A couple of minutes go by, so I figure it's time to assess the damage. Twisted ankle, for sure, twisted knee, possibly, millions of flesh-eating bacteria entering my wound, definately. I scoot my way out of the rocks and limp into the water on the other side of the beach - the secluded-er side. I figure a little salt water might help, so I wade in a little deeper with visions of sharks and carniverous fish dancing in my head Dr. Seuss style. They're the cute kind so I'm not too worried. I finally see Mike down the beach and give him the Taxi Whistle (perfected in Pennsylvania, it works for taxis, dogs and boyfriends with equal effectiveness.) I'm desperately missing my sunglasses (essential for the Jackie-O personna) but then I see a cropping of really nice shells. Again, priorities people, priorities. During this whole ordeal, I managed not to drop my big red bucket, so I have that going for me. I think I'll mail these shells back home to NY if I live. Pain level, 4.5.
I limp my way back over the rocks, toward the motorcycle and wait for Mike. Normally, he's the one telling me we have to go, so I'm a little surprised that he's still walking around. He says later that he found a couple of lots that people had said they bought last year. I am serious, folks, these lots are in between 2 big rock formations and completely inaccessible. The beach is pretty, but there's no way to get to there! It amazes me what people pay for. Pain level, 3.5, because I'm getting annoyed at why I can't sell more property here.
Moving along, we finally get back to the compound and I clean myself up. Pain level, 6. Anger can only sustain me for so long.
So now I'm in my living room, a little mad at myself for ruining my only chance to get out, and the Eskimo Ice-Cream Delivery Guy comes. Here they say "Es - KEE-mo" not "ES-kimo" which always makes me giggle. Remember where we are, though, so if you're thinking a guy in a white truck with a sharp white hat and music being pumped out of speakers, think again. The Eskimo Guy is about 40, very few teeth, and carries a beat-up styrofoam cooler filled with newspaper for added insulation. It's covered in bungees and pieces of string tied together. The ice-cream is usually half-melted, but it's ice-cream and he's a nice guy, so I usually buy a lot. This time, however, the Eskimo Guy is actually yelling at me. It seems that 2 weeks ago when I asked the Fat Guy Who Delivers Beans if he saw the Eskimo Guy, things got twisted around that I was mad. Small Town + Big Mouths + Extreme Boredom = Ridiculous Gossip. or T+M+B=G for short. I think I straighten it out but deep down inside I'm filled with fear that the Eskimo Guy will never come back. It's possible. They hold grudges here like there's no tomorrow. Later, when the Fat Guy Who Delivers Beans comes, I say "What was up with the Eskimo Guy?" and he says "He's just bravo, ignore him." Now I know I'm in big trouble. No ice-cream for you....ever. But then the Fat Guy Who Delivers Beans says that he'll take over the Eskimo Guy position if I want him to. I really don't care which scary man brings me my ice-cream, just give it to me dammit!! Pain level, 6.5 and rising. Blood loss, about a cup as far as I can tell.
I go back on the computer, why isn't anyone emailing me? Where are all my clients? I could DIE out here.
And then Nino comes. Nino is a young guy who lives about 5 minutes away with his very cool family. He is also the Jeep Meat Man on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He wakes up at 2 a.m. the day before, slaughters the cow, puts the cuts in different buckets and then drives around in his Jeep selling the Meat. If you ever want to see the cow before it's slaughtered, just drive by his house the day before. It'll be tied to the mango tree next to the road right out front. Nino checked in on Rob's Montero which has been in Managua for almost 3 months. It's getting slowly taken apart by theives, and we need $1,000 to put in a new transmission. That is not going to happen. Then Nino says, "I have your dog, by the way." I say, "Oh great. What dog?" He says, "The dog that fell out of the 2 story house and broke it's back. The one that you said you would take care of." I say, "I was just joking about that." He says, "No you weren't." I say, "Yes, I was." He says, "Well either way, I have your dog." Darn, beaten by the master AGAIN. Never try to argue with your butcher. Pain level, 7 and rising. Mike is furious. "I better not set eyes on that animal once. It better be tied up in the back of the property for the rest of it's miserable life." Naturally I agree, smile sweetly and gimp on over to the Jeep to see what I've gotten myself into this time. She's pretty, a typical Nica dog, not unlike Coquetta, but she's got a huge hole in her hip and just sort of drags herself around. She's only 6 months old. Oy vey. To top it off, she keeps growling at me. Not helpful at all, Princessa (that's her silly name, remind me to change it to something funnier.) So I grab an extra collar and some rope and have Nino carry her over to the Ranchos in the back. She starts howling and crying the moment we leave. Super oy vey. Pain level, 9 (from walking.) I decide to start a serious self-medication plan with the bottle(s) of wine that the Fat Guy Who Delivers Beans brought me (he's a real jack of all trades, aint he!) Pain level, 6.5 after 2 glasses.
