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.

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!!!!

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."

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