Relaxing upstairs again. I reflect on my day and chalk this one up to the "best made plans" category. Pain level, 4 after an equal number of glasses of wine. Better stop while I'm ahead. It seems that Jackie-O will live to see another day, minus the bomb eyewear. Maybe July 5th will be my day, after all.
p.s. I'm writing this the next morning, watching Princessa drag herself around the property. Super, duper oy vey. Looks like I might have to shoot for the 6th of July being "my day."
Saturday, July 4, 2009
No, there is NOT a doctor in the house....
Imagine it's early in the morning tomorrow, say, 5:00 a.m. Your name is Lisseth, and you live with your 4 children in a small house. You struggle to make ends meet. Your husband left last year to find work in another country. You haven't heard from him in 6 months. Your 2 year old is very sick. She's vomiting and seems to be running a high fever. You don't have electricity, running water, let alone baby Tylenol. You also don't have a telephone, a car, a motorcycle, a horse. The closest pharmacy is 90 kilometers away and the closest doctor is 60 kilometers away. The one bus that leaves your town left at 4 a.m. Your neighbors have as little as you do.
What do you do?
This is the situation facing the village of Mechapa. MINSA, the government-run Health Services office, just announced yesterday that they will be closing the only medical office in the area. It was small and the doctor came only 3 or 4 times a week, the roof leaked, bats lived in the bathroom, and supplies were limited. But it was something. A place to go when you just don't have anywhere else to turn.
We've helped mothers like Lisseth. We've distributed age-appropriate medicine, as well as bandages, vitamins, diapers, baby formula, and other over-the-counter medicines that we either bought or received as donations from friends and family. But even our supplies are running out, and we're not in a position to stock our office with all that is needed to help our neighbors.
When Doctor Amener was in town, his sleeping conditions were so bad at the medical office that we opened a cabana for him to sleep him. It had lights, a fan, a bathroom. It was cool at night and safe. He called it "cielo" - heaven. He received notice that his contract, which had been renewed for 15 years straight, was cancelled. He will soon be out of work in a country where it is difficult to find a job (like so many other countries) -- even for a trained doctor.
I'm not worried about our doctor friend, though. I'm worried about Lisseth and all of the other women like her. I'm also worried about the men who work in Mechapa. Many are fishermen and suffer a wide variety of bad cuts, scrapes and sprains that come with fishing from 4 pm until 6 am in the Pacific Ocean on an 18-foot panga. Many of the mothers in town don't have basic health and hygiene education for their children. Their little ones walk barefoot through mud filled with animal feces and play in water with green mold floating on it. In the past, humanitarian organizations (like CARE and USAid) came and worked with the families to help educate them about some of the precautions they could take to protect their health. We haven't seen a group since January 2008. Back then, we gave two of the nurses a cabana, as well, and told them that we would open our doors to their organization in the future. So much funding has been cut by foreign countries, including the U.S.'s Millennium Challenge Corporations dollars, and I fear that this closure is just the tip of the iceburg.
I'm not sure what can be done. To start something going, though, we've typed a letter to the Minister of Health at MINSA stressing the importance of keeping the medical office open. Our friend Colleen from Chicago helped in the editing of it. We've started a signature petition, too. If you have any ideas, please, PLEASE write me.
For now, I'm going to go to the MINSA office on Tuesday with the town administrator to drop off the letter. Then, I think I'll talk to a couple of the established foundations in Chinandega and see what I can scare up. Maybe you can help - make a suggestion and I'll follow through!
Stacy
What do you do?
This is the situation facing the village of Mechapa. MINSA, the government-run Health Services office, just announced yesterday that they will be closing the only medical office in the area. It was small and the doctor came only 3 or 4 times a week, the roof leaked, bats lived in the bathroom, and supplies were limited. But it was something. A place to go when you just don't have anywhere else to turn.
We've helped mothers like Lisseth. We've distributed age-appropriate medicine, as well as bandages, vitamins, diapers, baby formula, and other over-the-counter medicines that we either bought or received as donations from friends and family. But even our supplies are running out, and we're not in a position to stock our office with all that is needed to help our neighbors.
When Doctor Amener was in town, his sleeping conditions were so bad at the medical office that we opened a cabana for him to sleep him. It had lights, a fan, a bathroom. It was cool at night and safe. He called it "cielo" - heaven. He received notice that his contract, which had been renewed for 15 years straight, was cancelled. He will soon be out of work in a country where it is difficult to find a job (like so many other countries) -- even for a trained doctor.
I'm not worried about our doctor friend, though. I'm worried about Lisseth and all of the other women like her. I'm also worried about the men who work in Mechapa. Many are fishermen and suffer a wide variety of bad cuts, scrapes and sprains that come with fishing from 4 pm until 6 am in the Pacific Ocean on an 18-foot panga. Many of the mothers in town don't have basic health and hygiene education for their children. Their little ones walk barefoot through mud filled with animal feces and play in water with green mold floating on it. In the past, humanitarian organizations (like CARE and USAid) came and worked with the families to help educate them about some of the precautions they could take to protect their health. We haven't seen a group since January 2008. Back then, we gave two of the nurses a cabana, as well, and told them that we would open our doors to their organization in the future. So much funding has been cut by foreign countries, including the U.S.'s Millennium Challenge Corporations dollars, and I fear that this closure is just the tip of the iceburg.
I'm not sure what can be done. To start something going, though, we've typed a letter to the Minister of Health at MINSA stressing the importance of keeping the medical office open. Our friend Colleen from Chicago helped in the editing of it. We've started a signature petition, too. If you have any ideas, please, PLEASE write me.
For now, I'm going to go to the MINSA office on Tuesday with the town administrator to drop off the letter. Then, I think I'll talk to a couple of the established foundations in Chinandega and see what I can scare up. Maybe you can help - make a suggestion and I'll follow through!
Stacy
Monday, June 29, 2009
Tim has a "Dead Finger"
This post is for Tim - yes you, Tim, relaxing beachside on the hammock. Your infected finger is creeping everyone out. Sure, it happened while you were trying to catch lobsters, which in and of itself is cool, but I think you should have let the "Doctor" in Cosiguina give you a shot in the ass. BTW, stop proof-reading my posts. I'm a writer, not an editor. Shkeeesss. Go chase a pig. Love you, man!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Sure, anything could happen...
New cool finding of the day - my blog automatically adds the date on top of my post, so it is even LESS necessary for me to know the date. Yey! Technology IS my friend! I am working on a post called "How Green I Am" based on my current reading of the "Omnivore's Dilemma" and a stupid Fox news extra about a couple who planned their "Green" honeymoon in Costa Rica. But I'm way into it and want to make it special...so sit tight, man, and stop yelling at me!
Here's how today went. The boys have off today (Ramone and Juan), so I am sure that it is Sunday. Sunday's are my favorite days of all because I get to put on my farmer boots (am I obsessed with footwear, or what?!) and play farmer girl. It's around 6 am, and I decide that the pigs are wallowing in way too much pig stuff. It rained like crazy at around 4 am, and I got to thinking about Swine Flu (that's a natural progression, no?) and decided that I would let Nacatamale and Tortilla and the Sweets out for a lawn breakfast. This is an extremely bold idea. Almost as bold as me deciding to wear my nighshirt most of the day. My fave sleeping shirt is a sleeveless teal number with green turtles stitched on them. My mom gave it to me. I want to be buried in it while the Betania school plays My Way. The Sweets are 4 piglets born a little over a month ago. Technically, their names are Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Tyra Banks and Christie Brinkley. But doing a pretty good "pig call" of sweet, SWeet, SWEEt, SWEET is much easier than Brad, George, Tyra and Christie. So, I grab a cup of Esteli coffee (crack coffee we call it because it is disturbingly addictive) and head out back to the corrals. Step 1: Find a stick. Step 2: Open Gates. Step 3: get the heck out of the way - we've got 500 pounds of fun running out the door like a prison break out. Unfortunately, my plan went terribly awry after Tortilla took off through the banana orchards with the Sweets in tow. Mind you, King and Coquetta (the dogs) are just waiting for me to say, "Go ahead, kids, breakfast time!" and snatch one of the little ones for a quick treat. Everyone behaved, except for Tortilla, who is now racing full speed towards God knows what. Nacatamale is grazing nicely in the lime fields. Important note: Mike would kill me if he knew what I was up to. I'm always coming up with these animal-friendly ideas, most of which backfire terribly, so I only have a short while to get these fatties back in their pens before I have to eat the proverbial crow and say, "I know. I promise. Never again. Don't play with the lifestock. Yadda yadda yadda. How 'bout some crack coffee?" After about 20 minutes, I decide it's time to call in a professional. Tim is in the kitchen, and he used to work on a farm, so I enlist his help. To make a long story short, we chased them all over the property, and decided to use some of the breakfast slop to entice Tortilla, who is now waaay over on the edge of the property near the river. A Nicaraguan family walks by on the beach, and watches Tim (in flipflops) and me (in knee high rubber boots, shorts and a turtle embroidered nightshirt) chasing the Sweets and their momma through the river, into the woods, and near the corral. At one point, holding a bucket of stinky fish head slop with corn (breakfast of pig champions) I throw the bucket at Tim, who is yelling, "Run, Forrest, Run!!!" (remind me to fire him) and he takes off towards the banana orchards. Mental note: Never, ever, try to entice a 250 pound female pig with food in the morning before she's eaten. After about 20 minutes, we get her in the corral, Nacatamale follows suit shortly, and all is well. All this before 7 am. SAFE! Mike's still in bed. The rest of day is taken up by a few annoying rich guys who stop in for beers - they say they are looking for property down the beach. Everyone comes here with these grandiose ideas of opening up a hotel, but the fact is, only Mike and Rob are crazy enough to buy property at the end of the world (or the asshole of Nicaragua, as Luis Rafael calls it) so good luck. Eat lunch - lobster, again (can't wait until lobster season ends - I swear I'm losing my opposable thumbs and developing a meaty tail). A man and 2 women come in to go on a kayak trip (Tim runs this one, great job, remind me to rehire him). Make some money. Nice. At around 4 pm, I go downstairs to make my signature Cauliflower and Potato Soup. At that instant, Nino and Marienella (my corn farm partners) pull up with their family. 4 cars of beautiful Nicaraguans who are the most precious and kind people I have ever met. Drink beer, drink more rum and cokes, eat soup (the recipe of which comes from a vegetarian cookbook my Mom gave me too - thanks Mommy!) Juan comes by on his bike because he saw the car caravan in town. Generally, whenever there are cars in Mechapa, they're coming here. So he wanted to make sure we were OK and offer his help (mental note: give Juan a raise). It's funny here, but no matter how I try to plan my day, it is impossible. There are no rules, such as wake up at 7, eat breakfast by 7:30, get in car by 8, office by 9. Work until 5, home by 6. Dinner at 7, kiss kids goodnight. Repeat.
So the day's tally: Pigs tucked in and accounted for: 6, Swine Flu: 0, Satisfied Customers: 3, Deeper Friendships: 2, New friends: 12, Money Made: enough to make payroll Tuesday. Life is good. Maybe I'll wear my turtle nightshirt tomorrow, too!
Here's how today went. The boys have off today (Ramone and Juan), so I am sure that it is Sunday. Sunday's are my favorite days of all because I get to put on my farmer boots (am I obsessed with footwear, or what?!) and play farmer girl. It's around 6 am, and I decide that the pigs are wallowing in way too much pig stuff. It rained like crazy at around 4 am, and I got to thinking about Swine Flu (that's a natural progression, no?) and decided that I would let Nacatamale and Tortilla and the Sweets out for a lawn breakfast. This is an extremely bold idea. Almost as bold as me deciding to wear my nighshirt most of the day. My fave sleeping shirt is a sleeveless teal number with green turtles stitched on them. My mom gave it to me. I want to be buried in it while the Betania school plays My Way. The Sweets are 4 piglets born a little over a month ago. Technically, their names are Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Tyra Banks and Christie Brinkley. But doing a pretty good "pig call" of sweet, SWeet, SWEEt, SWEET is much easier than Brad, George, Tyra and Christie. So, I grab a cup of Esteli coffee (crack coffee we call it because it is disturbingly addictive) and head out back to the corrals. Step 1: Find a stick. Step 2: Open Gates. Step 3: get the heck out of the way - we've got 500 pounds of fun running out the door like a prison break out. Unfortunately, my plan went terribly awry after Tortilla took off through the banana orchards with the Sweets in tow. Mind you, King and Coquetta (the dogs) are just waiting for me to say, "Go ahead, kids, breakfast time!" and snatch one of the little ones for a quick treat. Everyone behaved, except for Tortilla, who is now racing full speed towards God knows what. Nacatamale is grazing nicely in the lime fields. Important note: Mike would kill me if he knew what I was up to. I'm always coming up with these animal-friendly ideas, most of which backfire terribly, so I only have a short while to get these fatties back in their pens before I have to eat the proverbial crow and say, "I know. I promise. Never again. Don't play with the lifestock. Yadda yadda yadda. How 'bout some crack coffee?" After about 20 minutes, I decide it's time to call in a professional. Tim is in the kitchen, and he used to work on a farm, so I enlist his help. To make a long story short, we chased them all over the property, and decided to use some of the breakfast slop to entice Tortilla, who is now waaay over on the edge of the property near the river. A Nicaraguan family walks by on the beach, and watches Tim (in flipflops) and me (in knee high rubber boots, shorts and a turtle embroidered nightshirt) chasing the Sweets and their momma through the river, into the woods, and near the corral. At one point, holding a bucket of stinky fish head slop with corn (breakfast of pig champions) I throw the bucket at Tim, who is yelling, "Run, Forrest, Run!!!" (remind me to fire him) and he takes off towards the banana orchards. Mental note: Never, ever, try to entice a 250 pound female pig with food in the morning before she's eaten. After about 20 minutes, we get her in the corral, Nacatamale follows suit shortly, and all is well. All this before 7 am. SAFE! Mike's still in bed. The rest of day is taken up by a few annoying rich guys who stop in for beers - they say they are looking for property down the beach. Everyone comes here with these grandiose ideas of opening up a hotel, but the fact is, only Mike and Rob are crazy enough to buy property at the end of the world (or the asshole of Nicaragua, as Luis Rafael calls it) so good luck. Eat lunch - lobster, again (can't wait until lobster season ends - I swear I'm losing my opposable thumbs and developing a meaty tail). A man and 2 women come in to go on a kayak trip (Tim runs this one, great job, remind me to rehire him). Make some money. Nice. At around 4 pm, I go downstairs to make my signature Cauliflower and Potato Soup. At that instant, Nino and Marienella (my corn farm partners) pull up with their family. 4 cars of beautiful Nicaraguans who are the most precious and kind people I have ever met. Drink beer, drink more rum and cokes, eat soup (the recipe of which comes from a vegetarian cookbook my Mom gave me too - thanks Mommy!) Juan comes by on his bike because he saw the car caravan in town. Generally, whenever there are cars in Mechapa, they're coming here. So he wanted to make sure we were OK and offer his help (mental note: give Juan a raise). It's funny here, but no matter how I try to plan my day, it is impossible. There are no rules, such as wake up at 7, eat breakfast by 7:30, get in car by 8, office by 9. Work until 5, home by 6. Dinner at 7, kiss kids goodnight. Repeat.
So the day's tally: Pigs tucked in and accounted for: 6, Swine Flu: 0, Satisfied Customers: 3, Deeper Friendships: 2, New friends: 12, Money Made: enough to make payroll Tuesday. Life is good. Maybe I'll wear my turtle nightshirt tomorrow, too!
Friday, June 26, 2009
Why proper footwear is important -- or -- the perils of wearing the wrong sandals
THURSDAY, June something. I can't remember the date. But it was yesterday, if you happen to be reading this today. This is how my day went....
I had plans to meet with Elizabeth at a friend's house in El Congo. That's where the road literally ends, and it is about 1 hour from my house. Which gives you the idea of how freakin' far I live from, well, anything remotely city-ish. God, I miss escalators. Anyway, I made these plans a couple of weeks ago, to visit a school in Chinandega. I'm not sure why I was invited, but it seemed like a good way to wear my new dress and my swanky Italian sandals (both were bought at the Used American Goods store in Chinandega, sort of like the Goodwill of Nicaragua - love that place...). So, I pile my laptop, camera, overnight clothes, my Coach handbag (a gift from Angela in Mundelein - love that too) and get into our pick-up truck knicknamed "the chariot." It's the biggest POS on the planet, but we tell our staff that we keep it because we don't want anyone to know "how rich we are" and if we drove a fancy car "somebody might want to rob us of all of our money." Yea....that's right.....that's why we keep the chariot. So, I start driving on the worst roads known to human kind (note to self: contact Toyota or Hummer to get a free truck so I can beat the heck out of it and they can make suspension and shock improvements) and 30 minutes into the ride, I can't the car into 5th gear. Which is funny, because 4th gear went out about a month ago, and it's a rare occassion that I actually go fast enough on the "world's worst road" but on this particular day, the opportunity presented itself. Needless to say, as I am rounding the corner on the "world's worst road" toward El Congo, 1st and 2nd gears poop out. Now, ironically, I am in a ditch on the side of the road, intentionally. You see, that's normal here because they pulled construction on the road, so the bridges aren't completed and you have to drive off the road, into a ditch, through water, bumping along, and then rejoin your intended direction a short ways off. So, here I am, in a ditch, cranking the chariot along in 3rd gear (I didn't know a car could smell like that!) and I get to the "driveway" which is actually what looks to be a 15 foot cliff. So, I slam it into 3rd, punch the accelerator, and get stuck on the driveway. Oops, realize reverse doesn't work either, so I slide down the mountain and land just on the road. OK, no problem. It's only a little after 8am, I'm not too late, I'll just walk up the driveway. In my dress and Italian sandals. Carrying what is turning out to be a 500 lb. suitcase (or at least started to feel that way.) Up we go, climb through barbed wire fence to shave some time off of my progress, slink along the fence, see the house. So now, I meet Elizabeth, she notices astutely that I am drenched in sweat (says she likes the dress, though :) and we hop into her BRAND NEW 2009 TOYOTA HILUX PICKUP TRUCK WITH AIR CONDITIONING AND A RADIO!! Ohmigod, I have died and gone to heaven. Get to school in Chinandega (great experience but more on that later) and a lightening storm starts at noon. OK, lunch time, flash floods in Chinandega, ankle deep in skank water (it just can't be raining this hard...can it? Oh yea, it can.) So, we drive on back to El Congo. Smooth sailing, air conditioning, CD playing...Upon arrival, Elizabeth realizes she left her laptop at the internet place and hops in the car to retrieve it. I get dropped off at the end of that godfersakin driveway, and wait for the Mechapa bus (there's only one, so timing is CRITICAL). Low and behold, Carlos in his bus pulls up 5 minutes later. I'm on my way! Just as I was settling in to what appears to be a bus from my childhood nightmare, I see a white pickup truck with Maine plates cruise by. Mike and Tim! Going to get the car, and me, hopefully. Go Gringa bersercky which scares the heck out of everyone around me, hop off the bus (neat chicken bus info: they don't stop, they just slow down....so when it seems like you can jump out the door relatively safely, they give you a nudge to "go for it." Try that in a dress and Italian sandals carrying a 600 pound suitcase). Here I am, running down the dirt road, waiving my umbrella and yelling after a white pick up truck with Maine plates, which obviously doesn't see me. OK, I'll walk. A long time....Up that godfersakin driveway AGAIN. It turns out, on the way to get the truck, Mike couldn't find the keys to the Polaris quadcycle. Honest Injun, a rat ate the leather keychain and absconded with the only key we have (rat bastard, literally.) Then, the Landcruiser, known as Elsie, got a flat on the way, and Tim took the bread truck back to Mechapa to get his truck. In case you're keeping count: 2 cars broken, 1 quadcycle. Things go a little better than anticipated, and Mike, me and Tim are in the white pickup with Maine plates, Jesus and Hoel are in the chariot, we stop to pick up the repaired tire for Elsie, have a couple of rum and cokes at a friend's house (mental note: continue to have strategically located friends on the world's worst road.) So now, we're pulling into Mechapa in not one, not two, but three cars. Those fat bastard Americans...so spoiled with all their toys. Somebody, buy me horse and cart for Christmas. I'm not giving up the sandals, though, they're finally broken in.
I had plans to meet with Elizabeth at a friend's house in El Congo. That's where the road literally ends, and it is about 1 hour from my house. Which gives you the idea of how freakin' far I live from, well, anything remotely city-ish. God, I miss escalators. Anyway, I made these plans a couple of weeks ago, to visit a school in Chinandega. I'm not sure why I was invited, but it seemed like a good way to wear my new dress and my swanky Italian sandals (both were bought at the Used American Goods store in Chinandega, sort of like the Goodwill of Nicaragua - love that place...). So, I pile my laptop, camera, overnight clothes, my Coach handbag (a gift from Angela in Mundelein - love that too) and get into our pick-up truck knicknamed "the chariot." It's the biggest POS on the planet, but we tell our staff that we keep it because we don't want anyone to know "how rich we are" and if we drove a fancy car "somebody might want to rob us of all of our money." Yea....that's right.....that's why we keep the chariot. So, I start driving on the worst roads known to human kind (note to self: contact Toyota or Hummer to get a free truck so I can beat the heck out of it and they can make suspension and shock improvements) and 30 minutes into the ride, I can't the car into 5th gear. Which is funny, because 4th gear went out about a month ago, and it's a rare occassion that I actually go fast enough on the "world's worst road" but on this particular day, the opportunity presented itself. Needless to say, as I am rounding the corner on the "world's worst road" toward El Congo, 1st and 2nd gears poop out. Now, ironically, I am in a ditch on the side of the road, intentionally. You see, that's normal here because they pulled construction on the road, so the bridges aren't completed and you have to drive off the road, into a ditch, through water, bumping along, and then rejoin your intended direction a short ways off. So, here I am, in a ditch, cranking the chariot along in 3rd gear (I didn't know a car could smell like that!) and I get to the "driveway" which is actually what looks to be a 15 foot cliff. So, I slam it into 3rd, punch the accelerator, and get stuck on the driveway. Oops, realize reverse doesn't work either, so I slide down the mountain and land just on the road. OK, no problem. It's only a little after 8am, I'm not too late, I'll just walk up the driveway. In my dress and Italian sandals. Carrying what is turning out to be a 500 lb. suitcase (or at least started to feel that way.) Up we go, climb through barbed wire fence to shave some time off of my progress, slink along the fence, see the house. So now, I meet Elizabeth, she notices astutely that I am drenched in sweat (says she likes the dress, though :) and we hop into her BRAND NEW 2009 TOYOTA HILUX PICKUP TRUCK WITH AIR CONDITIONING AND A RADIO!! Ohmigod, I have died and gone to heaven. Get to school in Chinandega (great experience but more on that later) and a lightening storm starts at noon. OK, lunch time, flash floods in Chinandega, ankle deep in skank water (it just can't be raining this hard...can it? Oh yea, it can.) So, we drive on back to El Congo. Smooth sailing, air conditioning, CD playing...Upon arrival, Elizabeth realizes she left her laptop at the internet place and hops in the car to retrieve it. I get dropped off at the end of that godfersakin driveway, and wait for the Mechapa bus (there's only one, so timing is CRITICAL). Low and behold, Carlos in his bus pulls up 5 minutes later. I'm on my way! Just as I was settling in to what appears to be a bus from my childhood nightmare, I see a white pickup truck with Maine plates cruise by. Mike and Tim! Going to get the car, and me, hopefully. Go Gringa bersercky which scares the heck out of everyone around me, hop off the bus (neat chicken bus info: they don't stop, they just slow down....so when it seems like you can jump out the door relatively safely, they give you a nudge to "go for it." Try that in a dress and Italian sandals carrying a 600 pound suitcase). Here I am, running down the dirt road, waiving my umbrella and yelling after a white pick up truck with Maine plates, which obviously doesn't see me. OK, I'll walk. A long time....Up that godfersakin driveway AGAIN. It turns out, on the way to get the truck, Mike couldn't find the keys to the Polaris quadcycle. Honest Injun, a rat ate the leather keychain and absconded with the only key we have (rat bastard, literally.) Then, the Landcruiser, known as Elsie, got a flat on the way, and Tim took the bread truck back to Mechapa to get his truck. In case you're keeping count: 2 cars broken, 1 quadcycle. Things go a little better than anticipated, and Mike, me and Tim are in the white pickup with Maine plates, Jesus and Hoel are in the chariot, we stop to pick up the repaired tire for Elsie, have a couple of rum and cokes at a friend's house (mental note: continue to have strategically located friends on the world's worst road.) So now, we're pulling into Mechapa in not one, not two, but three cars. Those fat bastard Americans...so spoiled with all their toys. Somebody, buy me horse and cart for Christmas. I'm not giving up the sandals, though, they're finally broken in.
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